United in Dreams, Divided by Realities

William Dobell - Young Man Sleeping , 1935

‘All happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’
Leo Tolstoy, ‘Anna Karenina’

I read recently about a study into the brain activity of optimists and pessimists. (Kaya Burgess, The Times, 21 July 2025. Full report published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.)

Japanese researchers recruited 87 respondents with predispositions ranging from sunny optimism to grim pessimism. The subjects were fitted with equipment that recorded their brain activity through functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI). They were then asked to imagine themselves or their partners experiencing various future scenarios. These included positive events, such as taking a trip around the world; neutral events, such as submitting their CV for a job application; and negative events, such as being diagnosed with a serious illness.

The researchers found that participants who scored highly for optimism displayed very similar patterns of neural activity. Pessimists, however, exhibited a much wider, more diverse, idiosyncratic, range of brain activity.

‘Optimistic individuals consistently exhibit convergent neural representations, reflecting shared patterns of episodic future thinking, whereas less optimistic individuals demonstrate increased variability.’

In short, as The Times put it, 'optimists are on the same wavelength, but no two pessimists are alike.'

This study prompted me to reflect on my own experiences developing communication strategies across different sectors, target groups and geographies.

It is often noted that brands can achieve intimate connections with consumers by reflecting nuanced insight into the particular realities of their everyday lives; that winning campaigns are characterised by well observed, granular analysis of the challenges that ordinary people face. This is true. But when one is advertising big brands over broad territories, it is harder to find unifying behaviours and beliefs. Cultures and communities differ so dramatically. 

Nonetheless, diverse consumer groups do tend to share the same general hopes and dreams for the future: for romance, freedom and independence; for trust, security and wellbeing; for friendship, family and community. And so the ambitious international advertiser is wise to focus on aspiration: fundamental desires, shared yearnings, unifying goals.

As we used to say back then: we are united in dreams, but divided by realities. 

'Don't let the sun catch you crying.
The night's the time for all your tears.
Your heart may be broken tonight,
But tomorrow in the morning light
Don't let the sun catch you crying.
The night time shadows disappear
And with them go all your tears.
For the morning will bring joy
For every girl and boy.
So don't let the sun catch you crying.’

Gerry and the Pacemakers, 'Don't Let the Sun Catch You Crying’ (G Marsden, F Marsden, L Chadwick, L Maguire) 

No.538

Sargent’s Heiresses: In Generalising, We Should Not Lose Sight of People’s Individuality

John Singer Sargent - Mary Crowninshield Endicott Chamberlain (1902)

I recently visited a small exhibition of John Singer Sargent’s portraits of American heiresses. (‘Heiress’ is at Kenwood, London until 5 October.) 

‘I thoroly [sic] dislike…these international marriages…which are not even matches of esteem and liking, but which are based upon the sale of the girl for her money and the purchase of the man for his title.’
Theodore Roosevelt, 1906

Between 1870 and 1914, 102 American women married into the British peerage, and many more into the upper classes. Sargent, who was himself an American, painted more than thirty of them. Most were post-marriage and in their twenties. 

The heiresses were admired for their beauty, style, wit and intelligence. They were often sporty - riding, hunting, fishing and playing golf. They immersed themselves in British life, joining charitable institutions, overseeing the restoration of the great country houses. During the First World War many worked for the Red Cross.

However, establishment figures on both sides of the Atlantic spoke out against the marriages. The ‘dollar princesses’ were characterised as ‘sad poachers,’ the British peers as feckless fools.

‘There is always a British title going a-begging – always some decayed or degenerative or semi-drunken peer, whose fortunes are on the verge of black ruin, ready and willing to devour, monster-like… an American virgin, provided bags of bullion are flung, with her, into his capacious maw.’
Marie Corelli, 1905

John Singer Sargent - 'Mrs. Wilton Phipps', 1884

As the Kenwood curators point out, there was a good deal of stereotyping and misogyny at play here. 

‘Stereotyping usually involves people of a different nationality, social class, or gender, but the American heiress stereotype embraces all three.’
Maureen Montgomery, ‘Gilded Prostitution’ (1989)

The exhibition endeavours to set the record straight, by accompanying each of Sargent’s portraits with a miniature biography of the sitter. 

