Peter Hall, Making an Exhibition of Myself. Oberon Books, 1993 (2000).
 
Great theater directors come in two varieties. The first type possesses a genius for artistic innovation and experimentation, often aggressively changing techniques and platforms with each passing year. The second type possesses a relentless drive for making a permanent mark on the institutional idea of ‘theater.’ As such, they get behind a range of long-term projects; they cultivate the careers of particular actors and playwrights, and they build new art houses. The second sort of great theater director must be an impresario, not just a director; they possess a multitudinous vision, not merely perspective. They take chances on material with gut instinct, but follow up success with unrivaled enthusiasm—they also quickly recover from failure, for they drop a project with little chagrin and often recognize a project’s chances of success better than anyone else.

Peter Brook, John Barton, and Julie Taymor fit into the first category. Their failures are often as colossal as their successes. The wide variability occurs because they follow up a failure as readily as a success—they cannot quite tell the difference between the two.  Their successes (and failures), however, are wholly unique and often require their presence to achieve ideation, much less consummation. The first type of genius makes for an exciting theater scene, the second type makes for a historically sustainable theater. ‘Sustainability’ is a boring word, but it implies a lasting contribution to art, not just to a moment.

Peter Hall fits into the second type—indeed he defines it.

Hall came into the world in 1932, born to Suffolk parents of agrarian stock. He first attended playhouses in the shadows of the Second World War, during which time he saw many of the actors he would soon direct crossing the boards of the Old Vic and the West End theaters. Hall proved to have a gift for piano and a gift for literature. His skills eventually brought him to Cambridge, but not before serving as a post-war skills instructor in the Royal Air Force. At Cambridge, he met a young don named John Barton, and together they honed their skills in verse and play analysis. Through luck and perseverance, Hall rose quickly in the professional ranks.

Perhaps his greatest stroke of luck came in 1955 when he directed the English premier of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The actors first thought of the play as a sort of prank, but rehearsal revealed ‘much comedy and a dark seam of terror.’ The notices that followed the premier decried it as the sort of foolishness that appeared in Berlin in the twenties. But Hall, though frightened, did not give up. His friend Peggy Ramsay encouraged him to request coverage from Harold Hobson, who provided a review that ‘developed into the kind of panegyric that theatre people imagine in paradise.’

The incident concerning Waiting for Godot is telling. Hall found pleasure in Beckett’s poetic language; he cajoled intuitive and convincing performances from the actors; met with critical resistance, he worked until he found a critic that championed the play. A Peter Brook would have surely staged the play as well, but Peter Brook might have been perfectly content with the miserable reception in the press. Hall worked tirelessly to bring about not just a play, but an event. And that is the difference between an impresario and a director.

His success with Beckett led to lasting relationships with Tennessee Williams and Harold Pinter, and eventually led him to founding the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford. Mid-career, he began directing opera productions, especially Mozart. He then moved to the Royal National Theatre, an institution that at one time threatened the existence of his first love, the RSC. He led the National through the silliness of the Thatcher years, when Whitehall rewarded each financially successful subsidized production with threats of decreased funding—Her Majesty’s Government at that time (as in ours) treated the subsidized theaters like crack addicts crawling out of the gutter rather than as the most successful artistic institution of modern times. Peter Hall, anyhow, persevered against the foolishness and left British theater in good shape for subsequent generations. The battle continues to this day.

Hall writes his autobiography with humor and surprising honesty. He laughs at himself, as well as others. He also places key moments in British theater into wider artistic perspective. To be sure, this is not a neophyte’s guide to the world of British theater. He expects his reader to know something about British drama; without that knowledge, many of the jokes pass by with little fanfare. For fans of British theater, the book proves rewarding. For theater artists of any ambition, the book proves indispensible. Hall provides personal accounts of developing some of the most important plays of the 20th century. He ably explains their place in his own life, and the effect they had on him and on British theater in general. When a play flops, he explains why, and usually blames the artistry rather than the press.

Hall pushes against short-sighted economic logic with his brilliant and honest brand of impresario logic. “Any theatre conducts its own very efficient market research every night of the year: if no-one comes, we know we should not have done the play, for a play without an audience is communicating nothing.” His statement represents more than logic, doesn’t it? It represents wisdom, and a profound understanding of his craft and purpose. Peter Hall possesses vision, not just perspective.

