The Books: “Look Back in Anger” (Jon Osborne)

Next script on my script shelf:

Next play on the shelf is Look Back in Anger, by John Osborne.

This play was first produced in 1956 in London, at the Royal Court Theatre. To say it was a success is to be putting it so mildly as to be meaningless. It was a cultural and social event, in England. People discuss the impact this play had to this day. Books have been written about it. At the time, in the 50s in England, there were a group of writers who were referred to (and perhaps they referred to themselves as such) as ‘angry young men’. They took a rebellious stance towards society, they were critical towards handed-down mores and beliefs … not just critical. They raged against them. Not only did these writers rage against society – they raged against themselves, their disappointments in their own achievements, in who they were, in how they turned out. The play Look Back in Anger became a lightning rod for that generation. Leslie Allen Paul’s autobiography gave this “movement” its name – it was called Angry Young Man. I wonder if Christopher Hitchens has ever written about the “angry young men” writers – I’d be interested to hear what he had to say. Other writers who classed themselves part of this generational shift were Kingsley Amis, John Braine, John Wain, Alan Sillitoe … I am sure there are more. But John Osborne’s 1956 production of his play had an impact like a bomb going off. It is still referenced today.

The play is painful to read. There is no let-up. The plot is simple: Jimmy is married to Allison, who is pregnant. Jimmy is a strong working-class guy – who cannot get a job. He is frightened. He is in a rage at the unfairness of society. He takes out all of his aggressions onto his wife – it’s brutal, man. Some of the scenes are so awful that you can’t wait for them to be over. The play looks at the class-structure in England. Jimmy is one of those types who is fiercely loyal to his working-class origins – wants no part of the bullshit he sees in the upper levels of society … and yet, he still wants to live the good life. His wife is pregnant – he still needs to worry about making a living. Throughout the course of the play, he becomes infatuated with a friend of his wife’s – an upper-class woman named Helena. All hell breaks loose.

I personally find Jimmy to be an unremitting self-pitying bore … I know a guy like that. He dominates the room with his own personal dramas, and if you don’t immediately jump on board and accept his interpretation of events 100%, he will zero in on you, like a shark smelling blood. He will then find your weakness, exploit it, and humiliate you publicly. I’ve seen him do it time and time again. If his ego feels threatened in any way, if he doesn’t feel that everyone in the room is hanging on his every word … and also accepting his version of the story totally … he will attack. Jimmy is in a rage, sure … but it comes off as “wah wah wah why doesn’t anyone understand me” to me. Jimmy wonders why his wife doesn’t sympathize more … why she turns away from him … It’s completely obvious to me why she turns away. Who wants to listen to that crap? What – she doesnt’ have her own life? She has to spend 100% of her time being abused by him, but also being lectured at, dominated .. and her only job is to nod sympathetically? Huh?

It’s a play that is, on its surface, about this small group of characters, and what happens to them in their lives. But on an uber-level, it’s about society as a whole – British society, specifically. John Osborne is pissed, man. He’s also a good writer – so that saves the play from just being a pamphlet of propaganda. This is no pamphlet. It is the story of a couple of people, caught up in their own struggle … a struggle which is deeply universal.

Here’s part of a scene from the middle of the play. Helena, Allison, Jimmy … the three main characters … are all involved. Oh, and Cliff is there, too. I forget who Cliff is. Helena is staying with Jimmy and Allison, and she and Allison announce casually that they are going to go to church on Sunday morning. Jimmy flips out.

EXCERPT FROM Look Back in Anger, by John Osborne.

JIMMY. One day, when I’m no longer spending my days running a sweet-stall, I may write a book about us all. It’s all here. [slapping his forehead] Written in flames a mile high. And it won’t be recollected in tranquility either, picking daffodils with Auntie Wordsworth. It’ll be recollected in fire, and blood. My blood.

HELENA. [thinking patient reasonableness may be worth a try] She simply said that she’s going to church with me. I don’t see why that calls for this incredible outburst.

JIMMY. Don’t you? Perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought.

HELENA. You think the world’s treated you pretty badly, don’t you?

ALLISON. Oh, don’t try and take his suffering away from him — he’d be lost without it. [He looks at her in surprise, but he turns back to Helena. Allison can have her turn again later]

JIMMY. I thought this play you’re touring in finished up on Saturday week?

HELENA. That’s right.

