The comparisons between Morrissey and Jimmy Porter are striking, but more remarkable are the connections between Morrissey and Osborne himself. As the most vivid example of the angry young men, the playwright's actions and beliefs clearly offer an undeniable standard for the singer's behavior.
There is a certain flair, a roguish charm shared by the two that's uncannily similar. Both Morrissey and Osborne present this asocial sort of charisma, a standoffish poise that's irresistible to their fans. An often-retold anecdote from the playwright's childhood has a headmaster slapping the 16-year old Osborne over an unfriendly facial expression, to which the boy responded by slapping the man back. Osborne was of course expelled, and a certain kind of quick-breathing, vicarious joy always swirls around the retelling, as his biographers and admirers celebrate as if they had struck the blow themselves.
Morrissey's description of his own teenage years carries a similar outsider's glee. He remembers his own secondary school days as "a willful isolation", an active choice made against participation: "Most of the teenagers that surrounded me, and the things that pleased them and interested them, well, they bored me stiff."
The cheer that accompanies this memory seems at odds with his more recurrent descriptions of Manchester youth: "They were the most vicious people. They would smack you in the mouth and ask you what you were looking at after," Morrissey once explained. That he chose his isolation is certainly a comforting thought, but given the overwhelming weight of memories that describe his adolescence of persecution and depression, it seems more likely that he had no other option. His choice, or the notion of it anyway, has certainly been vindicated by history, but like Osborne, had he been a failure and led an anonymous life of poverty and ruin, the swagger of opting-out or striking a teacher would seem a lost gamble, a poor choice.
This audacity and this successful insolence fed both men, driving each of them to a very specific combination of vanity, self-righteousness, and agitation. Kenneth Tynan, the theater critic who was the first to praise Look Back in Anger, famously described Osborne as "a dandy with a machine gun." Every review of his work, every profile of his character describes this balance between the elegantly dressed, sleek figured man, and the "compulsive rebel": dangerous, fierce, and upsetting.
In his concerts, Morrissey has perfected his own synthesis of vanity and lawlessness. Countless photos and videos (including Morrissey's music video for "Will Never Marry") document the arresting phenomenon of fans rushing onstage for a chance to kiss the face or touch the hand of the singer. Half of the spectacle is the determination and thrall of the fans, but just as important is the grace and fearlessness with which Morrissey greets his disciples. He never flinches, never calls for security; regardless of their vigor, which often knocks him off his feet, Morrissey always replies to his assailants with understanding, gentleness, and patience. This fearlessless is perhaps less notable, however, when regarded in light of Morrissey's steady invitations. "It only takes one," he's coyly reminded audiences around the world, enticing undecided fans by promising: "I will forgive you." He's even gone as far as leaving the stage until the security force is subdued, guaranteeing subsequent invasions.
And of course it must be noted that in 2006, Morrissey released You Are the Quarry, his first solo LP in seven years. On the cover is a photograph of Morrissey, dressed in a pinstripe suit and a purple necktie, directing both his gaze and the barrel of a tommy gun across the record's face. It's almost crass in its literal translation of a dandy with a machine gun.
This anti-establishment, lurid-yet-well-dressed charm has run through generations of rebellion, but rarely found such notable proponents as Osborne and Morrissey. Given Morrissey's penchant for taking up the traits of his idols, it's difficult to believe that this alignment is unintentional. But it's still not the strongest similarity between the two. Their hearts were closest when it came to their hatred.
The rage that both men have expressed towards England and toward the crown is savage, disappointed and final. In 1961, Osborne announced his feelings for his homeland in an open letter titled "Damn You, England." Osborne's letter, published in The Observer, stands among the most poisonous venom spat in the last fifty years on any topic; a clawing, kicking promise of violence. "This is a letter of hate," he begins, "It is for you those men of my country who have defiled it... there is murder in my brain and I carry a knife in my heart for every one of you." Osborne saw this contamination as complete and inevitable, and he concludes the letter with a declaration: "Damn you, England. You're rotting now, and quite soon you'll disappear."
Three decades later, from a self-imposed exile in Hollywood, California, Morrissey expressed his relationship to his nation with the exact same imagery of death and decay: "The England that I have loved, and I have sung about, and whose death I had sung about, I felt had just finally slipped away. And so I was no longer saying, 'England is dying', I was beginning to say, 'Well, yes, it has died and here's the carcass'-so why hang around?" For all of Morrissey's ambiguity, his reluctance to deal in absolutes, the choice of words like "carcass" and "death" is particularly telling.
Even in their everyday interactions, the two share an aversion to people and conversation. A profile of Osborne in The New York Times said that "by nature he is a reluctant joiner and a poor belonger," while Morrissey echoed the sentiment in a 1984 interview: "I don't trust a living human being. I find most people totally repugnant." By the start of the 90s, Morrissey's seclusion was infamous, with dumbfounded reporters recounting his preferred method of communication: the fax machine.
It's important to recognize that despite this alienation, the two men ultimately sought to improve the human condition. A critic described Osborne's "furious attempt to penetrate indifference and apathy in order to get others to see and feel as he does", while Morrissey himself very earnestly declared, "I really feel that we do have an obligation and I know that people respect it and they want it and it's working to great effect."