I am not a critic. What I write is commentary. Stories about the way the arts, life, love
and London
Consequently I want to say I was
so deeply affected by The Judas Kiss at the
Duke of York’s Theatre last week that it has stayed with me. Images and quotes run repeatedly through my
mind, and I’m left with not just a memory of an incredible night in the theatre
(directed and designed by two Aussies, Neil Armfield and Dale Ferguson)… but a
mingled sense of gratitude and sadness that the world still celebrates the
great intellect and wit of Oscar Wilde while continuing to tolerate the
hypocrisy and bigotry which led to his downfall.
The play, and the life upon
which it is based, is so rich in talent and resonance that you are
drawn into a world where your mind and heart are utterly transfixed. You feel every morsel of love and longing
between Oscar Wilde, Lord Alfred Douglas, Robert Ross, and his absent children
and wife, Constance… you ache at the prospect that Ross cannot protect his
great friend from the selfish ambitions of the beautiful but spoilt boy known
as Bosie… and you wonder endlessly as to why
why why Wilde allowed himself to be used as an instrument in a public family
brawl when, as a man and artist, he possessed more intellectual rigour and
compassion in his little finger than the majority of the Douglas family or the
Marquis of Queensbury put together.
Your experience in the theatre is profoundly sad and profoundly satisfying. You will laugh and you will cry in equal measure. You will be entertained but uncomfortable about the rough pairing of wit and betrayal. And you will be challenged to reflect on the world in which we live – on the power and privilege of wealth and class; on the sacrificial tendencies of love; on the nature of trust…
Of course Wilde would not be
particularly surprised by this cruel state of affairs – and I refer to judgemental
intolerance over matters beginning but scarcely ending with homosexuality – for
his gift and his scourge was that he could truly see, articulate and
lampoon human frailties from the amusing peccadillo to the tragically
destructive. In this Wilde has been fairly compared to Shakespeare, though it
would seem the Irishman didn’t share the Bard’s instincts for self-preservation
or political manoeuvring. The insightful
contemporary playwright, David Hare, suggests the artist he greatly admired was
ultimately damned by his own sharp sense of truth and honour, his inability to
run and hide, an innate willingness to trust the people he loved, and a gift of
vision and human understanding which, brutally, allowed him to see too clearly what
was most likely coming his way so that he was pressed to the ground with weighty
fatalism.
In Neil Armfield’s
impeccable production (transferred to the West End from the Hampstead Theatre, after a production by Armfield at Belvoir Street in Sydney),
Rupert Everett gives us an emotional but resigned Oscar Wilde, waiting for his
arrest at the Cadogan Hotel, then waiting to be abandoned in Naples by the man for whom he gave up
everything. And the element which
creates the most poignancy is Wilde’s dignity – dignity and intellectual power in
the face of financial, physical and emotional ruin, in the face of betrayal and
unenlightened denial, even in spite of the cruellest blow of all… the loss of
his literary voice… the silencing of him as a writer. As portrayed by Everett
this dignity and poise is so admirable yet heartbreaking, that the audience
must suppress a collective urge to jump on stage and strangle Boise
Some might feel Wilde’s lack
of action or fight against his decline makes him too passive to be
sympathetic. Some have little patience
for the (seeming) contradiction between his robust frankness and a reluctance
to publically declare his sexual preferences.
Some might have liked Everett Everett
Yet such is Hare’s brilliance - and the perfectly balanced presentation of an array of social dynamics by a cast and creative team without a single weak link - that instead of stocking minor criticisms audiences are pressed to take on board concepts which can never be over-pondered: who are the friends in our lives who we can trust to stand by us in a storm?; can we reconcile ourselves to the prospect of betrayal because when one loves with a whole heart that is inevitably the risk?; at what point does love make a fool of us?; can a severe loss of trust be salvaged?; do we allow ‘holier-than-thou’ attitudes to distort our view of the actions and character of others?; are we comfortable with a society who insists upon penance and conformity as well as punishment?; and how often, in large and small ways, individually and collectively, do we control or condemn others because they simply want to live their life a different way?
Wilde made the English upper
classes uncomfortable about their foibles. They enjoyed his diversions and smiled at his
wit, they socialised with him such that on the surface all appeared well, but they
never really thought of him as an equal for at core they were affronted by his
freedom, flamboyance and bohemian sensibilities. So when opportunity arose for them to go
after him, the agenda and vehemence was poisoned and enlarged by previous
resentment. It gets one thinking: how
often do one’s secret complaints feed into present arguments? How often do earlier judgements distort one’s
ability to assess fairly? How often does
society punish a person, a company, a government, a media organisation for sins
which it decides should have been punished earlier? There is good reason for the law known as
Double Jeopardy but in the to and fro of our daily lives how often do we keep a
person on trial for the same offence - harbouring anger or jealousies until
there is a better opportunity to give them free reign?
When seen from this
viewpoint it is nothing short of vicious.
For, it isn’t just politics and 'the establishment' which sent Oscar Wilde down, it is human imperfection and moralistic intolerance.
These questions and more are posed during The Judas Kiss. And I
challenge anyone in the house not to be deeply moved when Boise Garden
of Gethsemane
We can hurt those who have
loved and trusted us most. In that there
is great responsibility.
