I wonder if the Ancient Romans had intervals at the Coliseum? If so, how did it work? Would the gladiators reach a suitably dramatic moment, about an hour into a fight to the death, and pause politely so the baying citizens might enjoy a 15 minute break before the bloody climax of the entertainment? It seems impossible to imagine that a civilisation that gave us aqueducts, orgies and a popular font didn’t contain some bright spark who cottoned on to the idea that you could make a killing flogging overpriced wine and sweetmeats to a captive audience.
The interval is probably not going anywhere in a hurry, simply because interval drinks are a huge source of income for Britain’s theatres. Anyone who hasn’t ordered in advance faces a moral dilemma: trample over the legions of staggering centenarians cluttering up the aisles trying desperately to get to the bar (staffed by three slow, surly and disinterested drama students) or shuffle despairingly along in the coffin dodgers’ wake, resigned to having only two nanoseconds in which to down a plastic beaker of Chateau de Delfont Mackintosh before the second half kicks off.
The catering tyranny of the interval is not confined to theatres. It is even more deeply entrenched in sports stadia where they call it ‘half time’. It is compulsory to consume solids in pie or burger form at half time. This sports specific penchant for food as well as drinks may be due to the grass and open roof meaning that picnic rules apply; a hypothesis supported by the presence of a busy barbeque counter at the Open Air Theatre in Regents Park. Anything we can do Americans must do bigger; American sports events are little more than mass gatherings of eating fans where ‘intervals’ are the short gaps between bucketfuls of chicken when play takes place.
The point of the interval in sports is fairly obvious: it is a respite for the players and a chance for spectators to stretch their legs. On the face of it the same is true for the theatre: it would be a bit much to expect an audience to sit through the entirety of King Lear without refreshment. The trouble is that, in both cases, the interval is only as enjoyable as the performance. If it’s 3-3 after 45 minutes most people welcome the chance of a break in the tension to compare notes and build up a pleasurable sense of anticipation for a thrilling conclusion. If the guy playing Hamlet isn’t up to it then the realisation, when the lights come up, that you’re looking at another two hours will hardly put a spring in your step as you queue for the loos. Incidentally the practise of speeding things up by making use of the sinks in the gents, commonplace in busy football grounds, never seems to have caught on in the theatre.
The last three new plays the RSC has brought to London have had running times of an hour and a half with no interval (coincidentally 90 minutes is the length of a football match). All three were inspired by classics and the two I saw were intense insights into rampant individualism in 21st century Britain. The relentless nature of that same always online 24/7 society does not lend itself to interruptions: elevenses and tea at three are for tourists, nobody under 30 will believe you about early closing on Wednesdays and Bank Holidays are all about shopping. It’s as if there’s something inherently impatient about contemporary life that almost dictates the ‘no intervals’ format to dramatists.
Much may be said in favour of what we might call the ’90 minutes and you’re out’ school of theatre. It works well on the Edinburgh and London fringes and elsewhere it gives you a shot at a decent dinner when you can book a table for 9.15 rather than suffer the two course torture of the West End’s After Show menus. It is also a useful creative challenge for dramatists and actors to create worlds both big and small enough to fit a slot this size.
No interval will never do for the venerable three and five act plays that find favour in the few big venues not dominated by musicals. Those great dramas in English are like that most quintessential of England’s sports, cricket: unless you allow enough time to play them properly they are hardly worth playing at all.
