Prophet of outrage

"Rouse tempers, goad and lacerate, raise whirlwinds." This was Kenneth Tynan's lifelong motto, pinned above his desk at the National Theatre when he was its literary manager. Dominic Shellard, in a new and sober study, chronicles how Tynan, born illegitimate in 1927 in a Birmingham suburb, the son of Sir Peter Peacock, rich businessman, Justice of the Peace, and six-times mayor of Warrington, had become obsessed, even at an early age, by performing arts, fame and celebrity.

Winning a scholarship to Oxford, he was taught by CS Lewis and here, while rapidly developing his skills as a theatre critic, he dressed as a dandy, gaining a reputation as a prophet of aesthetic outrage and sexual libertarianism.

During one Union debate he pronounced his theme - "just a thong at twilight" - and he collected the knickers of his sexual conquests to hang beside a whip on his wall. He also acted Hamlet, inviting four famous previous interpreters to watch his performance.

Unfortunately, possibly as a result of the undigested and unresolved shame of his illegitimacy - and in spite of being deeply spoiled by his father - the desire to shock, as well as to become a prophet of sexual freedom, swiftly overcame the brilliance of his early years as a drama critic.

In his Observer days Tynan could capture a performance in words, exalt a reputation, or dash it to glittering or exploding splinters, sometimes putting him on a level with the best dramatic critics writing in English. But his judgments were often flawed, as he always jockeyed for attention in competition with his rivals.

Later, at the National, he campaigned vigorously to keep the theatre alive as a vital platform for contemporary debate. But even when actively engaged as mentor and manager to Olivier in the National's early glory years, he hankered to fulfil his sexual pipe dreams.

On 13 November 1965, the by now much respected enfant terrible and legendary theatre critic, appeared on television in a late-night satire programme called BBC 3 to discuss with Mary McCarthy the subject of sexual censorship in the theatre, which was then still in force. The chairman asked Tynan if he would support a play at the National Theatre in which intercourse took place on stage.

"Oh, I think so, certainly," said Tynan. "I doubt if there are many rational people in this world to whom the word fuck is particularly diabolical or revolting or totally forbidden."

Tynan became cast for evermore as the man who had uttered the f-word for the first time on television, which, as Shellard goes to great pains and considerable trouble to show in this excellent biography, is not how he should go down in history.

However, the truth was that Tynan had a split personality, and as he grew older the split became more dangerous for others, especially for his two wives, whom in turn he wanted to involve in his S&M practices, and for himself.