No 39 -- Winter 1992–3 Edited by Michael Walters
For the press reports which follow, I am indebted to Roderick Murray, who found them collected in a publication called THEATRE RECORD, to which I do not have access. The trouble with most "professional critics" is that they seem to see everything in terms of present–day styles of theatre production, rather than in real terms. Ed.
[Mr. Milnes' reaction to THE MIKADO is unsurprising after what he said of GONDOLIERS, but some of the things he says are inconsistent. Ed.]
Oh what a sad decline. When the D'Oyly Carte visited the Wells last year they opened with a Gondoliers that certainly divided opinion (I loved it) and may well have gone slightly too far in several different directions at once.
[Is he backing down? Ed.]
But at least it was alive, and took into account a century of English humour from Gilbert himself through to Python and beyond, and suggested that the company was at last inching, be it ever so hesitantly, into the second half of the 20th century. Last night's opener was The Mikado (a risk in that the ENO's sprightly Jonathan Miller production has been playing in London for years) and I have to say this was one of the most dismal G&S stageings I've ever sat through. It's hard, chicken–and–egg–wise, to work out precisely why. Did the director Andrew Wickes (responsible for last year's fine Iolanthe) realise early on that most of his leads were – to put it kindly – modestly gifted when it comes to comedy, and so decide to try and cover up with an insanely over–busy production? Maybe, but if half the energy expended on unnecessary set and costume changes and general hyperactivity had been devoted to study of the text and its implications, we would have been getting somewhere.
[But how can Mr. Milnes claim straightfacedly that THE GONDOLIERS (which he alone seems to have admired) was based on a study of the text and its implications? Ed.]
As it was, only a handful of the lethal barbs aimed at English attitudes to class and authority found their mark through a mish–mash of mis–stressed delivery of the lines, and a comic style some way below that of the Carry On films is simply inadequate for one of the sharpest and most sophisticated wits of English theatre.
[A wit which wasn't allowed a look–in in THE GONDOLIERS. Ed.]
The only cast members to emerge with any credit were Jill Pert, a formidable Katisha, and Yvonne Patrick's sharp little Peep–Bo. Most of the rest made the fatal mistake of showing they knew they were being funny, or rather "funny" – always death to good comedy. John Owen Edwards's conducting and the singing were adequate, not more. A year ago, I thought D'Oyly Carte was set fair for the future. I'm not so sure now.
Thumbs down the other night for D'Oyly Carte's new Mikado at Sadler's Wells, a dispiriting affair of modest musical attainments and precious little fun. The Yeomen of the Guard, yesterday, proved a better bet. It was relatively more polished, more consistent, if not a performance to treasure. I fancy the company is still in search of a house style. Maybe it is dogged by underfunding. Can it afford the calibre of actor–singers and instrumentalists to which it aspires and it deserves? Nevertheless, Andrew Wickes's production took this most serious of Gilbert and Sullivan's operettas seriously enough, every now and then hoving in sight and sound of "grand operetta".
[!!?? Ed.].
The poignancy of Jack Point's rejection by Lesley Echo Ross's Elsie Maynard at the end rang true. To be sure, James Hendy's sets suggested Sing Sing rather than the Tower of London, but that is common practice today and at least the costumes were period. I liked the resolute Tower Lieutenant of John Rath, the salt–of–the–earth Sergeant Meryll of Terence Sharpe, even the sturdy red–haired Shadbolt of Gary Montaine, not a bad fellow at all, really – not to mention "Were I thy bride", Janine Roebuck's Phoebe and Fenton Gray's appeal, as Jack Point, for a job as jester from the Lieutenant. In short, good in parts, though, perhaps, to born and bred Savoyards, insubstantial, with rather lean pickings.
