Praise be: Anne-Marie Duff as Shaw's Saint Joan. Photograph: Tristram Kenton
So Shaw is a dead duck? An old fossil barely worth reviving? Well, that's been given the lie in the past week, as both Saint Joan at the National and Pygmalion at the Theatre Royal, Bath have turned up trumps. It may dismay the Shaw-baiters, but the two plays not only displayed a massive intellectual vitality, but also seemed as relevant as ever: almost chillingly so in the case of Saint Joan.
Shaw's Joan, as many people have pointed out, is a marvellously flexible character. For some, she is the archetypal nonconformist and nay-sayer: the eternal model for those members of the awkward squad who refuse to accept an imposed authority. Rejecting official doctrine, she relies directly on the validity of her personal vision. You could, if you wished, see her as a prototype of Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Mrs Pankhurst, Germaine Greer. But Shaw also poses the question of how society would function if everyone claimed to be personally inspired. As his character, Cauchon, puts it in a debate with the earl of Warwick: "What will it be when every girl thinks herself a Joan and every man a Mahomet?"
That line certainly hits home with a modern audience. Resorting to violence to rid her country of an occupying army, Joan is the medieval equivalent of a modern jihadist. And don't contemporary terrorists or suicide-bombers often rely on the sanctity of their "voices"? The parallel may not be exact in that today imams often intervene. But part of the greatness of Shaw's play is that it recognises the problem. Society, he suggests, is only changed by unorthodox individuals like Joan. At the same time, there would be chaos if we all claimed to be vindicated by the private promptings of our conscience. There is not only a direct link between Joan and the modern bomb-thrower. She is also, in relying on her unimpeachable sincerity, a 15th-century Tony Blair.
Shaw anticipates our own political dilemmas. He also understands how human beings function. I suppose Pygmalion is now doomed forever to be seen as the source of My Fair Lady. But, watching the play again in Bath, I was struck by its timeless wit and wisdom. Higgins picks up a flower girl and tries to pass her off as a duchess. Shaw's point, however, is that you can't simply treat people as guinea pigs or mechanical objects; if you do, they will strike back and seek to destroy the Frankensteins who created them. In a world full of popstars, supermodels and footballers who appear to have been manufactured, rather than allowed to evolve, the argument is still valid.
Shaw, we are always told, is dull, prosy and didactic. I'd say he was vibrant, poetic and enquiring. Not all of his plays are masterpieces. And he sometimes falls in love with the sound of his own voice. But it seems to me senseless to banish him from our stages. He was as witty as Wilde and as concerned with unresolvable problems as Ibsen. And, even if the Shaw-haters can't be persuaded by argument, I suggest they have a look at Saint Joan or Pygmalion. They might find their prejudices overturned.
