In defence of Shakespeare’s Globe

Off to my old manor, the Globe theatre, to join a celebratory gathering of thems and theys for I, Joan, a non-binary telling of the Joan of Arc story. The show has caused no shortage of outrage in various communities on the left, centre and right, and has had the Globe labelled as misogynist by feminists of a certain generation. It is a great compliment to the Globe that even though it only opened in 1997, it is already held so dear that whatever happens there is quickly amplified into a broader debate. In my time as artistic director, we had one Sun front page ridiculing our engagement with foreigners; then later a concerted pile-on from left and right when we had the temerity to invite both Israelis and Palestinians to an international festival.

All these scandals are testament to the Globe’s freedom of manoeuvre. The Globe took zero cash from the taxpayer in its first 20 years, and had no reliance on sponsors for core funding. Until a recent government bailout its sole source of income was the box office, which meant few or no rules. I once welcomed Tony Benn to the stage after a play about the early days of trade unionism, and he encouraged the audience to march on parliament. On another occasion, we live-streamed a Belarussian production of King Lear into Belarus, which was followed by many a speech about the evils of Lukashenko. And as for the Alternative Miss World competition – that made I, Joan look like Terence Rattigan. My board of trustees didn’t bat an eye, provided we were still making the pennies.

The storm swirling around I, Joan has been brutal, exacerbated by the cowardly indignation of social media. Once I realised it is only necessary to say the words ‘J.K. Rowling’ in the company of different generations to guarantee that voices will be raised, I decided the best tactic on this topic was to shut up and listen. If I, Joan erred towards the presumption that everyone is onside without testing its own thinking, then the makers could quite justifiably say that others have had two and a half millennia of the same presumption. But the sun was out, the dancing was fun, a story was told, and long may the Globe go on stirring the pot.

I have been to several first nights recently. It is amazing how whatever the occasion, whether a super-swanky West End ta-daa, a hyper-hipster private showing in a Hoxton gallery or a small room above a pub, all generate the same hysteria backstage. We always used to tell each other that the amount of adrenaline in the body at a press night was equivalent to a car crash, and nod sagely, awed at our own endurance, secretly knowing we were talking rubbish. It is an excitement usually doused by liberal quantities of booze. Two recent occasions have involved events put together by my ridiculously enterprising daughters. My new year’s resolution will be to read better the look that says ‘Time for the old ones to go home now’, and learn not to outstay my welcome.

All actors have a hard time emerging from a soap. It is hard to shake off the public’s perception that you are just that character. Few had a harder time than Anne Reid, an early star of Coronation Street, who had a career lull of almost 20 years afterwards, before theatre, and then film, and then television rediscovered her particular genius. We’re working together on a project for next spring. She told me recently that after spending decades erasing the cloud of Corrie, she was less than happy on receiving her OBE when our late and much-lamented Queen leant forwards and asked her: ‘How is life on the Street?’ Happily, the look on her face afterwards is captured on film, and it is not one of reverence for the monarchy.

Tea with Simon Callow, who told me an even better investiture story. He was running late after two cars had broken down, and rushed in in a flurry of clothes-changing and panic. Though he had missed his slot, he was added to the end of the queue, and calmed by a smooth equerry, who told him: ‘In normal circumstances, I would simply say ‘“Just do what the person in front of you does”, but no longer.’ ‘Why not?’ asked Simon. ‘At the last event I said that to a rather elderly admiral. Unfortunately just before him a Gurkha was being given an award, and it is their habit in the presence of Her Majesty to prostrate themselves entirely on the floor with arms spread out. It took us rather a while to get the admiral back up.’