If you want to know who they are, these really are gentlemen of Japan. And there is not only many a screen and fan to prove it, but a crescendo of tableaux worthy of Madam Butterfly and the King of Kabuki [who? Ed.] put together. Andrew Wickes, magnificently aided by his designer, James Hendy, has given D'Oyly Carte a production to relish at last. The smart split–level set of sliding screens, with its silhouette dumbshows, is indeed reminiscent of English National Opera's Madam Butterfly; that company's all–white, designer Titipu is, though, very far away. Against the colourless transparency of the back–drop flash kimonos, aprons, tea chests, wheelbarrows, sofas, futons, parasols of scarlet, yellow, apple green and cobalt blue. The tiny head of Ko–Ko appears in the Lord High Executioner's monstrous, bestilted ceremonial dress. Fenton Gray steps out as the loveable, gangling weed and hyperactive wimp of the evening. His appearance is dwarfed by the second grand entry, that of Katisha in full, flambuoyant Kabuki horror, purple and silver enveloping all but the seemingly fathomless voice of Jill Pert. And then the Mikado himself. In the final coup of coups, John Rath, reaching up almost to the light deck, rolls on in a gigantic silver and black ceremonial costume, with a speaking and singing voice to match. Never has the "boiling oil" slithered and scalded quite so horrifically in the larynx. Propelling these visual coups de thtre is brisk, deft pacing, from both Sheila Falconer's almost clich–free movement and John Owen Edwards's springing musical direction. Julian Jensen's Nanki–Poo may not have been in best voice on this first night, but his debate on death with Ko–Ko was grippingly staged. "Here's a how d'ye do" is conjured into a macabre grave–digger's tap dance as each candidate for the chop is conscientiously measured by Ko–Ko. Gary Montaine's Pooh–Bah, born resonsantly sneering, gives continuing pleasure in the old stentorian D'Oyly Carte style.
[Anything less like the old D'Oyly Carte style would be hard to imagine. Ed.]
Lesley Echo Ross's bright–eyed and bright–voiced Yum–Yum bears lively witness to a new sharpness of musical and vocal focus in the company. Now, surely, it will be able to go from strength to strength.
The magic letters G and S still spell full houses whenever their immortal operettas are shown. So it was hardly surprising that when the revamped, now Birmingham–based D'Oyly Carte opened its London season at Sadler's Wells last week there was hardly a spare seat in sight. I only wish I could have shared the evident pleasure of those around me, but the company's production of The Mikado was a sad disappointment. True, it has abandoned its stuffy traditional ways, but it has not improved them. The actors, performing in front of fussy sets, were too self–conscious and seemed to have only modest vocal and dramatic ability. They failed to make Gilbert's wonderfully witty lines hit home, or to sing Sullivan's marvellously melodic music with the confidence and style it deserves. Only Fenton Gray's youthfully offbeat Lord High Executioner and Jill Pert's Katisha seemed well cast, and even with them on stage this Mikado was often heavy going.
The D'Oyly Carte's new Mikado was similarly not quite ready for its first night on Tuesday: it seemed foolhardy to launch such a complex show in London. But Andrew Wickes's inventive production, on a clever set of screens by James Hendy – lots of black with carefully controlled flashes of primary colours – has much to offer in a Japanese vein that contrasts strongly with the white, anglicised English National Opera version. Unfortunately, it is not funny enough yet, though Fenton Gray's Ko–Ko shows promise in his timing, and there are some pleasant voices in the cast. The music is well paced by John Owen Edwards, the chorus is strong for its size, and the massive Mikado (John Rath) and his laboratory of punishments are brilliant. Somewhat pedantically, the very earliest versions of the score and text are used, including material that was (I think) cut straight after the opening night. Do we really need that kind of authenticity?
Jonathan Miller's now famous Twenties Grand Hotel–style staging of Gilbert and Sullivan's deliciously tuneful comic opera finally tore down its Japanese facade and presented it for what it essentially is – a jolly English jape. Pity the producer who must follow that. But Andrew Wickes, in this stylishly silly new production for the official custodians of G&S, wisely steers clear of a "concept". Instead, within a fairly conventional D'Oyly framework, he creates a world of inspired looniness. At first glance, designer James Hendy has set this spree in a two–tiered Madame Butterfly world of sliding lacquered screens and Eastern grotesques. But it is a framework full of surprises. Who, for instance, would expect an operating theatre packed with surgeons and nurses ready to pull up their face masks to carry out the Mikado's most gruesome operations? And why are the Titipu constabulary running around like the Keystone Cops? The major characterisations, too, are suitably farcical. The Mikado himself – a Sir Larry sound–alike [Nonsense. Ed.] in John Rath's beautifully modulated assumption – is a towering Kabuki giant, while Pooh–Bah – complete with monocle and quilted dressing gown – is a cross between Noel Coward and Bertie Wooster in Gary Montaine's elegantly braying performance.
