Don't hide quality drama away in a digital ghetto

TV is not alone in underestimating public interest in new works by famous dramatists

The BBC's decision to relegate an unseen Dennis Potter screenplay to BBC 4, where it will get an audience of only a couple of hundred thousand, is even worse than it first seems. This is not the corporation trying to boost its little-watched digital channel by saying, "We are putting the greatest television writer ever on it." As I understand it from senior sources in the corporation, the BBC feels that there is no longer an audience on the main terrestrial channels for Potter.

How Potter would have laughed or sworn at the irony of being put on the cultural ghetto channel. He spoke out against theming of television channels and radio stations, recalling his delight as a boy at tuning into radio and discovering and learning from the unexpected – a piece of music followed by a play followed by a comedy followed by a quiz.

And if the BBC is relegating the Potter work because it thinks it is not up to scratch, then it underestimates the curiosity of many viewers, who would love to see a "new" work by the author of The Singing Detective and Pennies From Heaven.

Television is not alone in underestimating public interest in unseen works by famous dramatists. Arnold Wesker has complained in the past that the National Theatre won't put on his new plays. Peter Nichols, though enjoying much-praised revivals of his early plays, has made similar complaints. Wesker, in his autobiography, wrote: "It is the queerest of sensations, this literary leprosy. Chilling."

I don't think that it is the chill of literary leprosy among authors that should be the spur for putting on new works by great writers. It is the curiosity among audiences, even if minority audiences, to trace the development of those writers and compare the hitherto-unseen works with the acknowledged masterpieces. Surely, the National Theatre could make available its smallest auditorium for a short season every year of new plays by world-famous dramatists. It is not just students of English literature who would lap them up.

Meanwhile, the BBC should change its plans and put Dennis Potter's last unseen work on BBC 2 – or, perish the thought, transmit it on BBC 1 in place of one of the nightly non-singing detective dramas.

* Next week the estimable Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics reignites memories of great moments in rock history when he reopens the Marquee club. Except that he actually does nothing of the kind. For all that has been written in recent weeks dredging up tales of the Who, the Stones and Jimi Hendrix, the new venue in Islington is not the Marquee at all. It has the same name because Dave Stewart paid good money to buy the name. But it is in a different part of London (the original Marquee was in Soho); it looks different, and, of course, not a single rock legend has played there, because it has just been built. Dave Stewart has done an admirable job in giving London a gleaming new and unfashionably comfortable rock venue; but it's time we all stopped pretending that using the same name as a legendary venue automatically makes that venue live again.

The same trick was pulled with the Cavern in Liverpool. I watched Paul McCartney "return to his roots" a couple of years ago to give a short concert there. But, credit to him, in the middle of the gig McCartney stopped to say: "This isn't really the Cavern. Liverpool City Council in its wisdom pulled down the original Cavern." What brilliant councillors they must have been not to see the tourist and heritage potential of the original Cavern, but to turn it into a car park. Giving a new building the original name in a belated attempt to cash in on tourism just won't wash. And, with the greatest of respect to Dave Stewart, Hendrix did some wild things, but he never, ever played Islington.

* I attended the final weekend of this summer's excellent Glyndebourne season to see Anne Sofie von Otter in David McVicar's dark and menacing production of Carmen. It was a mesmerising evening, not least for the performance of the leading lady. There had been doubts cast over whether an ice-cool blonde Swede could convey the sultry passion of the Spanish gypsy. Add to that the fact that Carmen, unlike Anne Sofie, was a lot younger than 47. But it was a triumph, and not just because of the red hair courtesy of the wigs department. Anne Sofie von Otter quite simply redefined the role, making it a study in power, manipulation and thwarted desire. And, of course, the international star brought to Glyndebourne the voice of the season. I learnt on my visit that rather than Glyndebourne seeking her out, Anne Sofie von Otter came to them, said she had never sung Carmen in her career and yearned to, felt that Glyndebourne's intimate opera house was the place to make that belated debut in the role. She even indicated her preference of director. She was a big enough star to get her way, and a clever enough star to be right on every count.

d.lister@independent.co.uk