In which I take issue with Michael Billington (and the whole theatre ecology) (and the world) when it comes to dealing with disability. Something which Teenage Dick at the Donmar Warehouse does extremely well.
“As winter formal gives way to glorious spring fling”
There’s something a little interesting about the way that theatre, and theatre criticism, is tackling disability. Movements towards promoting racial diversity have rightfully been widely celebrated and are beginning the process of hopefully recalibrating the theatrical and critical firmament for good. But when it comes to disability, the same can’t be really said… Onstage, glimmers like the current RSC ensemble and the recently closed Joe Egg remain the exception rather than the rule; when it comes to reviewers, disabled voices are even thinner on the ground (are we surprised, when accessibility in so much pub theatres remains limited, when captioning services are rarely available by press night…).
Which is all a rather long-winded way of introducing the canny brilliance of Mike Lew’s Teenage Dick, open now at the Donmar Warehouse, and to pull up Michael Billington on assumptions made in his response. His final paragraph talks of “a radical shift in the politics of disability and a revolution in theatrical performance” which he feels undermines the play’s argument about how disabled people can be treated in a society that always, always bends to the ableist. There’s just so much privilege baked in there that I feel I have to react, even if Billington is on his valedictory lap of honour. Continue reading “Review: Teenage Dick, Donmar Warehouse”