| In a December 1971 interview, Mel Gussow an eminent
critic for the New York Times, asked ‘Who is Harold Pinter?’,
Pinter replied ‘He’s not me. He’s someone
else's creation’. A curious answer one might think, but
at this point Pinter had been battling against being pigeon holed
in his own reputation for thirteen years.
The distinct style of Pinter’s writing has encouraged both
early and more recent critics to try and formulate northing less
than a ‘Pinter’ theory to approaching his work –
pause + failure to communicate + a threat shrouded in everyday speech
= wham bam wallop Harold Pinter’s work. This formula, this
idea has been neatly wrapped up in the adjective Pinteresque, which
entered the Oxford English Dictionary in the 1960s.
Margaret Atwood, for whom Pinter adapted The Handmaid’s
Tale for film in an 1987, attempted to define Pinter’s
style, and specifically the adjective Pinteresque in article for
‘Pinter Review: Collected Essays 1999 – 2000’
as follows:
| ‘A comet, but a comet shaped like hedgehog or a
blur, not a cosy presence: not comforting, not cuddly, nor flannel.
Prickly, bothersome, mordant and dour. Always unexpected, coming
on you sideways with an alarming glare’. |
Atwood’s poetic description encompasses the sense of mood
that permeates off works such as The Caretaker, The
Birthday Party and
The Room, and that has contributed to the creation of the
adjective Pinteresque.
Indeed, Pinteresque does encompass strong elements of Pinter’s
style, but Pinter’s work is more than that, and Pinter has
found those trying to define his work so clearly and neatly, hampering
to his creative freedom. In an interview to Kate Turner of the Sunday
Times, Pinter remembers reading in a Sunday paper that a speech
in The Caretaker didn’t belong in a Pinter play,
Pinter’s reaction to such criticism was violent:
| ‘I think that is a gross statement to make. What
it comes down to, doesn’t it, is that this particular
gentleman – I don’t think he’s alone - is
telling me what kind of plays to write. He’s saying that
I should conform to their idea of what a Pinter play is. Which
means apparently that I am not allowed to develop, to explore
other angles, other ways of writing. One can’t be expected
to stay where you are, where you have been, you know, all the
time.’ |
Pinter’s frustration can be felt exploding off the page;
from this passage it is clear that Pinter finds the notion of a
‘Pinter’ play or style creatively strangling. Furthermore
Pinter believes that the writing he has produced when he finds himself
slipping into the ‘Pinter’ formula has been ‘the
worst thing I’ve written. The words and ideas had become automatic
and redundant’ . Pinter sees the ‘Pinter’ persona
that has been created by practitioners and critics as a quite exhausting
addition to being a successful artist, forced upon him and quite
apart from himself as an individual or artist – indeed in
an interview for The New Theatre Magazine he cried ‘Harold
Pinter sits on my damn back’!
Although Pinter as a younger man appears to have struggled with
the ‘Harold Pinter’ persona and style, his house now
contains several shelves of literature about him and his works.
In a 2004 interview with Mark Batty, Pinter confesses to deriving
a ‘certain kind of pleasure that they [the books] exist, and
that people are bothering to write about my work, all these people’,
but even as Pinter shares this pleasure with us, he counters it,
by stating that their presence can also be ‘suffocating’,
a feeling he has been experiencing for over four decades.
However, it is from his distinct style and skill that Pinter’s
success has come and that he has managed to carve such an expansive
and varied career. Pinter began writing plays in 1957, following
a career as an actor touring repertory theatres in England and Ireland.
As well as acting, Pinter had been was very much engaged in writing
poetry, but as Pinter himself stated ‘You couldn’t
possibly live off poetry’.
Although Pinter had an agent, Michael Codron, in the first few
years of his career, Pinter was writing plays with no real conception
of when or where they would be staged, and the initial cold reception
that The Birthday Party was greeted with did nothing to
add to the uncertainty. The uncertainty and financial issues cause
by this uncertainty around writing plays for the stage are key reasons
why in 1960 Pinter attended a meeting with Peter Willis, Head of
Drama at Associated Rediffusion, and began an active career in writing
for the television between 1960 -1965. Here Pinter recollects that
initial meeting with Peter Willis:
| ‘I went up and was ushered into this man’s
office and he was standing looking out of the window. The secretary
took me in and I stood there for a moment and he suddenly wheeled
around and looked at me and said – she said, ‘This
is Harold Pinter’ – and he wheeled around and looked
at me and said, ‘How dare you!’ And I said, ‘What?’
He said, ‘How dare you write such a play .’ He said,
‘I haven’t had a wink of sleep for three bloody
nights! Oh well I suppose we’d better do it. Who do you
want to direct it?’ It was the most extraordinary thing,
then sometime before 1961, he commissioned me to write three
television plays.’ |
Those three plays were The Lovers, The Collection
and Night School; with the broadcasting of these three
plays and the resounding success of The Caretaker, as a
stage play, television play and film, in the early 1960’s
Pinter’s unique writing style was stamped across the nation,
and it is hardly surprising that with such success the persona and
knowledge of his style grew into the adjective ‘Pinteresque’
and the 'Harold Pinter' he feels that he has been carrying on his
‘damn back’ ever since.
Harold Pinter does not write for his audience, he does not chase
super star status and has no desire to give the audience what they
would like, want or expect from him in a play. This does not mean
that Pinter is a reclusive hermit who shies away from interviews
or public debate. Indeed since Pinter’s first published interview
in 1959, he has had in excess of seventy dialogues printed, taken
part in over fourty radio and television interviews and countless
live talks, not least his world famous Nobel prize winning speech
in December 2005. But although he recognises that his writing, particularly
his writing for the theatre, will become a very public activity,
he doesn’t write with that in mind, instead he views the process
of writing as an extremely private activity.
In a speech made by Harold Pinter at the National Student Drama
Festival in 1962, Pinter highlighted this contradiction ‘The
theatre is a large, energetic, public activity. Writing is, for
me, a completely private activity, poem or a play, no difference.’
Pinter goes further to state that when writing a play, he views
his responsibility ‘not to the audiences, critics, produces,
directors or to his fellow man in general, but to the play in hand,
simply’, Pinter has no desire to be loved by his audiences
or to use his works in order to ingratiate himself; his concern,
his pre-occupation is ensuring that his work remains true. He does
not write with his audiences in mind. This attitude, this belief
is one that Pinter has carried through to the rehearsal room both
as an actor and a director; we can see his attitude permeating through
in his advice to actors performing his work:
| ’Do what you choose to do, what we decided to do,
not what they want. I think that is the essential thing here.
So don’t go out on the stage and give them what they want,
because giving them what they want is to do serious damage to
the work’ . |
Sarah Clough, Education Officer,
Creative Development Programme
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