PETER CRAWLEYon the big questions asked of Irish theatre

SO, THEATRE, WHAT have you done for us lately? Did you predict the banking crisis? Did you eviscerate the boom years while the Château Pétrus was still flowing? Did you speak truth to power, champion the marginalised, unshackle the victims, lead the revolution and allow time for bathroom breaks?

These questions, or some eloquent variations of them, have been dogging Irish theatre in recent weeks. First came Fintan O'Toole's RTÉ documentary Power Plays, a personal take on the purpose of theatre, which asked, "Will we ever see big dangerous plays on our main stages that challenge our understanding of who we are?"

At the annual Theatre Forum conference, held that week, the general immediate reaction among theatre-makers, was as though they had been stung in the eye. This was partly because the argument implied that playwrights had failed the theatre (not vice versa), that epic drama had shrunk to insular monologue, that a new generation of devisers were wasting their time, that Michael Flatley was in some way responsible. It was also as if Passion Machine, Rough Magic, Corn Exchange and Bedrock – to name a few – had never happened.

So when the event’s opening session was entitled, “Has the Celtic Tiger deadened Ireland’s creative persona?” you could be forgiven for thinking that theatre is just a glutton for punishment. Where once theatre aimed to establish a nation and enhance society, argued Niall Crowley, its present state was now closer to “a betrayal of tradition and a loss of purpose”, the work of an aloof, elitist cabal “sitting at ease with the political and economic elite”. Oh dear. And it always leaves the toilet seat up.

So here’s the question: how useful is all this scolding? When the theatre is perennially concerned about its very survival at a time when revolutions are organised online, entertainment is fed to us intravenously and nostalgia is a stick with which to beat it, is there a value in such provocation? The answer, unequivocally, is, Hell yeah.

Theatre, remember, is based on conflict. That goes as much for the mechanics of a revenge plot, a political polemic, a comedy or an experimental dance drama. It also goes for the conditions of its making (a race against time, ingenuity within constraints) and the wrestle for its soul (an art or an entertainment, world-leader or poor cousin?). Theatre responds to provocation like a powder keg responds to a match.

It's also why it needs good criticism. The response to Power Playsand to Crowley seemed to take a similar pattern: 1) a wounded sense of injustice, 2) lofty dismissal, 3) rallying confidence and cogent counter-arguments, 4) the calm resolution to take what is useful, discard the rest, and move on. It's a cycle that can last seconds or years and it's how most of us take criticism. In the debate that followed, and the purpose divined, another relationship became clearer. Your strongest critics might be your best friends.