How my life as a conservative political aide inspired my new play

From the writings of James Graham to the recent revival of Yes Ministry, political theater is all the rage; and, for it to be successful, there is always a strong comic side. It’s not surprising. Politicians are certainly a funny bunch. Some are “funny ha ha”, but most are, I suppose, “others funny”. To reach the top, they need extraordinary endurance, hard work and luck. They must also be able to send people to their death and sleep soundly afterwards.

Very little of this theater is written from direct experience. I am an unusual playwright: I have worked with four different Prime Ministers; I’m a middle-aged newbie to theater; and I also have a background in conservative politics.

My first job was in the Conservative research department in 1990, working with David Cameron, Edward Llewellyn, later David’s No. 10 chief of staff, and Steve Hilton, already shaping up to be the Svengali. David always seemed destined for stardom and one of the first qualities I noticed was his extraordinarily retentive memory and his enviable ability to quote large sections of Labor politics and Monty Python sketches with equal ease. Like a later Etonian Prime Minister, he constantly used humor and wit, both publicly and privately, evidently understanding how powerful laughter can be in construction. esprit de corps and enduring personal loyalty. Even in the office, it was always show time.

Within three months, Margaret Thatcher was removed as Prime Minister and came to bid us farewell. She was indeed leaving, she explained, but she would be a “very good rear driver.” The laughter in the room was mixed with nervous bursts. She knew exactly what she was saying; and, of course, she delivered the phrase brilliantly, ensuring that it delivered with maximum effect.

I recently came across some thoughts on political theater, attributed to the late Harold Pinter, warning against sermonizing and advising that characters should be allowed to “breathe their own air.” This truth too, I discovered for myself. In my play Maggie & Ted, about the tense relationship between Margaret Thatcher and Edward Heath, for whom I worked at different times, I had to search for the essence of these two massive and very complex personalities, and then create a new drama from them. I had to be honest, but balanced, describing strengths and flaws with equal frankness, letting audience members decide which, if any, they preferred. I did, however, allow Heath’s private secretary a brief and bitter outburst against Brexit. One night in the West End he was booed, the next he was cheered. Lesson learned; but what lesson, exactly? Perhaps the greatest challenge for a political playwright is not only to preach their own gospel, but also, convincingly, even sympathetically, to create characters whose views are radically different from their own: that, and make people laugh and smile.