What about the writers?

Trevor Nunn's National Theatre tenure was dominated by safe, commercial favourites, argues the playwright Arnold Wesker – now let's have some new writing

In theatre, there can be no hot seat hotter than that behind the desk of the artistic director of the National Theatre. Not only are indigenous eyes transfixed on the three fine stages housed in Lasdun's concrete block; so, too, are the world's eyes, feverishly seeking what is acclaimed so that their owners can snap up plays for their own country claiming "Fresh from London's National Theatre".

It must be a brave and confident heart that dares assume the mantle, we think. But what are our expectations of the nation's theatre? There are, perhaps, tiers of expectation. The first is easy to name: we expect to see the work of the nation's past playwrights. The second is also easy to name, but harder to identify: we expect to be reminded of the past work of living playwrights. The third tier presents the biggest problem: we hope to be presented with the nation's new writing.

There are two reasons why this third tier is the most problematic: the untested is being dealt with here, and "new writing" is often confused with "new writers". Perhaps, then, the third tier should be subdivided under the heading "new": new writing and new writers, each presenting risks for being untested, the new writer being the biggest risk – and challenge – for a national theatre's artistic director.

There is a fourth tier. Although it is called the National Theatre, the institution is more than a clearing house for what the nation has produced; it is also a window through which the nation hopes to see what the world has produced. Now the programming becomes a nightmare. The moment you introduce "the world" as a factor in planning, you have to start all over again with your three tiers: the world's past – Molière, Lorca, O'Neill, Pirandello, Chekhov, to name the most obvious; the past work of living foreign playwrights; new foreign writing and new foreign writers. Nick Hytner's door will be banged upon from morning till night. The seat will sizzle.

Nor do his problems end there. There exists a team of directors – young and old – who have expectations of their own. One wants to direct Lessing's Nathan The Wise, another thinks he's discovered genius, yet another wants to work with actors and construct the play in rehearsals on the important topic of, say, the nature of violence. All of this has to be woven into the year's season.

There is one last knocker-at-the-door, the most unnerving perhaps: the Chancellor of the Exchequer, in the guise of the Arts Council, which allots state subsidy, eyeing the balance sheets, setting expectations of a minimum audience attendance of, Trevor Nunn told me, 75 per cent. How many risks can be taken if the keeper of the purse has such constricting expectations? Nunn played safe by offering mostly old and tested plays and musicals. What balance between safety and risk will Nick Hytner achieve, in terms not just of new writing, but of subject matter? The great expectation is not simply of well-crafted, intelligent plays, which abound in British theatre, but of memorable plays.

That's the litmus test – was the evening more than a good evening out, was it an experience? There's nothing wrong with a good evening out, but what we really hanker for is memorability, to tell our children we were there. It's a short life, after all.

We've mentioned the expectations of the past, of the audience, the artistic director, the team of directors, the keepers of purse, the expectations of the rest of the world, and you are thinking, that's right, understandable, what we'd have said ourselves – the problem is indeed enormous, the seat is indeed hot. But nowhere has the expectation of the playwright been mentioned.

Occasionally a new play or adaptation will be commissioned, but has any established playwright been approached by a director of the National Theatre, saying: "We've got most of the slots filled for 2004/2005, but we're reserving three for playwrights to nominate one of their works – something new or old, or one you feel is either neglected or didn't get a fair showing first time round – and as you're one of our nation's acclaimed playwrights with an international as well as a national track record, we're inviting you to fill one of the slots with your choice."

I've worded that carefully. Not "Is there a play you would like us to consider?" but "Is there a play you want performed?" And here we come upon a very knotty problem indeed for the hot seat to contemplate.

It is said that a theatre must reflect its director's taste. His or her taste is what he or she is being paid for. This truth can't be denied. But is it the whole truth? Are not heads of theatres also being paid for their wisdom? George Devine, the founder of the English Stage Company, was wise – he permitted plays for which he personally had scant regard. Being wise means allowing the production of work that you may not like, but that know to be right for the nation's stage; or mounting a play that you don't warm to, but feel ought to be seen because of the writer's track record; or a play for which you wisely guess an audience exists, despite your personal predilections.

Yes, I'm arguing for the playwright, without whose work no one else in the theatre can function. And don't point to those groups of actors who present "the group play" – they have turned themselves into playwrights for the night, and my argument stands.

And I argue for playwrights because no one else appears to be so doing. Some years ago Tom Stoppard opening the revamped bookshop in the National Theatre as a place where he could now meet friends. Actors had their green room, directors had their office, but who, Stoppard asked, had considered the needs of the writer?

This is not an easy article for me to write; it will be assumed that the subtext is me talking about the problem as it affects me. To a certain extent, such a subtext is inevitable, but I hope that, overall, it will be understood that I'm arguing a principle that affects all established playwrights.

We further expect that the artistic director of the National Theatre will be sensitive to the fact that a playwright might spend a year or more struggling with his or her material to bring an original play into existence, and then have to wait another year for it to be mounted, whereas the director has centuries-worth of world drama already in existence as his/her material from which to choose.

We expect the artistic director to be aware that whatever he and his team want to direct is guaranteed a production. No one will judge a director's work before it has been seen by the public, as the director judges the playwright's work before the public has seen it – a process which may produce the result that the public never sees it.

We expect the artistic director to be aware that no matter what he chooses to mount, if it doesn't work or meets with critical dismissal, he has been paid, and will continue to be paid for five years until his contract runs out and is perhaps renewed again; the playwright is a freelance, guaranteed nothing.

The National Theatre's leader has enormous power over actors, freelance directors and playwrights, who are powerless beggars at the gate. It is an awesome power, and our great expectation is that it will be sensitively handled and not abused.

©Arnold Wesker

Arnold Wesker's new plays 'Groupie' and 'Longitude' are planned for London this year