Jonathan Miller Is Dead Wrong

Well, let's just say, "That's his opinion."
I have always (well, at least since the 1970s) thought of Miller as a genius and a hero. Who else could make John Cleese, at the height of his cranky goofiness, into a sex symbol by casting him as Petruchio and then having him play it dead straight (save the chicken clucking instance)? Cor, that would take godlike powers! I was on tenterhooks as the crew rushed to tear off the mask and bring him back after an apparently deadly demonstration on the effects of removing the carbon dioxide feedback from the body's emergency response. I had memorized the skits in "Beyond the Fringe" and even performed in one in a college theatre class.
So when my friend Alison said they could still get tickets to "An Evening with Jonathan Miller" at Regent's College if I was still interested (it was a week after my father had died while I was in London), I said "Hell yes!"
I had pictured a large, darkened lecture hall and a tiny figure on a stage with a podium he would probably ignore. Instead, it was a small conference room in full lighting with a comfy chair and a bar at the back. Fortunately, orange juice was available because I'd tied one on the night before with Lorraine and I don't really need to do that two nights in a row.
We met Alison at the Baker Street station, because we had no idea where we were going. She led us through Regent's Park to the entrance to the college where her other friend Jonathan (no relation, or at least not one he mentioned) awaited us. The man with the reservations, Alex, showed up a bit later. Alex had apparently caused quite a stir trying to get tickets, having to call successive numbers and wheedle information out of people. The lecture was probably London's best kept secret. Then he had to call again on the day of the lecture to squeeze out two more tickets. This must have caused the organizer to come to the utterly false conclusion that this was on the behalf of two important but incognito foreign dignitaries.
Dr. Miller came in early to scout out the venue and sample the oj and I fancied he gave me a Special Smile. Later, he was dragged to our group by the organizer who introduced him to Alex and then he inquired as to who had come from the farthest away. For one awful moment I thought of Alison, who is Australian, but she's been living in London for eight years now. I believe I jumped up and down and squealed, "That's meeeeeee!" totally forgetting my long-suffering husband and channeling Dr. Dick Hertz. We had an absolutely exquisite chat where I swooned all over him and expressed my concern about the demonstration in "The Body in Question" and he allowed that four people since he did that demonstration had died as a result. About this time I totally lost consciousness and started speaking to him in an uncharacteristic southern US accent. It was one of the happiest moments of my life (that did not involve Indian food ... or my husband).
His lecture began perhaps a little far back, with his father's history and career in groundbreaking psychology. Then he decided he'd talked about himself enough and entertained questions from the small but adulatory audience. Oh, and one crank case who reminded me of the late Greenwoodlian, Dr. Marvin Chipley, only slightly more together. My husband and I sat nodding happily through Dr. Miller's views on just about everything: education is now complete bosh (hear hear!), there is no god and what a silly notion that is (amen, brother!), "concepts" are ruining theatre (oh, oh, oh! that gives me an idea!), the only things that are worth learning are the things that are difficult (took that one right to heart and planned a rant all around it). Then he expressed, cheerfully, his utter regret at having given up on his medical career and that is right where he lost me. Theatre was just too easy, and, as we heard, the easy things aren't the worthwhile ones.
I suppose he has a right to his own regrets. Far be it from me to dictate his emotions. What he is not taking into account is two-fold.
Number one: Theatre is easy for him because he did all the difficult research on it in his medical career. He studied human behavior in all its minuteness and made the lateral leap with that hard-earned background into its use in theatre thereby improving productions such as "The Taming of the Shrew" with John Cleese beyond all knowing. He managed to take an English translation of Cosi fan tutte (anathema! anathema!) and make it palatable to me who believes that any opera translation is an abomination and a true lover of opera will take the time to learn the bloody language it's in so no time will be wasted on the supertitles and the beauty of the mixture of music and the language it was written for will blaze through. Where was I? Oh.
Oh, yes, it might be easy ... for him ... now. On top of this is his ability to communicate it to the performers and amaze them with the simplicity of something that is, in fact, not simple at all. It is not even simple to be yourself when you are confronted by a group of people who are focused on everything you say or do and, if it doesn't interest them, will lose that interest in you. Much more difficult is being someone else, or one of your many other yous. Suddenly you have to think about how you are moving, the subtleties of speech, and what your next line is. After you've done this for years then, yes, it's easy.
But no, it's not trivial. And therein lies my second point.
As a neurologist or any other sort of doctor, you are limited by the number of people you can actually see as patients in your lifetime. In a much shorter spate of time, Dr. Miller has brought joy, laughter, and a vastly improved "The Taming of the Shrew" to millions. I suppose if he continued in medicine and developed some treatment, some cure, some insight into disease he could possibly reach the same amount of people. That, I think, is what we in the US call a "crapshoot."
Perhaps what he means is that theatre isn't serious. It just doesn't carry the gravitas of medicine. I take issue with that as well. I believe we are much the poorer as humans without good theatre or any of the other arts. The body keeps the mind alive, the mind keeps the body in good order, but the arts are what make us human, civilized beings who think beyond where their next curry is coming from (although I have to admit that is pretty crucial). They instruct and elevate. They are not trivial.
I've been to doctors and I've had therapy and it's all been very helpful. I, however, would just as soon have a good laugh, get totally engrossed in a good book, or somehow be taken out of myself for a short time. All this makes my life bearable. I hug the memories of his "easy" work to me and they make me smile. So all in all I'm glad Dr. Miller made the greatest mistake in his life.
That being said, Dr. M, any chance of a bunk-up?