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The Diaries of Kenneth Tynan

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To paraphrase another wit: This is some of the best fun you can have with your clothes still on. Was Kenneth Tynan the most sophisticated and intelligent critic of his generation? It's hard to think that he wasn't, especially after reading these diaries. Not only does he give you a grand notion of what theater can be, but he also gives you a guided tour of the international theater scene in the late twentieth century. What a grand tonic his intellectually sharp viper tongue is in these days of spineless critics. Bravo!

Kenneth Tynan was a marvellous journalist. There is no-one writing for magazines or newspapers today (perhaps with the exception of Christopher Hitchens) who can so readily draw upon an apparently limitless well of wit, and do so in perfect sentences. All of his books are worth reading if you can find them second-hand: his early collection of drama criticism, 'Curtains', and the collection 'Profiles', are probably the places to start. For devotees of Tynan, who bemoan the paucity of his output in the last fifteen years of his life, the Diaries, splendidly introduced by John Lahr, can prove very frustrating. It seems everything conspired against Ken sitting in front of the typewriter and working his magic. His health was abysmal -- emphysema worsened by a heavy cigarette habit; he was preoccupied by a strange strain of socialism, which allows him to finish one entry with a call for action on the part of the workers and begin the next with an account of a tour through France, eating at three-star Michelin restaurants all the way; and he was rather excessively waylaid by a spanking-based dalliance with a mistress. That he managed to eke out portions of 'The Sound of Two Hands Clapping' and the profiles collected in 'Show People' is, on the evidence of the diaries, something of a miracle.

The diaries themselves make for very entertaining reading. There is plenty of celebrity gossip and, as befits writing not meant for public consumption, a good deal of invective. Sir Peter Hall, referred to throughout as 'P. Hall' is dealt with particularly harshly, and the relationship between Laurence Olivier and Tynan is fraught with ambiguity. There is also Tynan's almost comical political naivete; while there is certainly much that can be said for socialism and sexual liberation, Tynan's blatant hypocrisy (there are several references to his employing servants and nannies) and his very middle-class hatred of anything at all tainted by being middle-class, does not make for a convincing advertisement. I can only imagine how awful his 'spanking film', which he spends several years trying to find backers for, would have been. But these are, believe it or not, minor cavils, and actually add to the enjoyment of looking over Tynan's shoulder as he unburdens himself of his daily thoughts. (He certainly does not let himself off lightly, frequently despairing over his lassitude.) And the concluding entries, shadowed as they are by the reader's (and Tynan's) knowledge of his imminent death, are genuinely moving. I trust and hope there is more Tynan to be reissued soon. He's a fine companion.

Even those, such as myself, who are not remotely interested in theater or the British social scene in the 70s should read this book. Tynan's diaries at times read like a novel...tart, clever, bitchy, and occasionally venomous. Tynan seems to have known everybody and has something interesting to say about all of them. But his most interesting character is himself; he pulls no punches and really excavates his soul. That is the true joy of reading this book. At times it's painful to read, at other times it's hysterical. But it is never boring.

I remember Kenneth Tynan from an appearance on The Dick Cavett Show shortly before his 1980 death. Until this book, I was unfamiliar with his work. Now I see what I was missing.

Not only was Tynan a highly skilled writer of prose, but as a critic he saw things for what they were, even if the majority disagreed. He gives Warren Beatty's pretentious and mystifyingly overrated film Shampoo the swift kick to the rear that it deserves, and even finds a fault with Paddy Cheyefsky's Network that I had not detected prior to reading his assessment of the film in his diaries. Tynan also has his say on economics ("Inflation rides high and I believe intentionally" he writes in 1973) and a myriad of other subjects including his preoccupation with spanking.

Overall, these diaries reveal a melancholy soul who found some solace in writing about his life and its disappointments in his journal. Most published diaries promise more than they deliver. Not Tynan's. His diaries are a compelling read.

From THE DIARIES OF KENNETH TYNAN: "Whenever we solve the problem of dreams, we shall not be far from solving the root problems of human identity and creativity. Has anyone noticed the really inexplicable thing about our nightly narrative tapes? They have suspense. This occurred to me last night, when I was involved in a Hitchcock-type chase dream---in which, I suddenly realised, I did not know what was going to happen next. I did not know who would be lurking behind the next door; and I wanted desperately to know. What part of one's mind is it that harbours secrets unknown even to the unconscious? (For in dreams we are surely privy to the unconscious in full flood.) The theory that in dreams we tap a source of energy outside the individual psyche is powerfully reinforced by the presence of suspense."

After Tynan left his job as dramaturg at the National Theatre, he pretty much floundered around for the rest of his life. I wish he had gone back to doing theater reviews. But I guess he was burned out on theater. Maybe he grew bored with the very medium of theater. He said he was profoundly bored with everything ("I shall die writhing in apathy"), but I'm not too convinced of that claim. I wish he had felt an artistic duty to his audience and had then carried out that duty. While reading this thing, I had an overwhelming urge to slap that cigarette out of his mouth and that hairbrush out of his hand and to sternly command him to "do do that voodoo that you do so well".

Wonderfully indiscreet dairy from Tynan.

This has everything that a published diary should have, lots of good gossip and humour. The JFK - Greta Garbo story again exemplifies what a loathsome person Kennedy was.

Tynan was also heavily into S and M and liked to spank women on the bottom, his wife wasn't keen on this so he had an extra one for this carry on.

One other strange thing that really stood out was that he was always broke but he never seemed to have any trouble flitting across the Atlantic at the drop of a hat. Obviously his definition of broke and mine bear no relation to each other.

As a diary this is highly recommended, great entertainment

Great read. Lovely reminder that television and film were once kept alive and kicking by veterans of vaudeville and British musical hall. It's easy enough to say that Tynan was a pervert but even there he writes eloquently about his adventures in spanking and such. A time machine back to an era of style, substance and serious acting. The Marlene Dietrich/JFK anecdote worth the price alone.

Tynan is an excellent observer and a thoughtful guy. In this book he writes generally short, sharp bits about whatever is on his mind at the time. Interests include the theater, spanking, his relationships, a movie he is trying to make, writing, fine dining, socialism and his personal financial concerns.

His writing is clear, unsentimental and extremely readable. Most interesting book I've read in some time.

Even those, such as myself, who are not remotely interested in theater or the British social scene in the 70s should read this book. Tynan's diaries at times reads like a novel...tart, clever, bitchy, and occasionally venomous. Tynan seems to have known everybody and has something interesting to say about all of them. But his most interesting character is himself; he pulls no punches and really excavates his soul. That is the true joy of reading this book. At times it's painful to read, at other times it's hysterical. But it is never boring.

I suggest reading this as a cautionary tale: how a man with so much promise, talent and intelligence, saddled with insecurities and a taste for hedonism, left him broke and feeling like a failure at the end of his life. How terribly tragic. But this book is definitely not a downer.

However, knowing that Kenneth Tynan was a British theater critic, I had reservations about delving into this. I thought it could be a very dry read. Instead, it turned out to be laugh out loud funny, with some serious dish about famous people (the man knew EVERYBODY) and at the same time introspective and melancholic. This book is not for everybody, but for those with a love of brilliant prose and serious wit, the rewards are rich. - Susan Sayles