Gordon Brown has mastered the art of political reinvention as elder statesman

Love a bit of Shakespeare, me. So, denied as we these days are, from watching the fella on stage without what might be loosely described as “the interpretive dance” school of theatre, I tuned in to the BBC’s Shakespeare: Rise of a Genius with a due sense of dread. I mean, who more likely to bastardise the bard? He’s from the past. And that’s wrong, you see, very wrong.

But I have to admit, it’s good. Largely speaking, contributors manage to restrain themselves from “reimagining” the Stratford scribbler through modern obsessions and discuss what made him. The turbulent times he lived in, his own pain and pride and his genius for timeless consideration, perfectly expressed.

Naturally, there’s Judi, darling Judi Dench, she of Mistress Quickly, Lady Macbeth and a host of other roles. Brian Cox of Logan Roy infamy, Helen Mirren – you know Helen, don’t you luv –  Adrian Lester, beanie of course, and, what, no Kenny?  

Academics too and, naturally enough, a smattering of politicians, principle among them being Gordon Brown. Odd, I thought, given Shakespeare’s dim view of over-ambitious Scotsmen.

And there, eventually, is my point. Gordon Brown. Iain Martin gave the chuckling chancellor a bit of a roughing up in the corridors of his most recent newsletter for presuming his right to power, making a mess when “king hereafter” and making life unpleasant for Alastair Darling, now, alas, a Banquo at our feast. 

Oh, I suddenly realise why they asked Gordon!

Anyway, there he was doing that odd thing with his jaw and smiling that pulpit smile which suggests theatre is a frivolity and he’s about to shut them all down, Puritan style. Prudence. I’m sure you understand.

What one realises, though, is the old phone smasher has pulled the peculiarly British metamorphosis of becoming “an elder statesman”. Before our very eyes, politicians we would gladly have seen dragged through the streets on a hurdle while in office, are imbued with sagacity, humour and amiability. 

John Major has become an expert in deploying his “more in sorrow than anger” interventions, oh yes. Ed “Glitter” Balls danced his way into the nation’s affections and Michael Portillo put on a lime green jacket and picked up a Bradshaw’s. 

Others fail. Tony Blair, still waiting for those WMDs to show up, looks too damn wealthy, if strangely brown. Alistair Campbell, for all his blokeishness, still resorts to shouting at anyone who disagrees with him while calling for more respect in public discourse. And Lord Dave has eyes on the role but has been called off the bench to shore up a failing defence while hoping to God everyone forgets the howler he let through his legs in the 2016 final.

Yet, somehow, we do forget. Does retirement from frontline politics suddenly allow the essential nice guy that lurks within to emerge? It’s possible, I suppose. We are, all of us, creatures of many façades depending on our environment, ambition and the moment.  Our opinions, a social psychologist once told me, are based less on conviction than the desire not to be driven out or beaten to death by our tribe. Why should politicians be any different?

I suppose it all comes down to motive. Reinvention is the most praised art of our times, not unreasonably given our longevity, the death of the job for life and the fast changing winds of social mores and conventions. But authenticity still counts. 

“Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne’er loved them.”

Now, I wonder who wrote that. 

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