Rattigan's Ruthless Vision: 'Man and Boy' Revival Brings Unsettling Glimpses into the Author's Life
Terence Rattigan, a name synonymous with the golden age of British theatre, has been shrouded in mystery for decades. His plays have captivated audiences worldwide with their wit, charm, and razor-sharp dialogue. Yet, behind this polished facade lies a complex web of personal struggles, societal taboos, and artistic convictions that define Rattigan's work like never before.
Man and Boy, the rarely seen play about to be revived at London's National Theatre, is an unsettling glimpse into Rattigan's psyche. Written in 1963, it tells the story of Gregor Antonescu, a Romanian financier hiding out in his estranged son's Greenwich Village apartment, exploiting his son's charms to secure a life-saving merger. What's shocking is not only the ruthlessness with which Gregor manipulates those around him but also Rattigan's own perception of him – "as evil as Iago" – a comparison that speaks volumes about the author's inner turmoil.
At its core, Man and Boy is a father-son drama, one that echoes Rattigan's tumultuous relationship with his own father, Frank. A diplomat forced to resign after an affair with a Romanian princess, Frank left an indelible mark on Terence's life and work. The parallels between their lives are striking – both men were masters of pretence, and both struggled to reconcile their public personas with private demons.
Rattigan's exploration of themes such as family, loyalty, and social class is nothing new. His plays have long probed the complexities of relationships, often veering into the darker corners of human nature. Yet, it is in Man and Boy that these themes take on a particularly menacing tone, hinting at the societal pressures and expectations that can drive individuals to exploitation and heartlessness.
One cannot help but be reminded of Robert Maxwell's scandalous life, a Czech-born media mogul whose daughter Ghislaine became embroiled with Jeffrey Epstein, convicted of child abuse offences. The parallels are eerie – both Rattigan's Gregor and Maxwell were charismatic figures who used their charm to manipulate those around them, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
As the revival of Man and Boy takes centre stage, audiences will be forced to confront not only the play itself but also its author's complicated legacy. Is it enough to revive Rattigan's work to redeem him? Perhaps not entirely, for the shadows that haunt his life's work are too deep to be so easily exorcised. Yet, by confronting these demons head-on, we may finally grasp the true extent of Rattigan's vision – a ruthless and brilliant artist who continues to captivate us with his energy, drive, and unwavering dedication to his craft.
Terence Rattigan, a name synonymous with the golden age of British theatre, has been shrouded in mystery for decades. His plays have captivated audiences worldwide with their wit, charm, and razor-sharp dialogue. Yet, behind this polished facade lies a complex web of personal struggles, societal taboos, and artistic convictions that define Rattigan's work like never before.
Man and Boy, the rarely seen play about to be revived at London's National Theatre, is an unsettling glimpse into Rattigan's psyche. Written in 1963, it tells the story of Gregor Antonescu, a Romanian financier hiding out in his estranged son's Greenwich Village apartment, exploiting his son's charms to secure a life-saving merger. What's shocking is not only the ruthlessness with which Gregor manipulates those around him but also Rattigan's own perception of him – "as evil as Iago" – a comparison that speaks volumes about the author's inner turmoil.
At its core, Man and Boy is a father-son drama, one that echoes Rattigan's tumultuous relationship with his own father, Frank. A diplomat forced to resign after an affair with a Romanian princess, Frank left an indelible mark on Terence's life and work. The parallels between their lives are striking – both men were masters of pretence, and both struggled to reconcile their public personas with private demons.
Rattigan's exploration of themes such as family, loyalty, and social class is nothing new. His plays have long probed the complexities of relationships, often veering into the darker corners of human nature. Yet, it is in Man and Boy that these themes take on a particularly menacing tone, hinting at the societal pressures and expectations that can drive individuals to exploitation and heartlessness.
One cannot help but be reminded of Robert Maxwell's scandalous life, a Czech-born media mogul whose daughter Ghislaine became embroiled with Jeffrey Epstein, convicted of child abuse offences. The parallels are eerie – both Rattigan's Gregor and Maxwell were charismatic figures who used their charm to manipulate those around them, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
As the revival of Man and Boy takes centre stage, audiences will be forced to confront not only the play itself but also its author's complicated legacy. Is it enough to revive Rattigan's work to redeem him? Perhaps not entirely, for the shadows that haunt his life's work are too deep to be so easily exorcised. Yet, by confronting these demons head-on, we may finally grasp the true extent of Rattigan's vision – a ruthless and brilliant artist who continues to captivate us with his energy, drive, and unwavering dedication to his craft.