JIMMY. Eight days ago, in fact.

HELENA. Allison wanted me to stay.

JIMMY. What are you plotting?

HELENA. Don’t you think we’ve had enough of the heavy villain?

JIMMY. [to Allison] You don’t believe in all that stuff. Why you don’t believe in anything. You’re just doing it to be vindictive, aren’t you? Why — why are you letting her influence you like this?

ALLISON. [starting to break] Why, why, why, why! [putting her hands over her ears] That word’s pulling my head off.

JIMMY. And as long as you’re around, I’ll go on using it. [He crosses to the armchair and seats himself on the back of it. He addresses Helena’s back] The last time she was in a church was when she was married to me. I expect that surprises you, doesn’t it? It was expediency, pure and simple. We were in a hurry, you see. Yes, we were actually in a hurry! Lusting for the slaughter! Well, the local registrar was a particular pal of Daddy’s, and we knew he’d spill the beans to the Colonel like a shot. So we had to seek out some local vicar who didn’t know him quite so well. But it was no use. When my best mate — a chap I’d met in the pub that morning — and I turned up, Mummy and Daddy were in the church already. They’d found out at the last moment, and had come to watch the execution carried out. How I remember looking down at them, full of beer for breakfast, and feeling a bit buzzed. Mummy was slumped over her pew in a heap — the noble, female rhino, pole-axed at last! And Daddy sat beside her, upright and unafraid, dreaming of his days among the Indian Princes, and unable to believe he’d left his horsewhip at home. Just the two of them in that empty church — them and me. [Coming out of his remembrance suddenly] I’m not sure what happened after that. We must have been married, I suppose. I think I remember being sick in the ventry. [To Allison] Was I?

HELENA. Haven’t you finished?

[He can smell blood again, and he goes on calmly, cheerfully]

JIMMY. [to Allison] Are you going to let yourself be taken in by this saint in Dior’s clothing? I will tell you the simple truth about her. [articulating with care] She is a cow. I wouldn’t mind that so much, but she seems to have become a sacred cow as well!

CLIFF. You’ve gone too far, Jimmy. Now dry up!

HELENA. Oh, let him go on.

JIMMY. [to Cliff] I suppose you’re going over to that side as well. Well, why don’t you? Helena will help to make it pay off for you. She’s an expert in the New Economics — the Economics of the Supernatural. It’s all a simple matter of payments and penalties. She’s one of those apocalyptic share pushers who are spreading all those rumours about a transfer of power. [His imagination is racing, and the words pour out] Reason and Progress, the old firm, is selling out! Everyone get out while the going’s good. Those forgotten shares you had in the old traditions, the old beliefs are going up — up and up and up. There’s going to be a change over. A new Board of Directors, who are going to see that the dividents are always attractive, and that they go to the right people. Sell out everything you’ve got: all those stocks in the old, free inquiry. The Big Crash is coming, you can’t escape it, so get in on the ground floor with Helena and her friends whil there’s still time. And there isn’t much of it left. Tell me, what could be more gilt-edged than the next world? It’s a capital gain, and it’s all yours. You see, I know Helena and her kind so very well. In fact, her kind are everywhere, you can’t move for them. They’re a romantic lot. They spend their time mostly looking forward to the past. The only place they can see the light is the Dark Ages. She’s moved long ago into a lovely little cottage of the soul, cut right off from the ugly problems of the twentieth century altogether. She prefers to be cut off from all the conveniences we’ve fought to get for centuries. She’d rather go down to the ecstatic little shed at the bottom of the garden to relieve her sense of guilt. Our Helena is full of ecstatic wind — aren’t you?

[He waits for her to reply]

HELENA. It’s a pity you’ve been so far away all this time. I would probably have slapped your face. [They look into each other’s eyes across the table.] You’ve behaved like this ever since I first came.

JIMMY. Helena, have you ever watched somebody die? [She makes a move to rise] No, don’t move away. [She remains seated, and looks up at him] It doesn’t look dignified enough for you.

HELENA. [like ice] If you come any nearer, I will slap your face.

[He looks down at her, a grin smouldering round his mouth]

JIMMY. I hope you won’t make the mistake of thinking for one moment that I am a gentleman.

HELENA. I’m not very likely to do that.

JIMMY. I’ve no public school scruples about hitting girls. If you slap my face — by God, I’ll lay you out!

HELENA. You probably would. You’re the type.