What emerges is a compelling cast of distinctive characters.

Margaret Leiter, Countess of Suffolk, drove fast cars and had her own plane and helicopter. Grace Hinds, Marchioness Curzon of Kedleston, had a relationship with Sir Oswald Mosley, who was also the lover of all three of her stepdaughters. When Eloise Breese, Countess of Ancaster, ended her affair with Lord Londonderry, she sent all his presents back in a sack. Consuelo Yznaga del Valle, Duchess of Manchester, smoked cigars and played Louisiana folk songs on her banjo.

‘Oh! I am a true American in my love for everything bright and cheerful about me… I can’t bear darkness and gloom, I like sunshine and light, and plenty of both!’ 
Consuelo Yznaga del Valle, 1891

John Singer Sargent - Nancy Witcher Langhorne, Viscountess Astor (1908)

Many of the heiresses had singular talents and used their position for the benefit of others. Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, working as a Councillor for Southwark, secured a minimum wage for women in ‘sweated’ trades. Adele Grant, Countess of Essex, was a vegetarian activist. Pauline Astor, a noted gardener, developed new strains of rhododendrons and azaleas. Nancy Langhorne, Viscountess Astor, became the first woman to take her seat as an MP, and campaigned for women’s issues, and against unemployment and alcohol. 

‘I know what I am talking about, and you must remember that women have got a vote now and we mean to use it, and use it wisely, not for the benefit of any section of society, but for the benefit of the whole.’
Viscountess Astor, maiden speech in the House of Commons, 1920

The ‘Heiress’ exhibition may give commercial strategists pause for thought. We are in the business of segmenting and categorising audiences. We make assumptions and take overviews. We simplify, summarise and abstract. But in so doing, we should never lose sight of the fact that, at the heart of our analyses, reside unique human beings, with their own quite distinct behaviours and beliefs; their own very particular lives.

In generalising, we should not lose sight of people’s individuality.

'I don't want to ball about like everybody else,
And I don't want to live my life like everybody else,
And I won't say that I feel fine like everybody else.
'Cause I'm not like everybody else.
I'm not like everybody else.
But darling, you know that I love you true,
I'd do anything that you want me to,
Confess all my sins like you want me to,
There's one thing that I will say to you:
I'm not like everybody else.
I'm not like everybody else.’

The Kinks, 'I'm Not Like Everybody Else’ (R Davies)

No. 537

The Double Denim Marketing Meeting: Can a Corporation Be Original?

Through the ‘90s and ‘00s, I attended many meetings of European Levi’s clients as a representative of their advertising agency, BBH. At these events the senior executives would generally demonstrate their commitment to the brand by sporting a selection of workwear – bleached jeans, checked or chambray shirts, trucker jackets - perhaps finishing off their outfits with an ornate brass belt-buckle. It was like a marketing meeting crossed with a rodeo. 

Only the Italian delegation broke with this sartorial strategy. Whilst happy to sell denim to young consumers, they did not regard it as appropriate corporate attire. And so they turned up at the international conferences in elegant slacks, smart shirts and sports jackets. I rather admired their independent spirit.

I recall a particular exchange with the most senior Italian executive, Tullio, a dapper silver-haired gentleman, who always had a cashmere sweater casually slung over his shoulders.

The agency had been presenting an argument that Levi’s, as the creator of the original jean, the 501, should sustain its primacy in the category by continuing to originate. Only through ongoing innovation, we argued, could the brand maintain its sector dominance.

Tullio objected. He could not comprehend our reasoning.

‘I’m sorry. But Levi’s is a huge American corporation. It can be many things. It can be efficient, dynamic, in touch with trends. It can be successful. But it cannot be original. To be original you need an exceptional talent, a unique individual.’

He raised his hands in an expressive gesture.

‘You need a genius… like Georgio Armani.’

I have always thought that Tullio was posing a compelling question: can a modern business, with all its complex processes, disciplines and hierarchies; with all its sophisticated systems, checks and balances, genuinely innovate? 

