17 2014

THE ARROGANCE OF MR FISHER

At that time I had always believed myself to be an excellent judge of theatre, of actors and actresses, and of plays, both tragedy and comedy. My sound judgement had indeed been confirmed by many of my colleagues. I was, and still am, an avid theatre-goer, but as a matter of professionalism I found it hard not to judge each individual on stage, be they famous or obscure, although I always refrained from critiquing the play until the end. In fact, so renowned was my eye for talent in actors, or greatness in directors, that between the ages of thirty and forty I was approached by major newspapers who asked me to write articles on particular plays. I am now forty-two. I remember very clearly being asked by the editor of The Times to do a piece on a play being shown in a small community theatre in Brunswick. The play was named The Arrogance of Mr. Fisher. Quite why The Times would need a first-rate freelance critic such as myself to critique such an insignificant play in an equally insignificant theatre was beyond me, but after my last article for them, a misunderstood piece of writing that I need not go into, I was eager for a chance to vindicate myself. From the very first look at the dismal place I could see that the play would be a shambles. The building was old and might have pulled off the Edwardian look had it not been for the flashing neon blinking above the atrium.The letters should have read ‘Brunswick Community Theatre’ but due to vandalism or carelessness the letters, ‘B’, ‘u’, ‘C’, both ‘m’s, ‘h’ and ‘r’ were all missing. With each flash, the ruined wording illuminated the pock-marked façade; one could see holes where bricks used to be and the smashed windows on the side of the building. For a few seconds, at regular intervals, crude graffiti and overflowing

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