Top Girls in New York, 2008
Top GirlsMinerva Theatre, Chichester, 23rd June–16th July, touring early 2012
Almost all the praise heaped upon Harold Pinter in the days after his death was, to put it politely, garbage. The loss, apparently, was of a writer whose greatness lay in his outspoken political (and fashionably anti-Blair) agenda. Excuse me, but was that what added the term “Pinteresque” to the language? No. His genius lay not in what he said, but how he said it. Formally, in dialogue and plotting, Pinter changed forever the way that plays were written. Only one living dramatist has had an equally dynamic impact: Caryl Churchill.
Top Girls, her greatest play, is now receiving its second major revival since its 1982 premiere. Yet outside of theatre, Churchill remains unknown, not least because she maintains a low profile. In over 20 years she has refused all but one interview request.
In a culture that routinely judges significance by audience size, screenwriting is the surest route to popular acclaim. As far back as the 1960s, Pinter achieved as much public notice for his (terrific) screenplays for The Servant and The Go-Between as for his plays. David Hare’s stock rose partly thanks to Meryl Streep starring in the film of his play Plenty. Even Howard Brenton has written numerous episodes of Spooks. But Churchill confines herself almost exclusively to theatre.
Crass though it is to reduce Pinter to his pauses or Hare to his theatre-as-journalism mode, their plays do have recognisable tropes and tonal hallmarks. But Churchill never repeats herself thematically or stylistically. Yes, her work is avowedly political, but she eschews plays that merely mouth arguments. Her only trademark is, paradoxically, consistent iconoclasm.
A Number is a nail-biting succession of taut domestic scenes, which capture the nascent horrors of cloning by having a father meet his “sons,” all played by the same actor. Far Away is a fiercely distilled dystopia, short on dialogue and long on visceral images that are closer to art installations than conventional drama. Ever since the 1970s, Churchill has reimagined every traditional playwriting element. In Light Shining in Buckinghamshire, multiple actors play the same role. Cloud Nine, her gender-bending comedy of colonial and sexual politics, placed the same characters a century apart. She wrote her city-trader drama Serious Money in verse. In all other respects, its caustic joyride predated the similar Enron by two decades, right down to its surprising use of song and dance.
Small wonder that writers as diverse as the late Sarah Kane and Neil LaBute have credited Churchill as a major influence. Max Stafford-Clark, director of the original Top Girls and its revival, explains that when working in schools on a Churchill play and suggesting she might become involved, “Teachers faint and genuflect. She shaped the way they teach and think about drama more than any other writer.”
Top Girls enshrined her pioneering, now standard, technique of overlapping dialogue, first deployed in 1980 in Three More Sleepless Nights, which heightens the effect of naturalistic conversation. Top Girls also played fast and loose with time, running non-chronologically to achieve deeper emotional resonance, most especially in the shattering final showdown in which the political and the deeply personal combine.
Most famously of all, however, is the bravura first act inspired by Judy Chicago’s legendary 1979 art installation The Dinner Party. Churchill’s Thatcherite central character Marlene throws a celebratory dinner for overachievers from fact and fiction including a woman from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, the subject of a Brueghel painting and the ninth-century Pope Joan who disguised herself as a man.
Although the all-female play was a hit, several members of the critical fraternity (there were almost no female theatre critics) were grudging about it. You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to guess why.
According to the long-defunct organisation Women in Entertainment, of the hundreds of plays produced by repertory theatres in Britain in 1982, the year Top Girls premiered, just 26 were written by women—24 of those were by Agatha Christie. If that wasn’t bad enough, four years later, one national broadsheet critic (still en poste) reviewed the comedy Woman In Mind and hailed its writer Alan Ayckbourn as “Our leading feminist dramatist.”
Misogyny, unconscious or otherwise, has too long relegated Churchill to the subsection of “female writer.” She’s a game-changing dramatist who proves that form and content can be thrillingly indivisible. That Top Girls, the 1980s play that so devastatingly challenged Tory values, can be revived for the Tory return is eloquent proof of her enduring power.
