Why didn't the Abbey show go on, asks Peter Crawley

'LET me explain something about the theatre business: the natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster."

These calm, gentle words of reassurance come from Philip Henslowe, the theatre impresario in Shakespeare in Love, when his opening night is threatened by a little something called the Bubonic Plague. He is clearly good in a crisis. "Strangely enough, it all turns out well," he continues.

Shrugging in the face of the Black Death may seem extreme, but most theatre makers know what it's like to pull a production together in the face of bewilderingly steep odds. A leading actor suffers an injury during previews but hides his grimaces and performs with a cane. The set collapses minutes before the curtain is raised, but it gets sticky-taped back into place. The writer hasn't quite finished the play (as happened with Dylan Thomas with Under Milk Wood) but nails it as the audience take their seats. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.

Or, to resort to a creakier maxim, the show must go on.

Must it? Last week the Abbey chose to push back the imminent opening of Conor McPherson's The Seafarerto May 7th, because it was decided that the show just wasn't ready. Having replaced a cast member early last month (Gerard McSorley bowed out for personal reasons), the ensemble was adversely affected and this was the best way "to serve the play, the audience and to support the writer".

On the other hand, the Abbey has coped before, and in far tighter circumstances. A couple of years ago at the same theatre - and with considerably less time to spare - an injured cast member had to drop out of a central role in The Importance of Being Earnest. Rather than delay the opening for the sake of the ensemble, the play, the audience or the writer (who was hardly in a position to object), another actor stepped into the breach with next to no rehearsal. The show did go on.

Apparently The Seafarercould have opened as scheduled, but would not have met its "full potential". Then again, how many plays do? Given the considerable costs, losses and logistics of rescheduling, though, the move seems less precious than nervous.

After all, securing the Irish premiere of The Seafarer, from a writer who had long felt snubbed by the National Theatre, was a major coup for the Abbey, which may be keen not to jeopardise its association.

Heaven knows, other theatre companies must envy its position, rather than engaging in frantic fixing while critics hover in the foyer. Even the venerable Sir Peter Hall recently bemoaned a theatre without wriggle room, where directors know by day three that a show isn't going to work. "When it's wrong," he said, "they have to go on and they can't tell anybody it's wrong."

With the weight of tradition against them, postponing an opening is an unprecedented move for The Abbey. But if the production wasn't ready, we'll benefit from their tough decision. This time, the show can wait.