Theatres and Theatres
In praise of Denys Lasdun, some Brutalist loveliness, and some possible tips
I spent Tuesday in the Royal College of Physicians, that 1960-64 modernist edifice designed by Denys Lasdun. I’d often skirted it, and had always wanted to get inside, but had never managed before, so it was a treat to be asked to talk there at an Institute of Historic Building Conservation conference. Like a lot of the most handsome mid-century buildings all of that micro-mosaic cladding the exterior gives the vast, smooth planes of the surface a subtle texture, so that the design simultaneously works at maxi and micro scale. The great horizontals and the way the stairs cascade sown to the half-levels below creates a kind of homage to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater. As with the National Theatre, the interiors play with the idea of what you can and cannot see, both buildings hiding theatres where the real work is done. Cylindrical stairwells and vertical windows cutting across horizontal slabs show how the organisation of interior elements are also made sculptural and beautiful.
Lasdun’s work contains some of the most celebrated modernist architecture in Britain. The RCP; the National Theatre; the ziggurats at the University of East Anglia; his cluster blocks Keeling House, Trevelyan House and Sulkin House; the list goes on. For years I worked by the Institute of Education off Russell Square, with its the Georgian-influenced regularity at the front and its landscape-forming complexity at the rear, which really showcased the themes of much of his work – restrained elegance, pleasing rhythms, formidable control and sculptural surprise. His work has been very much part of my life since I was a teenager. I first visited the National Theatre when on a theatre trip for my A-levels. After that it felt like a gateway into London. Where other people apparently saw forbidding concrete and gloom I saw a place of cosy nooks, man-made landscapes and welcoming wings.
He was, by all accounts, a bit of a fussy bugger, popping by unannounced to the National to point out that lighting had been fiddled with or seating compromised. But this is understandable: in an age where postwar architecture was thought to be utilitarian and functional, his buildings are much more than that: they create an atmosphere, they celebrate light and beauty and intimacy and grandeur. And so they are not to be treated lightly, they are serious spaces that uplift the spirits.
It’s rare that such grand architecture plays such an intimate role in our lives. Usually they are places we can visit but not hang out, pass by but not be invited in. Our luck has been that the management of the National Theatre has allowed the building to fulfil the purpose of Lasdun’s design, to become a welcoming community rather than an aloof monument. So it was great to be able to explore a little of the Royal College of Physicians, to see how his familiar techniques of creating smaller spaces that open out onto others rather than starting out overwhelmingly large were honed in this earlier public building.
So, thanks Denys. All these decades on people are still wowed by the buildings and excited to experience them in the flesh. Apart from the people who aren’t wowed, of course, but that’s what happens when you have a vision: it’s unlikely to be universal, but it can be profoundly moving.
These two beauties are the latest from Blue Crow. The Brutalist Calendar 2025 features incredible photography of, among others, Theatr Ardudwy in Harlech by Simon Phipps, Gropius’s Thomas-Glaswerk in Amberg, by Erich Spahn and Rosklide Water Tower by Roberto Conte. Looking forward to that cragging up my office next year. And then there’s possibly the cutest thing going, a Modernist Weekly Planner for 2025, a week per page elegantly laid out, with a facing page of gorgeous architectural or interior photography, as colourful as the calendar is monochrome. Every spread is a mid-century delight.
You can get both from various indie retailers, Bookshop.org and from Blue Crow’s shop.
Last week I spent on the edge of Dartmoor tutoring on an Arvon non-fiction writing course with the mighty Jude Rogers. By the end of the week all the writers who came along had produced stellar work, and the whole setting and experience proved pretty transformative (I don’t know if, as a tutor, I was supposed to be one of the people feeling that, but hey, it was an extra bonus!). We did a lot of writing exercises, and I shared lessons from my experience of having written five books, and also having worked in publishing for over two decades. Returning home made me think, perhaps I should share a few of those exercises on here too. I know the people who read this seem to be a super-creative bunch.
If you’d be interested in a non-fiction writing tip or exercise per newsletter let me know, and if so I’ll start in the next one. I certainly don’t have all the answers when it comes to writing non-fiction, but I have some ideas that might help you structure your work, break you out of ways of thinking about your topic, and I have experience of just getting to the end, all of which I know can be difficult to achieve on your own if it’s your first go. If it sounds useful comment below and I’ll start to formulate some ideas.
Yes, tips are always welcome. Thank you!
Having been one of the writers on John’s course, I can say that his writing tips are not only hugely practical & useful, they are also thought provoking & inspiring - though anyone who reads his writing on here won’t be surprised