“In all this muddle,” he writes of the late 20th century, “it has been refreshing to work in the arts. Art is absolute. It provides unquestionable integrity and inescapable standards.”

And that is art’s indispensible purpose—to provide an idea of the good, and to suggest its possibility through aesthetic form, however implausible its achievement might be.

The book also depicts his five engagements and four marriages, but he writes too generously to let any lasting resentment creep into the book (though his feud with John Osborne might be an exception). One gets the sense that one knows Peter Hall. He fills the text with anecdotes, and sudden dashes from one story to the next. He structures the book with rapid-fire chapters that center on a single theme, supported with a few paragraphs.

The autobiography represents a great achievement, and an essential contribution not only to the history of theater, but to the major British cultural developments of the last sixty years. 

In an earlier entry I reviewed The Viceroy’s Journal. The book made me a fan of its author, Viceroy Archibald Wavell. His frankness cuts ice like butter. And even when he finds himself on the wrong side of popular history, he paces himself through his actions with a disarming insistence on decency.

Like most generals of his generation, the First World War shaped his behavior in the Second, and in the intervening years. Many survivors of the First World War turned against the military and government service altogether, but Wavell’s early education and stoic coolness combined to ensure that he would serve his country for life. He could not speak off the cuff very well, but he wrote eloquently and effectively in private. He also published two popular works. The first was Generals and Generalship, derived from a pair of formal lectures he gave at Cambridge. The other was Other Men’s Flowers, a collection of all the poems that Wavell memorized throughout his life. Both of the slim books proved popular with soldiers during the Second World War.

Early on in his career, Wavell served as a personal liaison to General Sir Edmund Allenby. Wavell viewed Allenby as a mentor and role model. Allenby navigated a difficult political environment in Egypt at the close of the First World War. Much to Churchill’s chagrin, Wavell’s liberal tendencies and experiences under Allenby gave him the wherewithal to take an active role in Indian independence rather than passively waiting for the end of the Second World War. As Viceroy, Wavell saw his duty as careful balancing act: managing a transitional phase of Indian governance without undermining the precarious position of Britain’s war leader, Winston Churchill.

Serving under Allenby also gave Wavell the opportunity to see the value of experimentation and risk taking in warfare; Allenby led the allied forces to victory against the Turks with limited resources and a great deal of unconventional support.

Wavell played a crucial role in Wingate’s development as a battlefield commander. The start of this came in July 1937, when the Army placed Wavell in command of forces in Palestine and Transjordan. Arab unrest led to outbreaks of violence against both British troops and Israeli settlers shortly thereafter. Wingate, assigned to a relatively minor role as an intelligence staff officer, flagged down Wavell’s car and pitched to him his idea for Special Night Squads to defend Israeli settlements against violent attack. Wavell’s acquiescence to Wingate’s request provided Wingate his first opportunity to train unconventional forces and fight in combat.

Wavell made use of Wingate on two more occasions, first in Abyssinia against the Italians, and then in Burma against the Japanese.

The following notations about Wingate come from the book Viceroy’s Journal, as edited by Penderel Moon. I have shaped my quotes so that they demonstrate something of Wavell’s character and interests, and therefore the quotes are not as direct as they might otherwise be.

The following entries understate Wavell’s personal entanglement with Wingate and the Chindits. Brigadier Bernard Fergusson, mentioned in the December 29, 1943 and May 8, 1944 entries, later wrote a short biography of Wavell, as well as an account of Chindit operations called Beyond the Chindwin. Additionally, Wavell’s son, Archie John Wavell, was an officer in the Black Watch, one of the key units under Wingate’s command during Operation Thursday in March 1944. 

                                                                    ******

[Pg 15] August 23, 1943. 

Cabinet meeting with 2nd XI present, practically all 1st XI being still in Canada. Proposal to appoint Mounbatten to the S.E. Asia Command, with Stilwell as Deputy, and Giffard as commander of Land Forces, was announced. There was some criticism but general feeling was that appointment should be accepted since Chiefs of Staff and Americans approve.
            