We all celebrate innovation as the magical ingredient of commerce – the factor that sets a business apart, that gives it a competitive edge, that builds the foundations for future growth. But innovation is hard to cultivate. It can be inconsistent and temperamental; unruly and unpredictable. It requires investment and patience, and the empowerment of free-thinking mavericks; of troublesome, independent creative talent. 

Originality is more than just a set of clothes you put on in the morning.

'Girl, put your records on.
Tell me your favourite song,
You go ahead, let your hair down.
Sapphire and faded jeans,
I hope you get your dreams.
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.’

Corinne Bailey-Rae, 'Put Your Records On’ (J Beck / S Chrisanthou / C Bailey-Rae)

No. 536

Millet: The Dignity of Labour

Millet - The Angelus. 1857-1859

I recently attended a small, one-room exhibition of the art of Jean-Francois Millet. (‘Life on the Land’ is at The National Gallery, London, until 19 October.)

Born in Normandy in 1814, into a prosperous farming family, Millet helped work the fields as a child. Having studied painting in Cherbourg and Paris, in 1849 he moved to the village of Barbizon. At a time when people were deserting the country for cities and factories, he celebrated the industry and integrity of the rural peasantry. 

Millet - The Sower 1814 - 1875

In a gloomy barn, a winnower shakes a wide, shallow basket, to separate the wheat from the chaff. In the moonlight, a milkmaid steadies herself, as she carries a copper pitcher, secured to her shoulder by a leather strap. On a bleak hillside, a sower stumbles across a field, throwing grain from his heavy sack. Two sawyers toil in harmony, facing each other across an imposing tree trunk. A line of women stoops under their hefty loads of faggots. An exhausted goose girl rests her head on her staff, ignoring the honking birds at her feet. A barefooted shepherdess, propping herself against a tree, directs a wistful gaze towards us from under her hood.

Millet rarely used posed models, instead working from quick life sketches. Faces were not painted in detail. Character was conveyed through physicality, posture and bearing; through stretch and strain, twist and turn. These realistic, unsentimental images suggest quiet resolution, silent dignity.

Millet - Norman Milkmaid. 1871

The star of the show is 'The Angelus,' created in 1859. It’s sunset, and, as the Angelus bell chimes in a distant church, a husband and wife set aside their fork, cart and basket of potatoes, and stand in the fields with their heads bowed. He, in a teal jacket and clogs, has removed his black felt cap; she, wearing a blue apron and yellow headscarf, clasps her hands in prayer.

‘The idea for ‘The Angelus’ came to me because I remembered that my grandmother, hearing the church bell ringing while we were working in the fields, always made us stop work to say the Angelus prayer for the poor dead, very piously and hat in hand.’

Jean-Francois Millet

Millet - THe Goose Girl at Gruchy. 1854-6

Nowadays we understandably expect employment to be challenging, fun, inspiring. We want careers where we can learn, develop and grow. And yet, at a fundamental level, work offers purpose, meaning, identity; a feeling of fulfilment as an individual, and a sense of belonging to society. 

We should remember the inherent dignity of labour.

'Oh, I'm out here trying to make it,
Woman can't you see?
It takes a lot of money to make it,
Let's talk truthfully.
So keep your love light burning,
Oh, you've gotta have a little faith.
You might as well get used to me
Coming home a little late.
Oh, I got work to do
I got a job baby.
I got work to do.
I got work to do.
I'm taking care of business, woman can't you see?
I gotta make it for you, I gotta make it for me.
Don't wanna make you feel I'm neglecting you,
I'd love to spend more time, 
But I got so many things to do.
Oh, I got work to do
I got work baby.
I got a job baby.
I got work to do, everybody's got work to do.’

The Isley Brothers, ‘Work To Do’ (O'kelly Isley / Ronald Isley / Rudolph Isley)

No. 535 

Good Night, Oscar: Where Is the Line and When Do You Cross It?

Sean Hayes and Rosalie Craig as Oscar and June Levant in 'Good Night, Oscar'

‘It’s not what you are; it’s what you don’t become that hurts.’
Oscar Levant

Doug Wright’s splendid play ‘Good Night, Oscar’ (The Barbican Theatre, London until 21 September) considers (in Wright’s words) ‘the thin line between entertainment and exploitation; the cost of entertainment to the individual; censorship and what constitutes acceptable humour in our increasingly tender age.’

