It happens every few years. An artistic director leaves a theatre; another steps up or down or sideways to take the position; a third follows. Within months a sweeping change has occurred and the theatrical landscape looks entirely different.
After the last spin of the wheel in 2019 the crucial changes were immediately evident. They marked the beginning of the end of a particular hegemony: that of the white British male. This time the alterations are inspiriting in a different way. The talent and the zeal, the raring-to-go of the directors taking up new positions, have survived one of the bleakest of arts eras. In lockdown the stage was shredded: the National Theatre in London was wrapped up in barrier tape saying “Missing Live Theatre”; freelance performers, designers and directors were stripped of all income, often forced to leave their professions. In the social distancing that followed, auditoriums looked like crime scenes, with seats sealed off.