P.M. is still in Quebec. I hear that Wingate has apparently ‘sold himself’ well there and his ideas are to havea  good run. I expect P.M. will now claim him as his discovery and ignore the fact that I have twice used Wingate in this war for unorthodox campaigns and that but for me he would probably never have been heard of. I gather they are at last realizing the difficulty of communications in Assam and Burma which I have been trying to impress on P. M. for nearly two years.

[Pg 37] November 17, 1943. 

M.B. [Mountbatten] came again on 15th to tell me about the Cairo meeting… we also spoke of the parachute demand; he still seems to think that to double the demand (from 100,000 to 200,000 [per month], the original demand having been 35,000) is a mere trifle for India; as it only meant giving up 2% total cloth: I pointed out that 2% of India’s population was 8,000,000 which was quite a large number to go short of clothes.

            Wingate left today after convalescing here for a week. He a little reminds me of T. E. Lawrence but lacks his sense of humour and wide knowledge, is more limited but with greater driving power.

[Pg 43] December 29, 1943. 

Bernard Fergusson turned up unexpectedly yesterday evening for an ight, and I had a talk with him about his experiences with 77 Bde in Burma. He says the venture was well worth while, and that Wingate’s theories are right, though the troops did not do all that Wingate claimed that they did. He said Wingate was, and is, extremely difficult—impossible at times—and he had many rows with him, but he still believes in his ideas. He was apprehensive about his forthcoming role, if he had to go in and come out again as he did not feel we could abandon the Burmans who helped us to the vengeance of the Japanese a second time…

[Pg 60] March 18, 1944. 

Saw both M.B. [Mountbatten] and [Lt.-Gen. Sir Henry] Ponwall and talked to them of situation on Burma frontier. It shows the respect they have for the Japaense tactics and fighting that though they have something like twice the Japanese strength available ion the Chin Hills-Chindwin-Manipur front and have known for months that the enemy were about to attack, they are both feeling rather apprehensive of the result; and have taken aircraft off the ferry route to China to fly into Manipur another division from Arakan. The 17th Division is being pulled back from Tiddim area by Japanese action against their communications, although in numbers we must be superior. How does the Jap do it? The simple answer ist hat we have a very ponderous L of C [Line of Communication] and the Jap has practically none at all; we fight with the idea of ultimate survival, the Jap seems to fight with the idea of ultimate death and contempt for it, when has done as much harm as possible. The flying in of Wingate’s two brigades [Operation ‘Thursday’] seems to have been a remarkable performance after an initial set-back in which there were about 150 casualties from crashed or lost gliders. But so far the Jap appears to have taken no notice of this force in his rear, his independence of communications is remarkable.

            M.B. is prepared to back me up on food problem and agrees that Americans must be told the situation officially if H.M.G. will not find imports. [reference to the Bengali Famine.]

[Pg 61-62] March 28, 1944. 

Last day or two comparatively quiet, usual interviews and papers, but I have actually managed to find a little time to work on the dispatch I ought to have written as C-in-C last year… The C-in-C spoke of the fighting on the Assam border where the Japs seem to be making headway. Large numbers of our troops are being concentrated in Assam, including I think 2nd Division; this will throw a very heavy strain on communications.

            Was told later in the morning that Wingate was missing from an air trip over Burma. I heard later that he had almost certainly been killed in an air crash between Imphal and Silchar.

[Pg 69-70] May 8, 1944. 

I got back yesterday from a short tour to Sikikim. A long days travel on May 2; left Delhi 6 a.m., landed Hassimara about noon and then had to cross a river by elephants, a flood having taken the bridge. Then a long motor drive to Gagtok were we arrived at 9 p.m…

            I left Gagntok on May 6th and flew to Sylhet in Assam. I spent the night at Sylet and visited H.Q. 3rd Indian Division—the headquarters of what were Wingate’s raiding columns, now Lengtaigne’s [Maj.-Gen. Lentaigne]. Lentaigne is good, I think, more orthodox and less highly strung than Wingate, who possible was killed at the right moment both for his fame and the safety of the division. But he was a remarkable man and I am glad that I was responsible for giving him his chance and encouraging him. My dealings with him, in three campaigns, were almost entirely official and I never knew him well enough to like or dislike him.

