Michael Grandage made an inspired wardrobe choice in the dark and misty January morning before his trip to Oxford. Against the velvety backdrop of the dark blue curtains of Magdalen’s Grove Auditorium, the nationally acclaimed director makes an aesthetic picture in a navy jacket, grey trousers, and dark grey hair.
He’s here for what is described vaguely as a question-and-answer session, and I have little idea what to expect. We’re met with a beguiling smile and a plea for no technology – “will it disappoint you if we don’t have a microphone?” he asks us mournfully – and Grandage instantly sets a friendly and informal scene. As a director, that’s what he’s good at.
In order to win the trust of actors, Grandage’s first aim is always to “create a room in which there is no such thing as a silly question”. This is especially important when dealing with mixtures of famous and non-famous actors and actresses, a conundrum that Grandage frequently faces whilst working with the likes of Kenneth Branagh (Ivanov, 2008), Judi Dench (Peter and Alice, 2013) and Jude Law (Henry V, 2014).
What is it that makes great actors great? Grandage doesn’t know, or rather “can’t articulate” precisely, but he’s keen to pour cold water on the idea recently fanned into existence by Paul Roseby, that “most actors don’t need drama school”. His own marvellously soothing voice is of course all thanks to the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. Grandage insists that he could “barely speak” before formal training; “I was from Cornwall and had Cornish vowels, but my parents were from Yorkshire so I had Yorkshire vowels… I found a cassette of myself from the seventies and I literally couldn’t understand myself speak.” Nowadays he says “draaama school” with emphasis, drawing out the vowels and leaning towards his interviewer as though he might better convey his feelings through proximity.
With all this acting training and experience behind him, we wonder what made the young Michael Grandage decide that direct limelight wasn’t for him. After twelve “very happy” years as an actor, Grandage explains, he started to suffer terrible stage fright; acting just wasn’t what he hoped it would be. Again he “ can’ t articulate” what he wanted it to be – something to do with being “not really interested in just me and my little part”. I imagine that many actors and actress might have something to say about this image of the self-absorbed actor, but collaboration is at the forefront of Grandage’s mind.
He puts his successful run as Artistic Director at the Donmar Warehouse from 2002-2012 down to the result of a collective vision. He gets worried by companies who produce plays that “don’t make connections. If everyone signs up to a single vision, then the audience can say, ‘I don’t like your vision’, but at least it’s a vision”. So what was Grandage’s vision at the Donmar? I’m fairly sure he’s either thought this through before or been asked this question in another interview, because his reply is the pithy and satisfying label, “a House of Tragedy”.
Grandage talks about acting spaces intently, making links between the space available, and wider issues of access. One of the biggest differences, for Grandage, between being artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse, and being Artistic Director at the Sheffield Theatres in 2000-2005, was that whilst productions put on in Sheffield already reached thousands of audience members because of the vast numbers of seats available, the Donmar Warehouse has to grapple with international acclaim versus a 250-seat space to sell tickets to. And “people who sell tickets are usually the definition of
great actors”, notes Grandage, with the first tinge of wryness creeping into his chocolatey tones.
Access was after all “at the heart” of the launch of his new production company which ran five plays in the West End (Privates on Parade, Peter and Alice, The Cripple of Inishmaan, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Henry V) over 2013-4, with ticket prices starting at £10. “If you’re paying ten pounds for a ticket, that’s not an elitist art form”, says Grandage. The arts students in the audience doomed to financial ruin and a lifetime of beans on toast shuffle
uneasily on their seats.
Broadcasting live theatre is certainly one way of bringing art to the people, and something that Grandage took part in with King Lear (2010). The production
was a huge success and won Grandage the Tony award for Best Director. Apparently the done thing to do after such a triumph is to come home and not talk about it. Being British, “we’re all faintly embarrassed about the fact that we love winning a Tony”, summarises Grandage, as he crosses his legs, cocks his head, and gazes up at the ceiling.
Grandage only supports live broadcasting as long as it makes people come to the theatre. Encouraging flocks of people to the cinema is “rather redundant”
if they don’t also experience a live acting space. Though, as he tells the audience, a flashy set and tech crew isn’t everything. “My first experience was in a tent” , he says. We all pause to inwardly digest this statement for a beat, until with a deadpan face he clarifies, “of theatre”.
