Never So Good?

I saw Never So Good at the National this week. With Jeremy Irons and Robert Glenister in leading roles, and written by Howard Brenton, I was expecting something a little fiery. What we got was a perfectly decent biography and history play, taking us through the main formative events of Harold Macmillan’s life. Apart from some flaky American accents the acting was great. I was particularly impressed by the way that there weren’t any corny impressions, instead just sketches of the characters, and that worked very well.

I was less impressed by the clunky ending, where Macmillan directly addresses the audience, reminding them of his autobiography, and (I paraphrase) ‘still available on AbeBooks or search on Google’. Brenton did exactly the same thing with In Extremis (a retelling of Heloise and Abelard) at the Globe in 2006, with another squirmy ending to a very competent play, where Heloise shows a copy of the book, ‘which is still being read today’. This ‘it’s only a play’ stuff is the theatrical equivalent of ‘and then I woke up and it was all a dream’, and it made me quite cross*.

What really bothered me though, was wondering what had happened to the Howard Brenton of The Romans in Britain which got Mary Whitehouse all hot and bothered in the 80s. As a younger writer he had apparently been happy to court controversy, but nowadays, although referencing current hot topics (Iraq in Never So Good, Religious fanaticism in In Extremis) it all seemed very middle of the road stuff.

I was also a bit bemused by the young Macmillan who dogs his older version throughout the play, carping and criticising his prevarications and compromises, egging him on to be braver.. But why was the character there? To fill in Macmillan’s motivations? Move the narrative along? Well it did both, but I still didn’t really get the point. But yesterday it all suddenly fell into place as a result of reading this post. As well as suggesting that Macmillan was haunted by his younger ideals, it made me wonder if the young Macmillan was also a hint to how Brenton feels today after his early notoriety, producing successful but certainly less edgy work, constantly dogged by his youth. And with his younger self still looking over his shoulder, making snidey comments.

If so, I know how he feels. I love my life now, but I still have that stroppy teenager whispering in my ear.

* I'm probably being unfair as Shakespeare did it all the time!