Much ado about the theatre

When, just over five years ago, I bought the Evening Standard, I had a very clear idea of what I wanted to do with it. People think that the biggest change we made was taking it free — and of course, now that the paper is profitable, and reaching two million Londoners every day, that decision was completely transformative.

But my ambition for this great newspaper wasn’t just commercial. It was cultural, too. The newspaper I bought was journalistically superb, with outstanding writers covering news, sport, business and the arts, not least in this magazine. So there was no need for big change there. And yet I was determined that, if the Evening Standard stood for anything, it must celebrate the extraordinary cultural power of modern London. And nothing could do this quite like our Evening Standard Theatre Awards.

Every metropolis has its specialisms. Paris has the art of the Louvre, just as St Petersburg has the Hermitage. Rome and Venice have their exquisite churches; and New York has an infectious energy all of its own. And as for London, my home? Well, if this really is the greatest city on Earth today — and I believe it is — the best thing about it is the London stage. And it is the glory of this stage to which these Awards — and this souvenir edition — are dedicated.

This year was the 60th Evening Standard Theatre Awards, which everyone in the industry holds to be the official awards ceremony for those who work on our stage. The world is a very different place from 1955, when the Awards were first held. It is 60 years since a row between the judges meant a special award of Most Controversial Play had to be invented so it could be handed to a strange new work called Waiting for Godot.

From the very first, it set in motion a tradition of remarkable prescience among the winners of such highly coveted awards. So compelling is the roll call of those who have been honoured, it is easy to overlook the fact that you can only win one for work performed in the flesh, in front of a live audience, right here in this city. Richard Burton, Laurence Olivier and John Gielgud all won them. In 1967, Tom Stoppard was the Most Promising Playwright. We have made a habit of selecting and rewarding those who go on to acquire greatness, and that was a particularly good call. This year we named him Greatest Living Playwright, and I was honoured to sit next to him at the dinner.