Michael Boyd: the modest man who saved the RSC Brezhnev was in power, the KGB still prowled the corridors, and the young Boyd's job consisted mainly of making the tea. "It was like going to the moon," he once said. The experience left him with two overriding beliefs: firstly, that theatre mattered and could change society; secondly, that the best way of working was to collaborate as an ensemble, a close-knit group of actors and technicians pulling together to create theatrical magic. During his decade in charge, he may not have made as many stars as his predecessors, but he has given the RSC both a sense of itself and a string of monumental successes. When people look back on the Boyd years, they will point to towering achievements: the Complete Works Festival, in which all Shakespeare's plays were performed in a year; the ongoing World Shakespeare season; and, above all, his own Histories cycle. It is obvious that the Histories - in which 34 actors played more than 260 parts as the eight plays unfolded - were both a product of Boyd's methods and a triumphant vindication of his conviction that there should be no conflict in theatre between physical and literary traditions. It is less clear that the huge popular success of the musical version of Roald Dahl's Matilda, now wowing the West End and soon to open on Broadway, should also spring from such notions. Yet it does: a tribute to patience, lateral thinking and the ability to bring together large groups of talented people and help them work harmoniously. Matilda is part of Boyd's legacy to his successor Greg Doran: the income will give the RSC financial support. Boyd himself inherited a debt of £3 million, and a company that was so near to collapse that people were suggesting it should be merged with the National Theatre. But he has restored its reputation, taken it to a rebuilt home with a wonderful auditorium, and raised its profile worldwide. Under his directorship, the RSC has become once more a glory of British theatre. Problems remain, the lack of a London base being the most pressing. But the fact that Boyd has done all this while directing memorably brilliant productions is an immense achievement. The director Tom Piper, who has worked with Boyd for more than 20 years, describes a queue building outside the room when Boyd is rehearsing: all the pressing concerns of the world lining up outside the door. But inside, he has the ability to concentrate without distraction. This is a remarkable gift. Anyone who has read Peter Hall's diaries expects an artistic directorship to be a battleground of egos and political argument. Anyone who has studied Richard Eyre's account of his 10 years in charge of the National knows that his form as a director took a terrible dip as he grappled with the difficulties of administration. Somehow, Boyd appears to have managed to survive with only some extra lines on his face suggesting the toll they may have taken. He is almost preternaturally calm. Perhaps this owes something to his daily meditation. But perhaps, too, it springs from the strength of those beliefs forged so long ago: that a supportive ensemble really is a model for both theatre, and even, dare one say it, for life itself.