I am keeping a journal of all the plays I see this term, in part to have a moment to reflect on and respond to the works I see, and also to simply remember what all the shows were and what they looked, sounded, and felt like. In writing my entry for Miss Littlewood, I found myself running out of room on the page, and discovering new complexities about my feelings on the piece. In an effort to flesh-out and organize these thoughts, I decided to re-write my entry, while hopefully staying true to my original thoughts. The sections in italics are taken from my original writing, immediately after the show.
Miss Littlewood – Swan Theater (Royal Shakespeare Company) – July 4
Miss Littlewood, in its inception is a profoundly important musical dedicated to the life of one of England’s most important theater makers in recent history. A musical (or play) in her honor should be an important and female-empowering work of art, just like her life. Unfortunately, while the original concept of this musical was undoubtedly interesting and important, the final result didn’t just miss the mark, it hit an entirely different target. That target, arguably, was a musical devoted to exploring Joan’s memories of Gerry Raffles. Having a “present day” Joan “directing” the show almost seemed to imply that Joan had created the show we were watching. Accepting this theatrical device, one would expect to see a show about the life and soul Joan poured into her work. Instead, we saw a show all about Gerry, as the actual writer, Sam Kenyon, seems to have decided Gerry was the most important thing not only in Joan’s life, but in her legacy as well. Unfortunately, I have never seen a show more clearly and yet surprisingly written by a man. It was written in 2016 by Kenyon, making the show a problematic over-simplification of the life of a hugely important theater maker.
Kenyon didn’t just simplify, he also chose to focus on the love interests of Joan, instead of her work in the theater. Obviously, when writing a 2.5 hour show about the life of a person, one will inevitably need to pick a focus, but it is regrettable than Kenyon chose to focus on the least unique facet of Joan: the fact that she fell in love. Kenyon even goes so far as to have his Joan say, “He’s the only reason any of you showed up.” Which is not only objectively incorrect but also rather confusing. Gerry Raffles was far less of a public figure than Joan; he was a producer and behind-the-scenes kind of person and therefore, “Mr. Raffles the Musical!” would likely not fill the house. It might make sense for Gerry to be the only reason Joan shows up, but it diminishes her life and legacy for her to imply that Gerry is the only reason we (the audience) showed up as well. Similarly, there were multiple times when Joan’s major productions were more or less flipped through with quick projections, almost as if Kenyon was just speeding through time until the next moment Gerry showed up, yet again diminishing the life and work of his subject. Somehow, the musical ABOUT a revolutionary female theater maker (I originally wrote playwright, that’s how little this show taught me about Joan) was literally about a man. The show certainly had some positive attributes, one of the most obvious being the casting of eight women to play Joan. There is undoubtedly a benefit to creating eight strong female roles, and thereby forcing a stage picture which features so many women, almost the opposite of the effect in Fatherland, however, this does not make up for the problematic content these characters deliver.
With all these rather obvious oversights, the musical simply seems unfinished. If I were in the workshops with Sam Kenyon, I would have said “Sam. This musical is about Gerry.” I hope, he would be upset and want to change it; yet it seems like the show has gone through quite a few workshops and iterations, and yet, here we are. Maybe English theater is not yet as far away from the “By, for, and, about men” model as one might like to believe.
