Masterclass

Can Tyne Daly sing? In comparison with me, of course, she sings like a nightingale, but so does the rest of the world. In comparison with an everyday opera singer, definitely not. And in comparison with late career Maria Callas, whom Daly represents in the Terrence McNally play Masterclass? Probably about the same.

Suave Toddfrey and I took advantage of a special offer to see the play last night in its final week at the Vaudeville Theatre. Todd, whose enthusiasm for the stage surpasses his ignorance of the same topic, had expected a musical but had to be content with the arias of cast members Naomi O'Connell, Dianne Pilkington and Garrett Sorenson and the piano-playing of Jeremy Cohen. (Were they good? Well, I thought so, but I can't tell a High C from a Low Blow, so don't count on my opinion.) Never mind, both he and I were duly impressed by the two hour play in which Maria Callas, towards the end of her life, after she was no longer able to sing, offered students the benefit of her knowledge and advice.

The star of the show was of course Callas-Daly, and the actress gave a stellar performance as the operatic superstar. The class, predictably, was little more than an opportunity for the diva to reminisce about her life and to sprinkle liberal advice as to how to achieve divadom (basically have an ego that overwhelms all other egos that challenge it - and it doesn't do any harm to have some talent as well). How closely the McNally-Daly depiction of Callas resembled the original article, I couldn't say, but that wasn't the point. What we were watching was as much development of  ideas as a portrayal of an individual. What is the cost of great art to the individual? To those around them? To those who wish to be great artists?

I always judge how well I have an enjoyed a play by how much or how little my mind wanders during the performance. On this scale, my appreciation was well up in the 80% to 90% range. When my thoughts did set off on their own, they followed one of two paths: (a) to ask myself how much dedication I have to the stage in comparison with someone like Callas - and to realise that without that dedication my performances are likely to remain second rate; and (b) to remind myself that I have four one-player dramas to write and that in each of them I have to ensure that pacing and rhythm maintain the audience's attention throughout. That's quite a task. Which explains why I spent this morning on the pages of the first draft on the first and most difficult conversion-from-story-to-drama that I have to undertake.

Finally, the theatre was full last night, with a mostly middle-aged crowd. It was also full - as far as I could tell from the queue exchanging vouchers at the box office - of people like ourselves who had been given a special deal. It seems that West End productions that are based on ideas and drama, rather than spectacle and soapstars, are unable to draw big enough crowds without substantial discounting. An unsurprising, but depressing idea...