            I had hoped to see [my son] Archie John but he had flown into Burma a week before. Tired of waiting for vacancy in the Black Watch he had taken one in the South Straffords. I believe the column he has joined is likely to be flown out soon, but I expect Archie John will try to stay on with his own regiment or some other column. I hope his health will stand it. I saw Bernard Fergusson, complete with bushy beard, whose brigade had just been flown out. He was well, but a little upset by his failure to win his first pitched battle, at Indaw against the Jap airfield. He had had a hard time marching down from Ledo through the jungle, said it was surely the only recorded instance of a brigade marching 250 miles in single file.

            We had a long fly back, nearly 7 hours, as we were in a slow machine, and did not reach Delhi till nearly 7.45 p.m.

-------------------------------------- --------------------------------

Sources:

Fergusson, Bernard, rev. Robert O'Neill, and Judith M.  Brown. “Wavell, Archibald Percival, first Earl Wavell (1883–1950).” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. OUP 2004-2013.

Wavell, Archibald Percival. The Viceroy’s Journal. Ed. by Penderel Moon. OUP, 1973.

Sykes, Christopher. Orde Wingate: A Biography. The World Publishing Company, 1959.    

A quote from Plutarch:

"I am writing biography, not history; and often a man's most brilliant actions prove nothing as to his true character, while some trifling incident, some casual remark or jest, will throw more light upon what manner of man he was than the bloodiest battle, the greatest array of armies, or the most important siege. Therefore, just as portrait painters pay most attention to those peculiarities of the face and eyes, in which the likeness consists, and care but little for the rest of the figure, so it is my duty to dwell especially upon those actions which reveal the workings of my heroes' minds, and from these to construct the portraits of their respective lives, leaving their battles and their great deeds to be recorded by others..."

Plutarch, The Life of Alexander

When writing biography, an author makes many assumptions about the subject at hand. The author's self-knowledge, moral outlook, and historical experience shape their writing; this is unavoidable. But to a certain extent the author can deliberately examine their own assumptions; inevitably they will do so as they determine general shape and form of their work. What is the purpose of biography? What are the salient characteristics of this person's life? What actions 'reveal the workings of my heroes' minds'? And what is my basis for interpreting those actions as essential, and discarding others as unimportant?

In the quote above, Plutarch compares himself with a portrait artist.  When Plutarch relates his story of Alexander, he will not seek to describe the soles of Alexander's feet, the scars on his hands, nor his relative income on a year to year basis. Plutarch makes no attempt to precisely quantify his subjects. He instead focuses on the peculiar moments and attributes of an individual, particularly those that relate to character and personality. Like the portrait artist, Plutarch limits his subject intentionally and necessarily. He cares more about the subject's character, rather than the landscape behind them. Plutarch compares himself to an artist, and he prioritizes artistic character above scientific rigor.  

Yet biography is not exclusively art. It can also resemble the work of 18th and 19th century naturalists, those individuals that sketched and wrote on the plants, animals and elements of the natural world. The trade of the naturalists morphed in the ethnographers of the 20th century. Ethnographers seek to study and understand life within its natural context. They want to bring the study of life out of the artificial abstraction of the laboratory. 

In understanding human beings and human nature, we cannot exclusively adhere to artistry, lab work, or fieldwork. But we instead must lean upon the resources of all three. Each approach requires precision. The culmination results in accuracy. 

Human beings, as authors, are not a blank slate--they cannot move freely between the approaches. We are too limited. But with enough resources we can bend our talents just enough to discard the greatest share of error and ignorance--if we're lucky.

Orde Wingate redefined infantry operations in modern conflict. He was an artillery officer by training, but never cared much for the work. His methods, instead, helped infantrymen survive against the threat of artillery. We can find traces of his methods in Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Modern military units such as the U.S. Army Rangers still train with his teachings in mind. 

My own training in Ranger School began with the following story from Judges, Chapter 7, verses 1-8:

"Early in the morning, [Gideon] and all his men camped at the spring of Harod. The camp of Midian was north of them in the valley near the hill of Moreh. The Lord said to Gideon, “You have too many men. I cannot deliver Midian into their hands, or Israel would boast against me, ‘My own strength has saved me.’ Now announce to the army, ‘Anyone who trembles with fear may turn back and leave Mount Gilead.’” So twenty-two thousand men left, while ten thousand remained... 

