I think this writer's work is extremely poor and vastly over-praised.
His political analysis is shallow, usually confused, and suggests he has no more insight into 'stuff' than the average punter on the average omnibus.
His characterisation is cliched in the extreme - has anyone ever noted how his principal male characters tend to be unsympathetic wealthy middle-aged white men who are going through some ill-defined mid- or post-mid-life crisis? And how all his principal female characters are young, sympathetic 'redeemer' figures? Someone I know recently commented that all Hare's female characters are basically 'the author in a dress', which I think is spot on.
And then there's his dialogue, which aims for a kind of verisimilutde but which emerges (on the page at least - good actors can turn even this shit into gold) as ponderous and inchoate. (There is a favourite Hare expression: 'So, you go on. That's what you do.' A variant on it appears in every single one of his plays - ie, 'So, you suffer. That's what you do.' 'So, you turn right instead of left. That's what you do.' 'So, you visit the supermarket. That's what you do.' )
How has this man managed to persuade the critics and a small but influential section of the public that his nudity is in fact a set of elegantly tailored robes of the kind his wife manufactures?
I'm genuinely dumb-founded, because his work is empty. Almost as empty as the wretched Stephen Poliakoff's.
His political analysis is shallow, usually confused, and suggests he has no more insight into 'stuff' than the average punter on the average omnibus.
His characterisation is cliched in the extreme - has anyone ever noted how his principal male characters tend to be unsympathetic wealthy middle-aged white men who are going through some ill-defined mid- or post-mid-life crisis? And how all his principal female characters are young, sympathetic 'redeemer' figures? Someone I know recently commented that all Hare's female characters are basically 'the author in a dress', which I think is spot on.
And then there's his dialogue, which aims for a kind of verisimilutde but which emerges (on the page at least - good actors can turn even this shit into gold) as ponderous and inchoate. (There is a favourite Hare expression: 'So, you go on. That's what you do.' A variant on it appears in every single one of his plays - ie, 'So, you suffer. That's what you do.' 'So, you turn right instead of left. That's what you do.' 'So, you visit the supermarket. That's what you do.' )
How has this man managed to persuade the critics and a small but influential section of the public that his nudity is in fact a set of elegantly tailored robes of the kind his wife manufactures?
I'm genuinely dumb-founded, because his work is empty. Almost as empty as the wretched Stephen Poliakoff's.
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