Oscar: What the world needs is more geniuses with humility. There are so few of us left.

It’s 1958 and Jack Paar, the smooth-talking host of NBC’s The Tonight Show, is asked by studio executive Bob Sarnoff to defend his decision to invite Oscar Levant as a guest. Levant is an accomplished pianist, composer and raconteur. But he is also unreliable, irascible and outspoken.

Jack: Folks are in bed, watching the TV screen through their feet, and Oscar jolts them awake. They know he’s a goddamn lion, and all I’ve got is a whip and a cane-back chair. And for that they’re willing to pay five hundred bucks for a twenty-one inch Zenith, and go to work groggy every morning. All in the hope that they’ll catch him saying something on television they know damn well that you can’t say on television. That’s the moment no one wants to miss.

When we meet Levant, we discover a morose man, with poor posture and shabby clothes. A superstitious hypochondriac, prone to mood swings and addicted to pills, he suffers obsessive compulsive disorder, and has a ritualised way of smoking a cigarette and preparing coffee. He is always in search of ‘a new audience for old stories.’

 Oscar: Underneath this flabby exterior, there’s an enormous lack of character.

We also learn that Levant has recently been committed by his wife June to the Mount Sinai mental health facility, and that he’s only been released today on a four-hour pass.

Oscar: She’s a cunning woman, my wife. She drove me crazy, then had me committed. Talk about your perfect crimes… 

Jack Paar hosting The Tonght Show

When a sceptical Sarnoff asks Levant to sketch out the interview in advance of the show, Levant is incensed.

Oscar: You’re gonna kill the one thing you’ve got going for you? Spontaneity?

Sarnoff explains that some themes are out of bounds.

Bob: There are just a few topics we’d like you to avoid – the same ones you’d avoid at, say, a dinner party.`
Oscar: I don’t go to dinner parties…I don’t like it when people watch me eat.

Sarnoff perseveres, and contends that a chat show should not take viewers by surprise, shock them, or make them uncomfortable.

Oscar: You know what people do when they’re surprised, uncomfortable and shocked?...They laugh.

Finally, for complete clarity, Sarnoff demands that Levant steers clear of politics, religion and sex.

Oscar: You just took the whole world off the table!...What else is there? Take away the big three, there’s nothing left. What’re we gonna joke about? The weather?... 

At length Parr and Levant embark on the interview, and, perhaps inevitably, Levant ignores all the warnings, and cracks jokes about politics, religion and sex.

Oscar: You know what a politician is, don’t you? A man who’ll double cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Oscar: We have a great deal in common, [my wife] and I. Neither of us can stand me… I asked her once if she’d ever divorce me. ”Nah,” she told me. “I’m a good Catholic. I’d murder you instead.”

Oscar: Oh, sex is a topic I can’t resist. I’ve been married for nineteen years, so I’m very nostalgic about it.

After the show, as the recriminations fly, it’s left to Levant’s wife to point out that culpability does not entirely reside with Levant.

June: You don’t book a zebra and then bitch about its stripes. My husband makes people laugh. But laughter’s not innocent, Mr Sarnoff; don’t pretend it is, because that’s a lie. It always comes at a cost. To someone.

Oscar and June Levant

We in the world of commercial communication may recognise the themes explored in ‘Good Night, Oscar’. On the one hand, we don’t want to disturb or upset our audiences. And we are bound to be ‘legal, decent, honest, and truthful.’ On the other hand, we aim to cut through: to earn attention, admiration, affection, recall.

It’s incredibly difficult for Clients and Account Teams to draw the line: to define the parameters of what is acceptable. And while Creatives may not actively seek to cross that line, they will understandably endeavour to dance on it.

Oscar: Analyzing a joke, it’s like dissecting a frog. When you take it apart, you find out what it’s made of, but you kill it in the process.

I’m not sure this is an area where rigid distinctions and literal limitations help that much. Ultimately, what is called for is taste and judgement; an appreciation of where culture is right now; and a commitment to  truth.

Oscar: The best jokes? The ones worth tellin’? They’re dangerous on account’a they tell the truth.