"But the Lord said to Gideon, “There are still too many men. Take them down to the water, and I will thin them out for you there. If I say, ‘This one shall go with you,’ he shall go; but if I say, ‘This one shall not go with you,’ he shall not go.” So Gideon took the men down to the water. There the Lord told him, “Separate those who lap the water with their tongues as a dog laps from those who kneel down to drink.”  Three hundred of them drank from cupped hands, lapping like dogs. All the rest got down on their knees to drink. The Lord said to Gideon, “With the three hundred men that lapped I will save you and give the Midianites into your hands. Let all the others go home.” So Gideon sent the rest of the Israelites home but kept the three hundred, who took over the provisions and trumpets of the others."

Wingate used the story of Gideon to inspire the men he led in Israel, Abyssinia, and Burma. He adopted the name "Gideon Force" in Abyssinia, and tried to do so again in Burma, but the GHQ India prevented it. Still, he told the story over and over again. He wanted his men to believe they were select, and that they were specially chosen--if not chosen by God, then at least chosen by Orde Wingate. 

No one at Ranger School mentioned Orde Wingate's name, but they repeated the story of Gideon nonetheless. It stuck me as odd at the time, because soldiers in the infantry rarely quote the Bible. They might makes jokes about God and Satan, but they do not use the Bible for its parables or stories. 

This is a very small example, but it shows the seeping sort of influence Wingate had on modern armies.

                                                                           ******

Professors and career soldiers sometimes use the term "military science" to describe the process wherein soldiers study, adapt, utilize and teach new strategies and tactics. Wingate himself certainly found the idea of 'military science' attractive--his education at the Woolwich Royal Military Academy taught him to look for discernible patterns in warfare, and the British military training manuals of the period resemble engineering textbooks, with piles of tables and charts, and in-depth studies of munitions.

Many authors have attempted to chronicle Wingate's strategic innovations and their subsequent importance to military science. Yet Wingate bore a complex personality that marked every action he took in his short life. He ruthlessly castigated incompetence, yet playfully encouraged insubordination. He brandished a zealot's faith to rally his men, yet abandoned his religion (and sincere belief in God) at an early age. He modeled his life after the Old Testament prophets, yet earned a reputation for his cutting-edge use of modern technology. Reducing his life to a handful of 'strategic innovations' mis-characterizes the nature of his experience. 

                                                                         ******

The seemingly polar tendencies found within Wingates' personality represent external tensions, not internal contradictions; a human being is not limited to the simplistic set patterns handed down through history and myth. Every time we examine the life of a human being, we should expect to see a story of variation, not conformity. 

After a few weeks in the archives, I feel I am in a great place with the Wingate research. With my training in qualitative methods, psychological analysis, political philosophy, and military operations, and find myself well suited to apply my skill set to understanding Wingate's life in a unique way. Already I have come across new evidence that previous studies have either ignored or missed. Wingate, for example, wrote extensively on human nature and on war as an extension of politics--no other authors have tried to reconcile his stated philosophical views with his actions on the battlefield, and so I have a unique opportunity to study Wingate from a new angle. 

I plan to write about him in two ways. First, I will examine his life in a work of comparative biography. I will examine a series of most-similar cases; the juxtaposition will describe the commonalities between each individual, but I will highlight the unexpected differences. In doing so, I can help us understand the individuals that initiate 'special operations', and the people who voluntarily join such units. Second, I will write about Wingate for the stage. 

With my work on Wingate, I am glad to shift away from the more theoretical terrain of modelling evolutionary science as well as the explicit application of psychological models to empirical cases. Instead I can embrace a more humanistic approach to understanding life. In my case, the techniques fro playwrighting have always borne a strong resemblance to biography. For my plays, I spend hours and years closely studying historical documents, sifting through apparent contradictions, and finding the through-line that allows one person to house seemingly opposite beliefs. American Volunteers, The Priceless Slave, and Westhusing in the House of Atreus all make use of this technique. Then I find the shape and form that brings out the elements of the story that most people tend to ignore. By placing my emphasis on the most unusual elements of character, I believe I free up my imagination to contradict my assumptions regarding human behavior; instead of forcing an individual into my cookie-cutter conception of life, I allow them to dictate the terms of the game. 

Human beings go to great lengths to both encourage and destroy diversity; they obsess over preventing 'deviant' behavior. But we also reward individuals who think 'outside the box.' These tendencies are an essential part of human nature.