I think I've seen a way around the smoking ban ... I'll tell you later.
In a move which in some quarters could prove as significant as the Good Friday Agreement, Northern Ireland has relaxed its ban to exempt actors in theatrical productions, should the sparking up of an oily rag prove necessary for dramatic realism. So far, they are restricted to smoking herbal tobacco, but now that the first crack has appeared, it can't be long until old Nick O'Teen himself wheezes back into existence.
It's seems rather odd though, that the pursuit of dramatic realism will leave the auditorium smelling like a student hall of residence circa 1973. Surely our olfactory senses will smell a rat in the authenticity department and alert our other critical faculties to the fact. Do Harold Pinter's characters purchase their snout at Holland and Barrett? And Chekhov's too? Does whichever superannuated siren currently getting goose pimples in the provinces as Mrs Robinson, smoke dried flower petals? Her pulling power would be severely dented if she did.
Dramatic realism does not require real smoking of any kind, any more than it requires real penetrative sex, sodomy , murder, crucifixion, or genuine fairy godmothers.
The whole point of acting is that it is not real - it's pretending. There's a story about the filming of Marathon Man, where Dustin Hoffman runs up and down a staircase in order to exhaust himself sufficiently for his next scene, which required him to be out of breath. Eventually, Lau rence Olivier stopped him and said "Why not try acting, dear boy?" If the acting is good enough, an unlit cigarette will be just as convincing to all but the absolute trainspotters - who don't tend to go to the theatre that much anyway.
I'm tugging away on a Marlboro Light as I type, (sorry ma - I have still given up, but relapsed slightly ... and I'm going to France tomorrow, so what chance have I got?) and although the smoke is spiralling pleasantly from its tip, it would not be necessary should I decide to recite a soliloquy.
On the other hand, if thesps can puff away willy-nilly, surely musicians should be afforded the same leniency. Musicians' walking sticks - as they are sometimes referred to - are often vital components to a performance. For many writers they are the punctuation of thought, the perfect way to pull back from the text and give the imagination a breather.
Of course smoking is an irredeemably bad habit which shortens life and smells disgusting to those who don't do it: those who believe life should be lived for as long as possible in as good a state as possible. Yer creative types, on the other hand, are often intent on getting life over with quickly. They document and distil the world around them - which is rarely to their pleasure. The gradual suicide afforded by nicotine, alcohol and narcotics is ... a lifeline.
Lastly - coming back to my idea to beat the smoking ban. In As You Like It, Shakespeare said "All the world's a stage / And all the men and women merely players." So pubs and clubs should re-brand themselves as theatres, and every customer form part of the cast. I know it's only rabbit tobacco, but at least you can smoke it indoors.
