LEON GLUCKMAN

Leon Gluckman: The Essential Artist

by

Bernard Sachs

South African Jewry is beginning to get places. Three generations back they were or less at the level of nomads and frontiersmen trying to become rooted in an alien soil. Survival was their main preoccupation, and there was little time or energy over the finer things of life. The next generation saw the industrial growth of the country, and the Jews were able to bring into play their organisational talents and business acumen. Economic prosperity brought with it a sense of social stability. The drift to the towns became more pronounced, Jews entered the universities in greater numbers, and with their high intelligence were soon able to make their presence felt in the professions. And now, with the further passage of the years and the sense of permanence they have brought, there is a cultural flowering which promises to broaden into something of enduring value which will enrich our lives on this sub-continent of ours. In literature, theatre, painting, sculpture and all the arts, in fact, the creative talent of the Jew is beginning to emerge spectacularly.

It is not essentially Jewish in spirit. That may be a matter of regret for a number of people, but I cannot join them in their lamentation. For the creative spirit transcends national boundaries---although I have no doubt that, despite surface appearances, in a subtle way the spirit of the Jew is immanent in this field of creativity. If a specifically Jewish character is here the desideratum, then, speaking for myself, I can only say that disappointment awaits us. The flowering of the Jewish spirit at the aesthetic level will take place in Israel, where the Jew is master of the situation and his destiny as a Jew, and is not, as in South Africa, a tiny enclave weighed down with problems, conscious or unconscious, which belong to the nation as a whole. The Colour struggle is for a long time going to be the fountain and source of inspiration for the artist here---all else pales into insignificance when measured against it, including the situation of the Jew, which aesthetically must be considered pallid. But the Jew is playing a big part in the shaping of our artistic contours, even if there is lacking the specifically Jewish character.

This preamble is not irrelevant to the evaluation of the personality of Leon Gluckman, for whom I had a very high regard long before the acclaim that greeted his production of King Kong. My first indirect encounter with Leon was in 1947, when I went to see T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral, which he was staging at the University. It was a magnificent production, and I walked out of the Hall on air. In 1953 I saw the production of this play in London, and I can say with all conviction that Leon’s effort did not suffer by comparison---even though the incomparable Robert Donat was in the lead.

At this point let me etch the first important lineament in Leon’s make-up: He comes from an affluent background, but I know people who are less money-conscious than he is. I have often  met rich men’s sons in this town who make a sort of deliberate effort not to allow their wealth to obtrude, and it will not deceive the discerning. But with Leon it is quite different. He is so essentially artistic in his make-up, so thoroughly wedded to the art in which he has completely immersed himself, that it just does not occur to you to think of his financial affiliations. And I was not in the least surprised when he told me that all his theatrical ventures must make their way on artistic merit, or go under. Nothing would be more distatesful to him than to have them bolstered by outside financial resources---“I must support myself entirely, or things will soon lapse into dilettantish and the artificial. That would be death.” It would. For if it is a mistaken nineteenth century conception that art can flourish only in poverty of the garret, it is as true to say that wealth can all too often choke this sensitive plant.

I next discussed with Leon the lessons he had learned from the success of King Kong, and its fuller implications for the growth and development of indigenous theatre. And this brings me to his second deeply etched lineament---his complete modesty. Not false modesty, but the humility of the serious artist who knows all too well that the citadel of the human spirit will not be conquered with braggadocio. He was far from being carried away by the success he had reaped from King Kong---“I don’t believe it to be a magnum opus, far from it. It is faulty, but it has merit, and I’m grateful for the good response. It is a first step. The story is simple and it has good melodies---an excellent vehicle for the expression of African talent. It is the first opportunity they have had of expressing themselves against a proper background. The African has made a forceful entry into the field of the musical. Whatever success has attended this first major venture, is due entirely to the concerted and collective effort of an excellent team. It was a fine spectacle, and lent dignity to the talent of the Africans which they so richly deserved---the more so when account is taken of the endless impediments that surround their daily lives.”

