Mark Ravenhill is a playwright. 20 years later ‘Shopping and Fucking‘ still looks like it’s from the future and Mark continues to look ahead. I thought it would be nice to catch up with Mark to see exactly what’s happening. And I was right – it was very nice indeed.

Despite not really doing interviews he agreed to a chat. Here’s what happened.

Hi Mark Ravenhill. If you were to draw a graph of the last ten years, how would it look?

Some leaps of imagination needed here. First, that I could draw a graph. Which I can’t. I’ve never been able to stick to the squares on graph paper. And second, that I have the kind of mind that imagines shapes that fit on graph paper. Which I don’t have either. So my graph of the last ten years would me trying to think in a way which I can’t, using a medium that I’m not suited to. In other words, my graph of the last ten years would be one of messy failure. That is not a metaphor. Or a cry for help.

What can you tell us about A View From Islington North the ‘evening of political satire’ you are contributing to with Out of Joint? ‘A View From Islington North’ is a celebration of Max Stafford-Clark’s relationships with playwrights. All the playwrights who’ve written the pieces have had work directed by Max over decades. He first directed work by Caryl Churchill and David Hare in the 1970s. I’m one of the johnny-come-latelies, having only first worked with him twenty years ago. Max is a brilliant, infuriating, insightful and relentless director

What’s your favourite emoji?

The winky one

Shopping and Fucking is often described as a period piece isn’t it.

I don’t know how other people describe it (if it all) but yes I would describe it as period piece. I wanted to write what it felt like to be in your twenties in that moment in time. It doesn’t have any references to contemporary events outside the play but it’s whole mood and style belongs to the late 1990s. It’s a play that is sorted for Es and whizz.

With writers it feels like there’s a constant expectation, and that they need to keep proving themselves, throughout their career. Which perhaps isn’t quite the same for a director where you can just keep going until you fall over. Is that a fair analysis?

Do you think so? I think directors suffer from constant expectation and many fall out of favour and fashion. But it’s true that there is a high burn out with playwrights. Some have one brilliant debut at somewhere like the Royal Court upstairs and then never write again. Plenty write three or four plays and then find they have no more plays to write. Very few write plays over a lifetime. I’m fifty this year. To ensure that I too ‘can just keep going until you fall over’ I’ve mapped out a cycle of forty full length plays. I’m committed to writing one a year, finishing each one on my birthday June 7th. So that will take me until I’m 90, when I will fall over and die as I will have advanced osteoporosis.

If you were to write a playwriting rulebook, what would Rule One be?

There is really only one rule to learn before writing a play. Never under any circumstances use the line ‘the door was open so I let myself in’. Everything else is allowed.

Let’s imagine we’re putting theatre as an art form in a capsule to sending it into space, which one play do you put forward?

One play to represent the whole of world theatre? Wouldn’t it need to be a DVD of a performance? (the question is in danger of conflating a ‘play’ with ‘theatre’). But let’s say it’s a play text. I think it would have to be one of the Greeks. That’s drama in its purest and arguably most powerful form. I would pick Sophocles’ ‘Antigone’, although it could just as well be Euripides ‘Medea’ or Aeschylus “Oresteia’. How about I write a new English version and we ping that into space alongside the Ancient Greek text?

Do you endlessly analyse your creative decisions or are you impulsive?

I write first drafts almost entirely on impulse and then use analysis (often aided by the director and sometimes the actors) to work through further drafts.

Do you pay attention to critics?

I’ll listen to anyone who can help me understand what I’m doing and how I might get better at it.

To the people who are still reading, do you have a final message?

The door is still open. Let yourself out. Thank you.