[but Pooh–bah isn't. Ed.]
Jill Pert's dragon–like Katisha is the outstanding vocal performance of the evening, but the star of the show is undoubtedly deceptively–skeletal [Eh? Ed.] Fenton Gray, a Ko–Ko with the deadpan delivery and funny walks of Max Wall and the song–and–dance charisma [sic] of Nickolas Grace. Updated references now invade both Ko–Ko's Little List and the Mikado's punishment song with moderate topical success (British Rail and the water companies are targets which Gilbert would probably have eschewed, though the line about the politician who thinks Bellini's Norma "is the story of his wife" has the right Gilbertian ring), and the Three Little Maids err on the mature side. But this is undoubtedly a fun Mikado, moderately sung but performed with all the necessary fizz and flare.
The last memory of the original D'Oyly Carte company is of a ramshackle Ruddigore during its final season at the Adelphi in the Strand, when the orchestra scratched and scraped its way through the score and the prompter was the person who usually got in with the best lines first.
[I don't know if Richard Fairman was sued for this comment, but it is certainly libellous. In over 20 years of regularly attending the old company, often several times a week during London seasons, I NEVER ONCE heard any member of the Company take a prompt. Ed.]
The next day it was announced that the company was closing for good. At the time that was a punishment that seemed to fit the crime. Now the "New" D'Oyly Carte Opera Company has taken up the Gilbert and Sullivan inheritance. It has new headquarters in Birmingham and new productions to counter the charge that it is trying to revive an operatic corpse. Like its predecessor, it also goes on the road and this week arrived for a season in London at Sadler's Wells.
The two shows it has to offer are The Mikado and The Yeomen of the Guard. Although they prove to be very different evenings, they have one thing in common, which is a decidedly better standard of musical preparation than was heard during the dying gasps of the old D'Oyly Carte, with a strong chorus and reasonably alert orchestral playing. No need for the Mikado to deal out executions there. Unfortunately the productions are up and down – in the case of The Mikado thumbs down, right from the beginning. The place is Japan, as it should be, but with modern fixtures and fittings. Everything is slick with Japanese high tech precision. The routines work to the split second. The smiles flick on and off at the touch of a switch and the characters are as heartfelt as comic automata. The controversial ENO production may have put the show in a wrongheaded setting, but at least it had people one could care about.
Reaction is likely to be conditioned by the way one responds to Ko–Ko, who comes on enveloped in an imposing cloak which opens to reveal nothing more than a pathetic, pint–sized wimp in pink leggings. From then on Fenton Gray works overtime to get a laugh and by the end you are exhausted, even if he is not. John Rath's Mikado and Jill Pert's Katisha are nearer the mark. But there is something wrong with a Mikado when one does not care whether Yum–Yum and Nanki–Poo get it together or not.
[Hear, hear. Ed.]
There are few affectionate smiles on the way in that production. But if The Yeomen of the Guard invites still fewer, it is because the work itself is less sharp in comic content and Andrew Wickes, the producer of both pieces, this time shows a more sympathetic understanding of his subject. In the text the Tower of London is described as "the cruel giant in a fairy–tale" and the designs by James Hendy, atmospherically lit, catch just the right Victorian Gothic quality. The cast includes many of the same singers, with John Rath again resonantly imposing as the Lieutenant and Janine Roebuck a warm Phoebe. Terence Sharpe sings strongly as Sergeant Meryll and Gary Montaine makes Shadbolt a less odious creature than usual. In short, the relationships work and the comedy is natural. For those who look upon two G&S shows in a week as too much of a good thing, this is the one to choose.
Web page created 9 September 1998