JIMMY. You bet I’m the type. I’m the type that detests physical violence. Which is why, if I find some woman trying to cash in on what she thinks is my defenceless chivalry by lashing out with her frail little fists, I lash back at her.

HELENA. Is that meant to be subtle, or just plain Irish?

[His grin widens]

JIMMY. I think you and I understand one another all right. But you haven’t answered my question. I said: have you watched somebody die.

HELENA. No, I haven’t.

JIMMY. Anyone who’s never watched somebody die is suffering from a pretty bad case of virginity. [His good humour of a moment ago deserts him, as he begins to remember] For twelve months, I watched my father dying — when I was ten years old. He’d come back from the war in Spain, you see. And certain god-fearing gentlemen there had made such a mess of him, he didn’t have long left to live. Everyone knew it — even I knew it. But, you see, I was the only one who cared. His family were embarrassed by the whole business. Embarrassed and irritated. As for my mother, all she could think about was the fact that she had allied herself to a man who seemed to be on the wrong side in all things. My mother was all for being associated with minorities, provided they were the smart, fashionable ones. We all of us waited for him to die. The family sent him a cheque every month, and hoped he’d get on with it quietly, without too much vulgar fuss. My mother looked after him without complaining, and that was about all. Perhaps she pitied him. I suppose she was capable of that. [with a kind of appeal in his voice] But I was the only one who cared! Every time I sat on the edge of his bed, to listen to him talking or reading to me, I had to fight back my tears. At the end of twelve months, I was a veteran. All that that feverish failure of a man had to listen to him was a small, frightened boy. I spent hour upon hour in that tiny bedroom. He would talk to me for hours, pouring out all that was left of his life to one, lonely, bewildered little boy, who could barely understand half of what he said. All he could feel was the despair and the bitterness, the sweet, sickly smell of a dying man. You see, I learnt at an early age what it was to be angry — angry and helpless. And I can never forget it. I knew more about — love … betrayal … and death, when I was ten years old than you will probably every know all your life.

[They all sit silently. Helena rises.]

HELENA. Time we ent. [Allison nods] I’ll just get my things together. I’ll see you downstairs.

[EXIT. A slight pause]

JIMMY. [not looking at her, almost whispering] Doesn’t it matter to you — what people do to me? What are you trying to do to me? I’ve given you just everything. Doesn’t it mean anything to you? [Her back stiffens. His axe-swinging bravado has vanished and his voice crumples in disabled rage] You Judas! You phlegm! She’s taking you with her, and you’re so bloody feeble, you’ll let her do it!

[Allison suddenly takes hold of her cup and hurls it on the floor. He’s drawn blood at last. She looks down at the pieces on the floor, and then at him. Then she crosses the room, takes out a dress on a hanger, and slips it on. As she is zipping up the side, she feels giddy, and she has to lean against the wardrobe for support. She closes her eyes.]

ALLISON. All I want is a little peace.

JIMMY. Peace! God! She wants peace! [hardly able to get his wrods out] My heart is so full, I feel ill — and she wants peace! [She crosses to the bed to put on her shoes. Cliff gets up from the table and sits in the armchair. He picks up a paper and looks at that. Jimmy has recovered slightly, and manages to sound almost detached] I rage, and shout my head off, and everyone thinks, “poor chap!” or “what an objectionable young man!” But that girl there can twist your arm off with her silence. I’ve sat in this chair in the dark for hours. And, although she knows I’m feeling as I feel now, she’s turned over and gone to sleep. One of us is crazy. One of us is mean and stupid and crazy. Which is it? Is it me? Is it me, standing here like an hysterical girl, hardly able to get my words out? Or is it her? Sitting there, putting on her shoes to go out with that — [But inspiration has deserted him by now] Which is it? [Cliff is still looking down at his paper] I wish to heaven you’d try loving her, that’s all. [Jimmy watches Allison look for her gloves] Perhaps, one day, you may want to come back. I shall wait for that day. I want to stand up in your tears, and splash about in them, and sing. I want to be there when you grovel. I want to be there, I want to watch it, I want the front seat. [Helena enters, carrying two prayer books] I want to see your face rubbed in the mud — that’s all I can hope for. There’s nothing else I want any longer.

HELENA. [after a moment] There’s a phone call for you.

JIMMY. [turning] Well, it can’t be anything good, can it?

[He goes out]