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  • A man of all seasons

    The Economist
    March 19, 2005
    U.S. Edition

    A man of all seasons

    British theatre


    PAUL SCOFIELD, who was superbly directed by Peter Brook in "King
    Lear" in 1962, was first struck by the director's ice-blue eyes.
    Adrian Mitchell, a poet who was involved in an anti-Vietnam
    propaganda play directed by Mr Brook, felt he was looking into eyes
    of astonishing power. Michael Kustow, the staunch, loyal author of
    this authorised biography, published just as Mr Brook turns 80,
    refers to "ancient, glittering" eyes - like one of W.B. Yeats's scholar
    mystics.

    Mr Brook's right eye stares out of the British edition of this book.
    As a defining image, it reflects other qualities: stubbornness,
    wilfulness and mischief. After all, this is the stage director who,
    in the 1960s, declared: "The theatre has to face the death of the
    word." Mr Brook has always courted controversy, though he does not
    always like its consequences. Sir David Hare, an English playwright,
    caused great offence when he described some of Mr Brook's recent work
    at his Centre International de Recherches Thétrales in Paris as an
    exile's "universal hippie babbling which represents nothing but a
    fright of commitment."

    The great man, who is impatient with criticism and critics, will have
    no quarrel with Mr Kustow's sympathetic and comprehensive celebration
    of a remarkable life in the theatre. It provides what the critics
    will require - an accurate picture of what Mr Brook has done and said.
    For example, Mr Kustow identifies an unlikely coupleof influential
    figures: Georgi Ivanovich Gurdjieff, an eccentric Armenian-Russian
    occultist, who, to express his philosophy generously, believed that
    people sleepwalk through life and need waking up, and Jerzy
    Grotowski, a Polish director, who, according to Mr Kustow, is a
    "teacher in the tradition of the seer and the shaman."

    Mr Brook was born in west London on March 21st 1925, the son of
    enterprising Russian-Jewish refugees. (His father's pharmaceutical
    company made a well-known laxative called Brooklax.) A precocious
    child, he staged a puppet performance of "Hamlet" when he was ten,
    describing it as being "by William Shakespeare and Peter Brook". When
    he directed "Hamlet" again 65 years later at the Bouffes du Nord - the
    theatre in Paris to which he transferred his affections from London
    when he was 45 - it was renamed "The Tragedy of Hamlet, adapted and
    directed by Peter Brook". This version was heavily cut and much
    transposed. As Mr Brookexplained: "I don't think Shakespeare'sgenius
    shone through every detail."

    Mr Brook has always believed that he knows best, and there is strong
    evidence that sometimes he is right - in his "King Lear" and "A
    Midsummer Night's Dream", both for the Royal Shakespeare Company,
    when he had no quarrel with Shakespeare's genius. He also made a
    memorable film adaptation of William Golding's "Lord of the Flies",
    his revenge for an unhappy time at English public schools, and a
    celebrated production of a Hindu epic, "Mahabharata", which drew a
    large multi-racial and multi-lingual audience.

    Mr Brook provides a compellingaccount of his eclectic working methods
    in a short book of lectures called "The Open Door". Both his account,
    and Mr Kustow's, suggest that he is happiest with texts that he has
    prepared himself. He has become his own stage designer and usually
    chooses his own musical accompaniment. What he likes best is to roll
    out a carpetunder a tree and perform for audiences, like children,
    who have no knowledge of the conventions of the western theatre. Mr
    Brook does not like theatres, or box offices, or the pragmatic London
    theatre producers. He does admit that sponsors are necessary, but
    "they must be enlightened".

    Perhaps this suggests that Mr Brook is in thrall to an idealistic,
    other-worldly vision of the theatre. Mr Kustow reckons that his
    singular achievement is to have breathed life into it. Only a churl
    would disagree.
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