'If I expected love when first we kissed,
Blame it on my youth.
If only just for you I did exist,
Blame it on my youth.
I believed in everything,
Like a child of three.
You meant more than anything,
All the world to me.
If you were on my mind all night and day,
Blame it on my youth.
If I forgot to eat and sleep and pray,
Blame it on my youth.
And if I cried a little bit when first I learned the truth,
Don't blame it on my heart,
Blame it on my youth.
Nat King Cole, ‘Blame It On My Youth’ (O Levant / E Heyman)

No. 534

Zambian Chimpanzees with Grass in Their Ears: Stop Making Sense

Edwin J. C. van Leeuwen et al / Animal Cognition

I read recently (Rhys Blakely, The Times, 9 July 2025) that Zambian chimpanzees have taken to placing blades of grass in their ears. This practice seems to have no practical purpose. It’s just a fashionable trend or fad.

Dr Jake Brooker of Durham University, co-author of a study published in the journal Behaviour, commented:

‘This isn’t about cracking nuts or fishing for termites. It’s more like chimpanzee fashion. It mirrors how human cultural fads spread: someone starts doing something, others copy it, and it becomes part of the group identity, even if it serves no clear purpose -  and even if it’s sometimes uncomfortable.’

The chimpanzees with grass in their ears were observed in one tightly bonded group at the Chimfunshi Wildlife Orphanage. As juveniles they had been rescued from the illegal pet trade, and their time in captivity may account for their modish behaviour.

‘They don’t have to stay as alert or spend as much time searching for food. That may give them more cognitive room for play, experimentation and copying each other.’
Dr Edwin van Leeuwen, Utrecht University

The grass-in-the-ear trend is in fact a revival. It was first seen more than a decade ago among a separate group at the Chimfunshi refuge. The best fashions - like smocks, white socks and doing your top button up - always come back.

Chimpanzees have often been seen engaging in seemingly pointless activities – such as throwing rocks at trees, or creating collections of stones. In east Africa chimps have been recorded drumming with syncopated jazz beats (whereas in west Africa they prefer a 4/4 rock rhythm).

And it’s not just monkeys that are fond of fashion. Orcas living in the Pacific Northwest were recently observed wearing ‘salmon hats’: swimming around with dead fish on their heads.

Such eccentric behaviours may not have a functional survival benefit. But they could still have a purpose. Researchers have observed that they enable self-expression and strengthen social bonds. Shared rituals signal membership of the group.

Those of us working in the communication business should be mindful of this. Our strategies tend to assume that consumers are entirely sensible, practical, predictable. 

The truth is we all do daft things. Our behaviour is often inconsistent, illogical, absurd. 

‘It is human nature to think wisely and act in an absurd fashion.’
Anatole France

Sometimes we need to stop making sense.

'Pretty women out walking with gorillas down my street.
From my window I'm staring while my coffee goes cold.
Look over there (where?)
There, there's a lady that I used to know.
She's married now, or engaged, or something, so I am told.
Is she really going out with him?
Is she really gonna take him home tonight?
Is she really going out with him?
Because if my eyes don't deceive me
There's something going wrong around here.’

Joe Jackson, 'Is She Really Going Out With Him?'

No. 533

Emily Kam Kngwarray: Paint What You Know

Emily Kam Kngwarray, Ntang Dreaming 1989
National Gallery of Australia. © Estate of Emily Kam Kngwarray / DACS 2024, All rights reserved

I recently enjoyed a survey of the work of Australian artist Emily Kam Kngwarray
(Tate Modern, London until 11 January 2026)

‘I keep on painting the place that belongs to me – I never change from painting that place.’
Emily Kam Kngwarray

Born around 1914 in the Northern Territory, Kngwarray spent much of her adult life watching cattle and sheep, working in kitchens and minding children. She spoke little English. In her mid-60s, she took a course in batik - decorating cloth using wax and dye – and by the early 1980s, her art was recognised and exhibited internationally. In 1988, she turned to painting - on large canvases, in thin, quick-drying acrylics. She was incredibly productive, creating some 3,000 paintings in the last six or seven years of her life. (She died in 1996.)

