Entertaining Mr Sloane – Footnotes
These Footnotes accompany our episode on Joe Orton’s classic black comedy, Entertaining Mr Sloane, and include additional notes on Orton’s alter-ego Edna Welthorpe, the language of keeping up appearances, Sloane’s lack of innocence, and the character of Kemp.
Not listened to the episode yet? You’ll find it here.
Edna Welthorpe
We talked in the podcast about the negative reception that Entertaining Mr Sloane first received from the critics, but Orton himself enjoyed playing along with the public outrage. For example, he wrote tongue-in-cheek letters to the press under the name of Edna Welthorpe, in which he vented splenetic outrage at the play. Orton in fact lifted the name ‘Edna’ from Terence Rattigan’s ‘Aunt Edna’ – a term Rattigan coined in the preface to his collected plays for what he saw as the typical 1950s theatre-goer. Rattigan’s Aunt Edna was firmly middle class, emotionally buttoned up, and easily offended. Orton’s Edna was determined to call out the offense, writing in mock horror to the Telegraph newspaper:
‘I sincerely agree with Peter Pinell {someone who had written a negative letter to the editor] in his condemnation of Entertaining Mr Sloane. I myself was nauseated by this endless parade of mental and physical perversion. And to be told that such a disgusting piece of filth now passes as humour. Today’s young playwrights take it upon themselves to flaunt their contempt for ordinary decent people. I hope that the ordinary decent people of this country will shortly strike back!”
Orton’s leaning into the outrage at the play in penning Edna’s emblematic response is part of Orton’s self-mythologising as the daring social iconoclast. A view of himself signalled by his signing off a personal letter at the time as “Joe Contramundum”.
Language
We also talked in the podcast about how the faux-refined language used by all the characters is a big part of the social satire. The platitudes that Kath and Ed parrot are absorbed from common social parlance, adopted to project their middle-class aspirations. But they are an artificial veneer that fails to plaster over the darker realities of their desires and behaviour. For example, when Kemp has been battered by Sloane, Kath plays it all down, saying he is upstairs “sleeping off the excitement”. She excuses Sloane his outburst on the basis that Kemp must have insulted him with “a bad word” – hardly a proportionate assessment. Kath’s working-class origins slip out from time to time, as with “I should change them curtains.” One critic described the polite language of the play as “like parquet over a volcano”, which is a lovely conceit for the social pretension that fails to cover the fiery chaos below.
Ed and Kath’s language is all about keeping up appearances, which is one of the themes of the play as Emma pointed out in our conversation. Sloane recognises this early on when he invents a genteel background for himself; how his parents were “respected. You know H.P. debts. Bridge. A little light gardening. The usual activities of a cultured community.” This is the social background that he thinks Kath will respect. Ed likewise talks frequently about his principles and protecting his reputation. His sister taking in a young lodger would reflect badly on him, for example. All of this posturing despite the implication that as a so-called businessman his activities have a strong whiff of the criminal.
Orton described the range of his language as a “collage” – of different sources and styles, combining colloquial phrases and social platitudes with more poetic, self-consciously writerly speech. Orton even cited the principle in Shakespeare’s language, saying that in Shakespeare “you have absolute realism and then you get high poetry, it’s just language. I think that you should use the language of your age and every bit of it.”
The language is most poetic in Sloane’s long speech telling how he ended up killing the photographer. It is a wonderful piece of storytelling, made more vivid by the details he includes, such as when he describes the conventional job he briefly had, complete with canteen facilities, a fortnight’s paid holiday and an annual staff dance, in the salubrious suburb of Twickenham, where “the air …was like wine”. But the tale turns, of course. Sloane “loses his head” and kills the photographer in a blast of fury. The story contains all the seeds of Sloane’s character, as a social misfit, and a damaged and dangerous one at that. It is tempting to think that the lyricism of Sloane’s storytelling denotes that in this story he is telling the truth for once; at least the bit about killing the photographer. The real Sloane is revealed when he finds himself trapped by Kath’s threat to turn him in. He lashes out and hits Kath, urging Ed to “cut her throat”. He no longer coats his language in civility, as the others do. He responds in the only way he has left, with force.
