Theatre of the practical

Hampstead Theatre

10 April 2012

What is a theatre? For the ancient Greeks it was a sacred place, an image of the universe where terrifying forces did battle. For the Elizabethans it was also a miniature world - hence the naming of The Globe.

For the Edwardians it was an occasion to slather buildings with gilt and ornament, thick as slap on a pantomime dame. In the 1960s theatres became prototypes of hippie utopia: no boundaries between actors and audience, no rules, no restrictions, no clothes.

The aesthetic of theatre switches between fakery and illusion at one extreme, and the gritty reality of adapted warehouses and basements at the other.

The question arises because London is about to witness a once-inageneration event, the opening of completely new theatre building.

When the £15.7 million rebuilding of the Hampstead Theatre officially opens on 13 February, it will be the first since the National Theatre opened in 1976. Sadler's Wells, the Royal Opera House and Royal Court Theatre, all rebuilt in the past five years, retained elements of their previous buildings, as does the Almeida, which is currently being renovated and will reopen in May.

The new building, which is actually in Swiss Cottage rather than Hampstead, has been eight years in the making. It replaces a 40-year-old Portakabin, where talents as diverse as John Malkovich, Martin Clunes and Ewan McGregor have performed. Supportive of new writing, the theatre has incubated Mike Leigh's masterpiece of suburban loathing, Abigail's Party, and early work by Stephen Poliakoff.

The new theatre allows up to 325 seats, compared with 175 in the old one. As artistic director Jenny Topper points out, this increases the chances that playwrights might actually make some money on their shows. All the same, lest old timers regret the intimacy of the Portakabin, the auditorium can be easily reconfigured down to 140 seats.

The way the theatre's architect, Rab Bennetts, tells it, the new building is a miracle of thoughtfulness and, while the ultimate proof will come when the first plays are perideasformed, there is every reason to believe him. He is a meticulous man, who tut-tuts about defects apparent to few but him.

The auditorium is a half-ellipse, broadside on to the stage, bringing even the back rows close to the action. Slatted timber, with faceted panels underneath, diffuses damaging acoustic effects. Architects and other experts have agonised over sightlines. Banks of seats rest on inflatable air cushions, so that they can easily be moved around - like little hovercraft - if directors want to change, for example, from proscenium to thrust stages.

Seats are set closer together than is standard to heighten the sense of togetherness between audience and actors, though not so close as to be uncomfortable.

Beyond the public's gaze are plant rooms whose dignified efficiency would not disgrace the engine room of an ocean liner. In contrast with the shipping container where the old theatre's sets were built, there will now be an ample, well-equipped workshop. There is also an education room to house small plays.

The foyer is light-filled and simple, in steel, wood and concrete, materials whose "patina avoids any sense of extravagance", as the architects put it. Yet there is also a relaxed feeling that these hard materials do not always give.

The convex underbelly of the auditorium is clad in zinc and projects into the foyer, giving this space its moment of drama and letting you know where the action is. It is very easy to find your way around.

On the outside, the building is a box wrapped in wood and glass screens, animated by large shutters and coloured light panels by the light-artist Martin Richman. At night the foyer will, with its big glass windows, light up from the inside.

The thoughtfulness of the design runs from the dimensions of the seats to the improvement of the neighbourhood. The theatre sits on a block blighted by a snarling traffic intersection to one side and by decades of erratic planning, of big started but not finished, on the other. The latter includes a 1960s library, part of a civic centre that was never completed.

There is also a 1980s office block - meretricious and opportunist - as well as threatening, leftover places and a space where a sports centre has been demolished, soon to be replaced by an apartment tower of stunning vulgarity.

Bennetts has brought some civilisation to this mÃlèe by making a new garden on one side of the theatre and a little pedestrian place on the other. Thanks to his urging, the whole block will be now comprehensively re-landscaped.

The Hampstead Theatre is a great achievement, and the more so for having seen off the enemies of promise that are the rules and restrictions that come with Lottery funding. The Arts Council, for example, having binged on earlier projects, set a severe limit of £10 million on their grant to this one. Compared with the hasty, ramshackle architecture of Sadler's Wells, Hampstead stands out. It also avoided the drastic cost overruns that afflicted the revamped Royal Court.

This means it is deeply unreasonable to ask for more, but, actually, I do. It's this: amid the admirable efficiency and quality of the building, there is no strong sense of what a theatre is.

And certainly not one that matches the Greek or Edwardian variations on the theme. A theatre is a place of fantasy and illusion, or else of raw earthiness, but Hampstead comes somewhere in-between.

With its fresh air and plain timber it has wholesome virtues rather than the nocturnal spirit of the stage. The Hampstead Theatre, handsome though it is, has too much of the spirit of the business park.

Of course, a more fantastic architect than Bennetts, who describes his work as "functional, but elegant", might not have got the thing built at all and the most important thing about any theatre is that it works. Perhaps if it was not so difficult to conceive things like this, there might be more room for the imagination.

Hampstead Theatre's first public performance in the new building is of How to Behave on 15 February. Box office: 020 7722 9301.

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