Emily Kam Kngwarray, not titled, 1981
National Gallery of Australia. © Estate of Emily Kam Kngwarray / DACS 2024, All rights reserved

In amongst the sinuous lines, the shimmering dots, daubs and dabs of white, red, yellow and ochre, we can make out foliage and flowers, seeds and skeletons. Through the organic scrawls, we can detect emu tracks, branches, insects, lizards and yams. We marvel at the heat and dust, the starry nights; the repeated rhythms and pulsating patterns; the constellations of colour. We may be looking at the earth or the sky; close-up or far-away. The images seem to vibrate. They are alive, haunted by ancestral spirits. 

Kngwarray’s mesmerising, dizzying work expressed the depth of her relationship with her Alhalker home country, a land of low-lying ridges and rocky outcrops, woodlands and sandplains, waterholes and watercourses; a land she never left. She painted what she knew.

‘The pencil yam grows in our country – it belongs to us – the anwerlarr yam. They are found growing up along the creek banks. That’s what I painted.’

Emily Kam Kngwarray, Kam, 1991. Collection of National Gallery of Victoria, Naarm /Narrm / Melbourne, purchased from Admission Funds, 1992. © Emily Kam Kngwarray / Copyright Agency. Licensed by DACS 2025. Courtesy National Gallery of Australia, Canberra and Tate Modern, London

Kngwarray teaches creative people to seek inspiration on their doorsteps; to regard more closely, and consider more deeply, their local culture and lands. There is beauty in the everyday, enchantment in the ordinary, magic in the familiar.

'Many times I've been told,
Speak your mind, just be bold.
So I'll close my eyes,
Look behind,
Moving on, moving on.
So I'll close my eyes,
And the tears will clear,
Then I feel no fear,
Then I'd feel no way.
My paths will remain straight.
Home again,
Home again.
One day I know,
I'll feel home again.'
Michael Kiwanuka, ‘Home Again’ (M Kiwanuka / M Leroy)

No. 532

Learning to Abstract: Art Helps Us See the Bigger Picture

Lucie Rie - Bowl

'The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.’
Aristotle

I read recently about a study into the impact of art on our day-to-day thought processes. (Rhys Blakely, The Times, 6 May 2025)

A team of researchers from the University of Cambridge recruited 187 visitors to an exhibition of work by ceramicist Lucie Rie at the local Kettle’s Yard gallery.

One group of visitors was invited actively to consider and then rate the beauty of the objects they viewed. (Rie’s art was chosen because it prompts quiet contemplation.) The other group was simply asked to match line drawings of the artworks with the real things.

The respondents were then tested on how they process information – whether in a practical or abstract way. For example, does ‘writing a letter’ just mean putting pen to paper, or does it mean sharing your thoughts? Is ‘voting’ just marking a ballot paper, or influencing an election? Is ‘locking a door’ inserting a key, or securing a house?

The researchers found that those in the ‘beauty group’ were 14% more likely to choose the more abstract interpretations. These same respondents also reported feeling moved, enlightened and inspired.

Professor Simone Schnall, senior author of the study (which was published in the journal Empirical Studies of the Arts), observed that taking time to contemplate art induces ‘psychological distancing’, a stepping back from your own thoughts, allowing for greater clarity and a healthier perspective. 

‘Our research indicates that engaging with the beauty of art can enhance abstract thinking and promote a different mindset to our everyday patterns of thought, shifting us into a more expansive state of mind. One snaps out of the mental trappings of daily life and focuses more on the overall picture.’

Professor Schnall concluded that art can help free us from the everyday anxieties of the social media age.

'People today are often tethered to their devices, and we usually think in very concrete terms when we’re doing something on a screen. It’s becoming much rarer to zone out and just let the mind wander, but that’s when we think in ways that broaden our horizons. Admiring the beauty of art may be the ideal way to trigger the abstract cognitive processes increasingly lost in a world of screens and smartphones.’

This research should resonate with Strategists, because the ability to abstract is fundamental to our craft. The best Strategists can distance themselves from events and survey the scene. They can observe patterns, movements, trends and directions in diverse datasets and variegated consumer behaviour. They can identify and articulate the unifying idea in seemingly separate executions. They can review the options and see the bigger picture.

The best Strategists take a step back, in order to move forward.

