The yards of column space that have already been expended on these
diaries tend to dwell (rather disapprovingly) on Kenneth Tynan's
sado-masochism. The Oxford-educated boy genius turned theatre
critic, hitherto best known for daring to use the F-word on
television, will now go down in history as a compulsive
disciplinarian and pervert. It's true that sex suffuses these
diaries, whether it be the famous spanking sessions with mistress
Nicole (and sundry other pick-ups) the live sex shows in Hamburg or
the porn movies, watched, with deliciously guilty pleasure, in the
unlikely company of Princess Margaret. But there is much more
besides, for these diaries are packed to the hilt with colourful
anecdotes (smoking pot with Peter Sellers, hanging out on the set
of Roman Polanski's Macbeth), wry observations, bon mots, quotes
from friends and from whatever Ken happens to be reading. A
veritable treasure trove of titbits, funny and frank by turns, they
also provide a vivid record of the time (the early 1970s) when they
were written the films, the plays, the politics, the big sports
events (of Muhammed Ali's defeat by Joe Frazier in 1971, Tynan
writes: 'there is breathtaking hubris he reminds one of a beautiful
butch queer savouring the ecstasy of being beaten up and rolled by
a bit of rough trade'). Alas, by the end, a rather depressing
picture emerges, of a gifted but hopelessly narcissistic aesthete,
cigarette permanently dangling from effete fingertips, who never
achieved his full potential, worn down and eventually disillusioned
by the soul-destroying struggle to raise finance for his (largely
unrealized) film and theatre projects. In the end he was 'just a
critic', but a truly great one, with a rare gift for wordplay. John
Lahr's pedantic (and sometimes inaccurate) annotations grate
somewhat, but otherwise, this is a journal to rank alongside the
Alan Clark Diaries and the Letters of William Burroughs in its
brazen shamelessness, its love of language and razor-sharp wit.
(Kirkus UK)
A brilliant and feared critic, Kenneth Tynan was a nabob of the
National Theatre alongside Laurence Olivier, and he was also the
daring impresario who created "Oh Calcutta". He was a notorious
eccentric, a louche sophisticate: connoisseur of cuisine, wine,
literature and women. Where else could you find such a judicious
blend of aesthetics, theatre lore, love, marriage, sex and
politics? These sizzling diaries will remind older readers of a man
whose reputation as the greatest critic of the twentieth century is
still unchallenged and introduce younger readers to an electrifying
writer who simply could not be boring.
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