Though he thought of himself as a moral philosopher, Adam Smith is sometimes called the father of modern economics or even of capitalism itself. In the new play “Make It Happen,” which premiered recently at the Edinburgh International Festival, Smith’s legacy is in the spotlight through an account of a 2008 Scottish banking disaster that almost brought Britain’s financial system to its knees.
It concerns the Royal Bank of Scotland, which was founded in 1727, four years after Smith’s birth. For most of its existence, the bank was largely a domestic operation, but in the 2000s, under the stewardship of its chief executive Fred “the Shred” Goodwin, it pursued a policy of aggressive expansion. Dubious acquisitions in the U.S. property market left the bank catastrophically exposed during the subprime mortgage crisis of 2007. The bank collapsed in 2008, but a 46 billion-pound bailout from the British government saved it from liquidation, with political consequences that still resonate.
Directed by Andrew Panton, and starring Brian Cox of “Succession” fame as Smith’s ghost, “Make It Happen” takes its title from an R.B.S. marketing slogan. It’s also a bossy catchphrase for Godwin, who is elegantly rendered by Sandy Grierson as unnervingly single-minded, laconically brutal and ice-cold in his dealings with colleagues.
Goodwin is an avowed free-market fundamentalist who idolizes Smith and keeps a first edition of “The Wealth of Nations” in his office. But when his house of cards comes crashing down, he turns to Britain’s prime minister, Gordon Brown, and his chancellor of the Exchequer, Alistair Darling — both fellow Scotsmen — for help.
They oblige, grudgingly: Brown, imbued by Andy Clark with a quiet, stiffly held dignity, lambastes Goodwin for his recklessness. But we are reminded that Brown’s own Labour government had been soft on banking regulation and therefore bears some responsibility for the financial crisis. “I am but a symptom,” Goodwin pleads.
The writer of “Make It Happen,” James Graham, is known for his political dissections of modern British culture. His recent work has touched on tabloid newspapers (“Ink”), TV game shows (“Quiz”) and the England men’s soccer team (“Dear England”). For large swaths, “Make It Happen” is a straightforward postmortem, unpacking corporate malpractice in a manner broadly reminiscent of Stefano Massini’s “Lehman Trilogy” or Lucy Prebble’s “Enron.” This time, the satirical humor is more cozy than acerbic, and there’s rather a lot of explication through dialogue as characters meticulously explain the subprime crisis, the credit crunch and so on.
But there’s a fun twist. Around 50 minutes in, Goodwin receives the first of several visitations from Smith’s ghost, played with avuncular jollity by Brian Cox. When Smith learns that his face now adorns the £20 bank note in England, he responds with mock embarrassment and a dismissive, “Oh shut up!” Resembling an off-duty sailor in his blue peacoat, Cox revels in the silliness of the conceit, even making pantomime-style ghost noises when exiting the stage.
They say you should never meet your heroes, and so it proves for Goodwin as Smith’s specter proceeds to eviscerate him. He explains that he never advocated having unfettered capitalism — only that regulation should be fair, and not too stifling — and draws his acolyte’s attention to another of his key works, “The Theory of Moral Sentiments,” in which he emphasized the importance of community and helping others. Oops.
The play frames Goodwin as a tragic figure, undone by personal hubris and his simplistic misreading of Smith. In a nod to Greek classical drama, the supporting cast doubles as a chorus of furies, fixing Goodwin with reproachful stares and periodically bursting into song. When the going is good, they belt out snatches of mid-2000s indie-pop hits by bands like Franz Ferdinand and Kings of Leon, evoking blasé optimism. Later, they sing corny ballads suggesting wistful contrition.
Goodwin, an electrician’s son, mistook his own aspiration for the common good, and came to believe that endless growth could be sustained on confidence alone. His story serves as an allegory for the moral compromises made in office by the Labour Party, which governed Britain for 13 years from the 1990s but lost power not long after the events depicted here. Margaret Thatcher famously quipped that she considered Tony Blair, Brown’s predecessor, to be her greatest achievement; Graham seems to agree.
Was Goodwin merely a fall guy — a dupe who, like many of his generation, was mis-sold a dangerous dogma? Perhaps, but one suspects that, for certain highly cynical operators, ideology is just self-serving cant and a cloak for amoral rapaciousness.
So when Smith disabuses Goodwin of his illusions, the result is not epiphany but an emotional and intellectual cul-de-sac, a dramatic dead end. Goodwin lacks the compensatory virtues of an antihero, because he has been made into too much of a villain. Graham has taken something banal and sought to mystify it. The results are uneven, but Cox’s genial haunting is a pleasure in itself, and rescues the play from didactic drabness — bailing it out, if you will.
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