by In 1978, Julia Pascal became the first woman to direct a performance at the National Theater in London. She caused some press attention. Peter Hall, the artistic director, confided in his story: “My God, female directors can direct, like birds sing.”
Hall may have sounded bemused, but it was three more years before a woman directed a full production at her theater (Nancy Meckler with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?), and another 42 years before the National managed to name one woman to lead the organization itself. Indhu Rubasingham will become the National’s seventh artistic director (following Laurence Olivier, Hall, Richard Eyre, Trevor Nunn, Nicholas Hytner and Rufus Norris) and the first woman, and first person of colour, in the role.
The theater world has responded to his appointment with sincere delight and with the reflection that it was time. Women now run many prominent theatres: among them Michelle Terry at Shakespeare’s Globe, Nancy Medina at Bristol Old Vic and Rachel O’Riordan (reportedly shortlisted for the national position) at the Lyric Hammersmith. But Rubasingham’s move from the prestigious Kiln theater to the big seat at the National is a statement of intent for the entire industry.
Like most big jobs, it’s beyond impossible. The artistic director of the National must lead the institution and also set the course for the theater industry as a whole. When advocacy is required – in response to a pandemic, funding crisis or the reduction of arts provision in schools and university courses – Rubasingham’s will be the first voice people want to hear.
Leadership looks different than when the National opened in 1963. Olivier, its first artistic director, was heir to a long tradition of actor managers: leading from the center of attention (a center of attention, according to his co-star Maggie Smith, who he had illuminated subtly). to attract attention every time he was on stage). The young actors in his merry band (Michael Gambon, Derek Jacobi) were in awe of him and enjoyed being in awe.
Few directors can play Henry V both on and off stage, leading his company solely through charisma. Hall and Eyre published diaries of their time in the dock, chronicles of physical and emotional crises recorded in the white-hot ink of despair (Eyre typically notes “constant feelings of panic, insecurity and inadequacy”). The job requires long hours: planning meeting, rehearsal, technical meeting, unscheduled tantrum, acting out, and then sneaking home before someone else can yell at you.
Some theaters are abandoning the role of artistic director, and understandably so: combining the roles of lead artist and budget-ready manager is a considerable burden. As Brian Logan pointed out this week, some theaters delegate responsibility to a non-artist executive or leadership team, or share the role: Tamara Harvey recently became the Royal Shakespeare Company’s first permanently appointed artistic director in partnership with Daniel Evans. Rubasingham, although he will shape the National’s programming, will share executive responsibility with Kate Varah.
There’s still something exhilarating about an artistic director setting a course and championing the voices they believe in. The National is not a vanity project, but a test of courage and integrity. Three stages have around 2,500 seats to fill each night – the Olivier’s open stage has challenged all directors since the South Bank building officially opened in 1976.
The show calls for brilliant new writing: Rubasingham’s track record at the Kiln is strong, although finding an era-defining new play is never predictable. Olivier struck gold with Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead in 1967; Norris hit the back of the net this summer with James Graham’s Dear England. And it’s not just plays: physical theatre, spoken word and circus have their rights on national stages.
New musicals can capture a new audience and extend the art form: Norris’s year was boosted by Standing at the Sky’s Edge, now heading to the West End, and the black-hearted, pastel-hued The Witches. What about the classics? Rethinking the theatre’s rich catalog was crucial to the National’s early decades, which attracted the most powerful British actors. Norris has been less concerned, reflecting a broader shift in the industry. Everyone does Shakespeare, but British theater has largely moved away from the Greek heroes, Jacobean villains and Restoration fops. Will Rubasingham reignite that tension of the National’s mission, giving new voice to old texts?
The National once lagged in showcasing female voices: a 2019 season announcement without a single female playwright was widely condemned (Sandi Toksvig said the National should be stripped of its title for presenting only “children’s plays, directed by children, about children. Now, all three national stages have female ensembles in women’s plays (Lucy Kirkwood’s The Witches after Dahl; Alice Birch’s The House of Bernarda Alba after Lorca; Annie Baker’s Infinite Life) and the building is full. Norris says he will leave the role proud to have increased representation, and Rubasingham will surely only incorporate diversity into the National’s work.
We also hope the National is a little more, well, national. Touring shows are becoming more expensive: last year, English Touring Theatre’s executive producer Sophie Scull described the costs as “almost unsustainable”. But National is expanding its reach through NT Live cinema broadcasts (Dear England hits screens in January) and NT at Home offers streaming programmes: next up is Paapa Essiedu in The Effect.
The only thing certain about the job is its uncertainty: how could an artistic director foresee Brexit, Covid or the cost of living crisis when our prime ministers failed to do so? What is predictable is that Rubasingham, like all his predecessors, will attract criticism. Eyre calculated that a major success could give him a year of critical immunity: the opposite is also true. Whatever direction Rubasingham takes when he takes office in 2025, it won’t be boring.