Top GirlsMinerva Theatre, Chichester, 23rd June–16th July, touring early 2012
Almost all the praise heaped upon Harold Pinter in the days after his death was, to put it politely, garbage. The loss, apparently, was of a writer whose greatness lay in his outspoken political (and fashionably anti-Blair) agenda. Excuse me, but was that what added the term “Pinteresque” to the language? No. His genius lay not in what he said, but how he said it. Formally, in dialogue and plotting, Pinter changed forever the way that plays were written. Only one living dramatist has had an equally dynamic impact: Caryl Churchill.
Top Girls, her greatest play, is now receiving its second major revival since its 1982 premiere. Yet outside of theatre, Churchill remains unknown, not least because she maintains a low profile. In over 20 years she has refused all but one interview request.
In a culture that routinely judges significance by audience size, screenwriting is the surest route to popular acclaim. As far back as the 1960s, Pinter achieved as much public notice for his (terrific) screenplays for The Servant and The Go-Between as for his plays. David Hare’s stock rose partly thanks to Meryl Streep starring in the film of his play Plenty. Even Howard Brenton has written numerous episodes of Spooks. But Churchill confines herself almost exclusively to theatre.
Crass though it is to reduce Pinter to his pauses or Hare to his theatre-as-journalism mode, their plays do have recognisable tropes and tonal hallmarks. But Churchill never repeats herself thematically or stylistically. Yes, her work is avowedly political, but she eschews plays that merely mouth arguments. Her only trademark is, paradoxically, consistent iconoclasm.
A Number is a nail-biting succession of taut domestic scenes, which capture the nascent horrors of cloning by having a father meet his “sons,” all played by the same actor. Far Away is a fiercely distilled dystopia, short on dialogue and long on visceral images that are closer to art installations than conventional drama. Ever since the 1970s, Churchill has reimagined every traditional playwriting element. In Light Shining in Buckinghamshire, multiple actors play the same role. Cloud Nine, her gender-bending comedy of colonial and sexual politics, placed the same characters a century apart. She wrote her city-trader drama Serious Money in verse. In all other respects, its caustic joyride predated the similar Enron by two decades, right down to its surprising use of song and dance.
Small wonder that writers as diverse as the late Sarah Kane and Neil LaBute have credited Churchill as a major influence. Max Stafford-Clark, director of the original Top Girls and its revival, explains that when working in schools on a Churchill play and suggesting she might become involved, “Teachers faint and genuflect. She shaped the way they teach and think about drama more than any other writer.”
Top Girls enshrined her pioneering, now standard, technique of overlapping dialogue, first deployed in 1980 in Three More Sleepless Nights, which heightens the effect of naturalistic conversation. Top Girls also played fast and loose with time, running non-chronologically to achieve deeper emotional resonance, most especially in the shattering final showdown in which the political and the deeply personal combine.
Most famously of all, however, is the bravura first act inspired by Judy Chicago’s legendary 1979 art installation The Dinner Party. Churchill’s Thatcherite central character Marlene throws a celebratory dinner for overachievers from fact and fiction including a woman from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, the subject of a Brueghel painting and the ninth-century Pope Joan who disguised herself as a man.
Although the all-female play was a hit, several members of the critical fraternity (there were almost no female theatre critics) were grudging about it. You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to guess why.
According to the long-defunct organisation Women in Entertainment, of the hundreds of plays produced by repertory theatres in Britain in 1982, the year Top Girls premiered, just 26 were written by women—24 of those were by Agatha Christie. If that wasn’t bad enough, four years later, one national broadsheet critic (still en poste) reviewed the comedy Woman In Mind and hailed its writer Alan Ayckbourn as “Our leading feminist dramatist.”
Misogyny, unconscious or otherwise, has too long relegated Churchill to the subsection of “female writer.” She’s a game-changing dramatist who proves that form and content can be thrillingly indivisible. That Top Girls, the 1980s play that so devastatingly challenged Tory values, can be revived for the Tory return is eloquent proof of her enduring power.