Sloane’s lack of innocence
Orton was clear about Sloane’s lack of innocence, and his instinctive manipulation. He wrote in a letter to the director of the first New York production of the play, it is “Quite clear. Sloane knows Eddie wants him. He has absolutely no qualms about surrendering his body. None. He’s done it many, many times. Sloane is no virgin. He’s been in bed with men and women in the past. But he isn’t going to give in until he has to. And while he can get away with…riding around in cars, just fucking Kath a couple of times a week, getting paid a good salary, why should he give up his trump card. Eddie, naturally, doesn’t know how amoral Sloane is. He imagines that he has a virgin on his hands. He thinks he can get Sloane. Sure, he can. But it may take a bit of time – cause Sloane is such a nice kid.” Lahr p 148
So, Sloane is clearly not a virgin, and he is sexually fluid – When Kemp tells him about finding his son “committing some kind of felony in the bedroom”, Sloane says “That kind of thing happens often, I believe. For myself, I usually lock the door.” P 71
And when it looks like Ed will turn him in for murdering Kemp, he as good as comes right out and offers himself sexually to Ed, by making up a story of a man like Ed who he had known previously, who “was an expert on the adolescent male body” and had offered him a job if he “would accept” his principles, but he turned him down, rueing the missed opportunity and saying that if Ed “were to make the same demands”, he’d “answer loudly in the affirmative.”
Orton had a phrase that he floated about himself, albeit again in an ironic self-styling sort of way, saying that he was “a model of narcissistic non-commitment” – a characterisation that could also be applied to Sloane.
Kemp
Finally, a brief note about Kemp, Ed and Kath’s father who becomes a hapless casualty of the power battle between the other three. It’s striking how little sympathy or credit Kemp gets, despite the fact that he is the only one who identifies the truth at all points throughout the play. When he says that Sloane has been hitting him, his children initially don’t believe him, and then pass it off, even when he shows them the bruises.
When he’s killed, they are barely moved, both more concerned with the ongoing battle to own Sloane. They are certainly not interested in justice. Indeed, Orton isn’t interested in justice – it looks like neither of Sloane’s crimes are going to be prosecuted. This is a world without moral consequences. Though it is hard to believe that peace and happiness will follow and endure in this uneasy family arrangement.
115 – The Dance of Death by August Strindberg
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August Strindberg’s The Dance of Death is set in a remote army base on the coast of Sweden, where an army captain and his wife are trapped together in an unhappy marriage. The captain, bitter at his lack of promotion, and his wife, frustrated at having been forced to give up her career as an actress, occupy their empty hours tearing into each other in a brutal dance of mutual cruelty.
Strindberg’s scorching portrait of marital strife was written in 1900, but has had a lasting influence. Arthur Miller dubbed Strindberg, “the mad inventor of modern theatre”, and echoes of his unflinching dissection of marital discord can be seen in the plays of Edward Albee, Tennessee Williams, Eugene O’Neill, and John Osborne.
Sir Richard Eyre adapted and directed a wonderful production of Dance of Death at the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond upon Thames earlier this year, and I am delighted that Sir Richard joins me in this episode to guide us through Strindberg’s blistering onslaught on marriage.
114 – Love’s Labour’s Lost by William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost is described on the title page in the first publication of its text in 1598 as “A Pleasant Conceited Comedie.” I imagine that the epithets were intended to highlight the play’s courtly aesthetic, its frothy merry-go-round of courtship, and above all perhaps, its ostentatiously intricate word play. For it is a play rich in the love and perils of language.
I am joined to assay Shakespeare’s conceited comedy by the Artistic Director of the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond upon Thames, Tom Littler. In the summer of 2026 Tom adapted and directed a magical double bill of Shakespeare, producing Love’s Labour’s Lost and Much Ado About Nothing in repertory, and staging them both ‘en plein air’.
113 – Arcadia by Tom Stoppard
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Tom Stoppard’s 1993 play, Arcadia, is viewed by many as his finest play, renowned for the breadth of its intellectual interrogations and its formal invention. The play is a structural masterpiece of ideas, as well as a teasing detective story, joyous comedy, and emotionally rich exploration of love and loss.
As we record this episode a wonderful new production of Arcadia is playing at the Duke of York’s theatre in London’s West End, following its acclaimed run at the Old Vic theatre earlier this year. I am delighted to share the challenge and the pleasure of exploring Stoppard’s dazzling drama with the director of the new production, Carrie Cracknell.









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