The Last Straw: One obvious solution to the National Theatre's financial problems would be to follow the lead of the national airline.
In the space of a short generation, the latter has gone from the lofty grandeur of "Look Up, It's Aer Lingus" to the gritty realism of "Bums! We need 30,000 bums for our Autumn seat sale!" Maybe the Abbey could undergo a similar transformation, and reinvent itself as a no-frills drama provider.
This approach would mean scrapping the business-class seats at the front of the theatre. Numbered ticketing would go too - it would be first-come first-seated. Complimentary tickets for journalists would be phased out (over a period of, say, 40 years). Alcoholic beverages could be sold at Ryanair prices, since the biggest thing a night at the theatre has in common with air travel is that many people still need a drink to get through it. And while Art would remain the official destination of even a no-frills Abbey, passengers might no longer be carried the whole way. Henceforth, they'd be flown to a low-cost regional hub, such as "cheap entertainment", and from there Art would be a two-hour bus journey.
If such a radical plan is not adopted, however, we may instead have to wrestle with the serious question of how the Abbey can regain its former relevance. This is the sort of question that The Last Straw would normally cross the street to avoid. And yet even we were struck by the historical resonance of this week's events at the theatre.
As you'll recall from your schoolbooks, W.B. Yeats was in Scotland when word of rioting at the 1907 première of The Playboy of the Western World reached him. Expecting trouble, a relieved Lady Gregory had sent him a telegram after Act I to say "Play great success". Then, in a surprise twist during Act 3, she sent him another one saying: "Audience broke up in disorder at the word shift." This week, the Abbey's artistic director was in Australia when news reached him that share-holders were on the rampage. If there had been a telegram, it might have read: "Ulick O'Connor broke up in disorder at the word 'restructuring'." But the fact that the Playboy - again occupying the main stage - had no bearing on the latest problems only highlighted how much has changed for the worse since 1907.
Most discussions of the modern theatre's problems blame the productions; personally, I blame the audiences. Lady Gregory expected trouble because, back then, Abbey audiences were the English soccer fans of the theatre world. They were "notoriously reactive", in the words of one historian. But at least they cared. And if they were sexually repressed - it was the Playboy's mention of petticoats rather than patricide that pushed them over the top - they were in touch with their feelings about drama.
By contrast, modern theatre audiences are crippled with good manners, and as a result theatre is no longer an outlet for emotion. If a real-life Christy Mahon actually topped his oul' fella with a spade live on stage (while wearing a petticoat), the modern audience would applaud politely for fear of appearing shocked. The most damning verdict on a contemporary play is for theatre-goers to demand two curtain-calls instead of three. It might have been ugly in 1907, but as J.M. Synge sat in the auditorium while the crowd shouted "Kill the author!", at least he knew he'd touched a nerve.
It's not that we as a people have lost the taste for drama and metaphor. The nearest recent equivalent of the 1907 Playboy was the Saipan controversy of 2002. Roy Keane was the modern-day Christy. Mick McCarthy was the old man on the wrong end of a spade attack. RTÉ's Tommy Gorman was Pegeen Mike. The nation was transfixed. If we didn't riot, our emotions did, and the play sparked a passionate debate about what sort of a nation we were and what we wanted to be.
In 2004, we have anger everywhere except among drama audiences. We have air rage, road rage, Roy-rage - everything except theatre rage. And by the way, it seems to be only theatre-goers whose emotions are in check. We're all familiar with the pulling power of the tribunals when major political figures appear. And although the audiences there are dominated by pensioners, tribunal chairmen frequently have to threaten to suspending hearings if they don't behave themselves.
Which brings me back to my original suggestion. Maybe the Abbey doesn't have to go down the Ryanair route completely, but the beverage-pricing proposal should be looked at seriously. Also, as an experiment, I suggest the introduction of a trolley service. That way, they could sell drink during the performances, and see what happens.