On a more melancholy note, though the mode of thinking differed across the two groups in the study, the mood did not. Art can expand your mind, but it can’t make you happier.

'Expand your mind
To understand
We all must live
In peace together.
Extend your hand
To help the plan
Of love through all
Mankind on Earth.’

Lonnie Liston Smith & The Cosmic Echoes, ‘Expansions'

No. 531

Ellen Terry: ‘All Divine Things Run on Light Feet’

Julia Margaret Cameron’s photograph of Ellen Terry at the age of 16

Ellen: I’ve never understood why ‘theatrical’ should be a term of abuse… Nobody says of music that it’s too musical, why then do they say of theatre that it’s too theatrical?

Recently, I very much enjoyed ‘Grace Pervades’, a new play by David Hare that reflects on the nature of theatre and the acting life. (The Theatre Royal, Bath. Now over, but there’ll be a London transfer to the Theatre Royal, Haymarket from April 2026.)

Irving: Did you know that in Shakespeare there are seventeen ‘no’s to every one ‘yes’?... All his power is in the negative.

We meet Henry Irving (Ralph Fiennes), the towering figure of the nineteenth century British stage. He is lofty, awkward and gloomy, has a leg that drags slightly, and a deep voice that pronounces ‘god’ as ‘gud.’  

Irving: My critics accuse me of being dour… An evening in my company can on occasions be very grim.

Irving has built his formidable reputation on Shakespearean tragedies and historical pageants. And he is rather dismissive of modern writers like Ibsen, Strindberg and Shaw.

Irving: Too small. Too petty. Not large enough… People arguing isn’t theatre. People making points. 

Irving, planning to establish a new theatre company at the Lyceum in London (‘A company of equals in which I am the boss.’), enlists Ellen Terry (Miranda Raison) to join his players. She, by contrast with the great actor-manager, is cheerful, spontaneous and talkative; and her performing style is light, airy and understated.

Ellen: People say, ‘Oh she’s so natural,’ as if I were making no effort. It infuriates me…They don’t seem to realise floating is a technique.

Terry refuses to be a slave to tradition. In preparation for playing Ophelia, she visits an asylum, and she proposes to break with convention by playing her mad scene in white. She also tries to persuade Irving to put on more of Shakespeare’s comedies.

Ellen: Nobody needs to be told that life is terrible. They know it already. Tragedy is for people who don’t understand life and need it explained to them. Comedy is for those who already know.

Though very different characters, with very different approaches to their craft, Irving and Terry strike up an enduring partnership, which makes the Lyceum venture a roaring success. Terry is even emboldened to offer Irving some advice.

Ellen: I have a feeling that your acting could be improved if from time to time you directed your gaze at the other actor.

I was taken with Terry’s description of her own naturalistic acting style. 

Ellen: I put in just as much effort as anyone else, but I aim to excel at not letting it show.

For Terry, ease, grace and spontaneity are fundamental to her technique. 

Ellen: Myself, I never leave the dressing room till the last possible moment. I put down the newspaper I am reading, or the light novel, I fly down the stairs, sometimes I confess I even take the banisters, and then at the last possible moment – I pass. I pass from one world to another. I cross the invisible line between the real world and the imagined. 

In the field of commerce, it’s quite common for executives to make very public displays of their effort and industry. Confronted with a crisis, they are overwrought, melodramatic, histrionic. Their stress is contagious, their pessimism infectious. And inevitably they have an adverse impact on morale.

Ellen: I don’t regard actors who sweat and spit as especially accomplished. Grunting and heaving. That kind of behaviour belongs more properly on a building site.

I have always admired those who display calm under pressure, who radiate positivity and poise; cool-headed confidence and serene unflappability. I worked for many years at BBH with the incomparable Jon Peppiatt. He made every problem seem soluble, every barrier passable, every goal possible. As AA Gill wrote of the work of PG Wodehouse:

‘Success is not achieved, it is underachieved.’

John Singer Sargent, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 1889, Tate Britain, London, UK.