“Where do you go from here?” I asked.

“Before anything happens in a very big way, there must be a substantial improvement artistically, “ came his reply. “Much will have to be done to it, now that an offer from an overseas theatre management has been forthcoming.”

I asked him if he knew anything about the musical West Side Story, presently showing in London, and which the leading English critics have hailed as an artistic gem, well beyond other well-known musicals. He told me that he was fully acquainted with it, had read the script and listened to the music. Without hesitation, he placed it on a much higher level than King Kong. I felt that this shunning of complacency was all for the best. There has been so much hysteria about King Kong that his poise is in the circumstances admirable.

We then discussed the human side of King Kong---his attitude to the Africans and many other things. Leon spoke a great deal, and with warmth. What it all added up to is the genuine humanity which permeates his whole being. He is no politician, and is not interested in party politics, which to him as an artist is worthless---“The theatre is universal in its values, and transcends parochial prejudices and fears. In this country, politics and humanity are closely interlaced. In this broader sense I suppose my work is political, for I am definitely concerned to bring the spirit of humanity to these Africans struggling to lift themselves from social degradation. There has been genuine cooperation between white and black in this venture, and in small way it has brought understanding, which is much better than the fear informs the relations between the two sections. More humanity is what we need here. The African is no longer a savage, whose lot is forever to be humiliation---he is a human being with hopes and fears and aspirations. My own specific interest is to transmute it into artistic coin. In this there is no question of the patriarchal white fathering the primitive black---we bring what talents we all have, and concert our efforts for the perfection of the work we have in hand.”

“Is the musical the natural artistic expression of the African, as has been suggested by one critic?” I next asked.

“That is by no means definite,” he replied. “The African has a good fund of mime and satire on which drama can be built.”

The theatre is more than a diversion for Leon---or even a profession---it is his very life and being. He is too rounded and complete a personality not to approach his life’s work in terms of a wholeness that merges with the living, throbbing scene about him---under the light of eternity, that is. And that is why he speaks with so much warmth and understanding about the theatre craft---“It is time the public got rid of the idea that the actor is a troubadour, nomad and bohemian. This tradition of the eccentric linked to the actor must be wiped out, because he is a pillar of the theatre, which in turn is one of the pillars of society. For theatre---the real thing, and not the junk that goes by that name---is not only a healthy cathartic force, as intended by the Greeks, but a positive reforming and guiding influence for the good of humanity.”

As one who has dabbled in dramatic criticism, I would now like to make one or two observations about the work Leon is doing at the moment. I have regarded his efforts since his return to this country as the most fruitful we have had, and I have said it in my column. But I believe that he would be well advised not to divide his energies between acting and producing. His ability, intelligence and knowledge of the theatre will always keep him in the forefront of our acting talent, but it is as a producer that he shows the genuine spark. He is not unaware of his shortcomings, and there is much that is interesting that he had to say about his own acting---“The actor must have the instinct of a killer, a supreme self-confidence, or he is bound to falter and fade sooner or later. I haven’t got it.”

I can sense what he means. There is something sad, even tenebrous, about Leon that seems to hold him in thrall. And goes too far back into the centuries to be lightly shaken off. It is a heavy impediment for the actor---even for the tragedienne. For the actor, whether in a comic or a tragic role, must stride dominantly both these manifestations of the human psyche, and not be ridden by them. An actor who actually weeps during a tragic scene is falling down on his job. Even when Leon laughs, he does so against a background of that tenebrous I have alluded to. It hampers him no end. But as a producer he has all that it takes.

The glitter of money and the glamour of the footlights have not in any way turned Leon’s head. He has ability and inspiration, and he will go far. And he also has humanity. All in all, he is one of the ornaments of the rising South African generation.

From: Bernard Sachs, South African Personalities and Places, Kayor Publishers, Johannesburg, 1959.