Henry Irving is widely credited with making theatre respectable in Britain. A hard taskmaster, at the Lyceum he raised standards of both performance and staging, significantly increasing the numbers of actors, stagehands and designers. Motivating his staff with better pay and lavish parties, he was also a master of publicity, cultivating the press and royalty. In 1895 he became the first actor to be awarded a knighthood. He died in 1905, aged 67, having suffered a stroke at the end of a performance of Becket at the Theatre Royal, Bradford. Legend has it that his last lines on stage were ‘Into thy hands, O Lord, into thy hands.’ 

Ellen Terry was Irving’s leading lady for more than two decades. Touring extensively with him in Britain and America, she was much loved by the public, and was immortalised in a painting by Sargent. After Irving’s death, she performed the plays of Shaw and Ibsen, appeared in silent films and lectured on Shakespeare’s heroines. Her career lasted nearly seven decades. She is particularly remembered for her naturalistic style. In ‘Grace Pervades’ she quotes Friedrich Nietzsche:

‘All divine things run on light feet.’

'On the roller coaster ride
That my emotions have to take me on,
I heard a newborn baby cry
Through the night.
I heard a perfect echo die
Into an anonymous wall of digital sound,
Somewhere deep inside
Of my soul.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.
Don't judge yourself too harsh, my love.
Or someday you might find your soul endangered.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.’
Neil Young, 'Natural Beauty'

No. 530

The Mystifying Mentor: Choose Carefully, Listen Selectively

Giovanni Boldini: Conversation at the Café 

I had arrived early for lunch, and so found myself listening to the conversation at the next table.

Two polished American women, one mature and the other in her twenties, were meeting for the first time. The younger woman was keen to establish her credentials with a quick trot through her resume.

‘Well, what can I say? I’m from Upstate New York, I was educated at Notre Dame and Columbia, and I’ve settled in London after studying at the LSE. I totally love the UK and I’m not going back. I’m in sports marketing now. I’m pretty self-confident, so it suits me.’

The mature woman remained silent, staring intently at her companion, her head inclined to one side. The younger woman continued.

‘When I first came to this city, I rented in Shoreditch. That was not good…’

She seemed suddenly distressed at the memory.

‘So I found myself in Kensington, which is fantastic. I tend to weekend in the Cotswolds. Heavenly. In fact, I had a birthday celebration there last weekend. It was quite indulgent actually. I hosted some girlfriends at a wonderful country house with a pool and a spa. On the Friday we dined at a cute country pub and then on Saturday we hired in a chef to cook dinner. We had such an elegant time.’

At this point the mature woman raised a hand.

‘Let me stop you there, Lauren. First of all, you should never apologise for spending your hard-earned money. It’s important for a woman to be ostentatious with her wealth.’

Lauren nodded appreciatively. I realised that I was witnessing a mentoring session.

‘Secondly, I notice that you’ve said “I am” a number of times. “I am American. I am self-confident. I am in sports marketing.”… Do not start any sentence with “I am.” It boxes you in, limits your horizons, constricts your growth. You should be whoever or whatever you want to be. You should always be the best advocate for yourself.’

Lauren looked a little puzzled, but gamely accepted the advice.

‘Oh, that’s really very helpful. Thank you so much.’

This exchange gave me pause for thought. 

We’re all encouraged to do a little mentoring nowadays. I do some myself. It makes sense for people who have been down the road before, to highlight for the next generation the challenges and opportunities that lie ahead. Mentors offer fresh perspectives, prompt self-awareness, build confidence.

But some mentors may be less relevant to contemporary tasks and careers. Some may have a very particular perspective. Some may talk well-intentioned gibberish. 

If you’re looking for a mentor, you should not assume that old heads are wise heads; that all advice is good advice. You should choose carefully and listen critically. 

The women continued with their discussion – earnest, intense, focused. 

I was distracted over lunch. How on earth was I going to navigate the challenge of never saying “I am“ again?

‘Let me down easy,
Though your love for me is all gone.
Let me down easy,
Since you feel to stay is wrong.
I know it's all over,
Except the last goodbye.
Let me down easy,
When you pass by me.
Say hello once in a while,
When you pass by me, baby,
Does it hurt so much to smile?
We promised that we'd still be friends 'til the very end.
I'm begging you, baby, please, let me down easy.’

Bettye Lavette, ‘Let Me Down Easy’ (W Holloway)

No. 529