“Haste to the Wedding,” at the Criterion.

The Pall Mall Gazette, July 28, 1892.

But it is by no means certain that many people will haste to the wedding. There was a gentleman in the gallery who remarked at the end of the play that it might be good enough for the stalls but was not good enough for him; and, in fact, the applause came chiefly from the stalls and dress circle, while towards the close the rest of the house contributed silence and sometimes hisses. Certainly, in one sense of the word, it was a packed house, for in the stalls there were so many extra seats that it was badly overcrowded, and had there been a fire London would have needed a brand-new crop of critics. The authorities ought to look to this first-night overcrowding, since it has grown beyond reasonable limits, and those critics who were put upstairs to make room for pretty actresses and other deadheads would have been lucky had an alarm arisen.

And the play? It is Mr. Gilbert’s “The Wedding March,” an adaptation of “Un Chapeau de Paille d’Italie,” with some songs stuffed into it, and, of course, a good deal of dialogue taken out. The result was not satisfactory: it gave the idea of a number of blind alleys. Train after train of humour was started and never ran to a station. The main jest and funniest, the jealousy of the bridegroom on account of his bride’s familiarity with her cousin Foodle, whom she frequently embraced “because they were brought up together,” leads to no real situation, but it produced one neatly written stanza:—

The tale of Mr. Woodpecker Tapping is known by most people, and they will recollect how on his wedding day he has to set off in quest of a Leghorn straw hat to replace one that his horse has devoured. His adventures lead him to a milliner’s shop, and he finds that the owner is a girl whom he had jilted; thence to a marchioness’s, where he is mistaken for a fashionable singer; and, finally, to the house of the husband of the lady whose hat was devoured—and everywhere where Tapping went the bride was sure to go, and with her Cousin Foodle, her father, and a dozen bridesmaids and groomsmen. Eventually a hat similar to the destroyed one was discovered among the wedding presents, and all ended well. The play dragged a good deal at times, which is almost certain to be the case when a bustling farce with a very complicated plot is converted into a libretto, for all sorts of needful scenes were cut to make room for the songs, and the action had to be stopped on account of them, instead of being allowed to rush rapidly along. Nor was Mr. Gilbert at even his second best. Many little pieces of business were funny, and a few lines showed the true humorist—such as the old servant’s speech, “I have known your Grace, man and boy, these eighteen months, and I have never told a lie yet.” There is a supersensitive duke, clumsily named the Duke of Turniptopshire, who has a neatly-written song of which we give a stanza:—

Unfortunately, however, Mr. Gilbert descends unusually low in his search for humour, and one of his chief characters is a deaf old man who gives crooked answers and carries about a milliner’s dummy bust during two acts and fondles it, thinking that it is a living girl. No wonder the audience got tired of this, and said so. Mr. Gilbert, too, makes the mistake of introducing a quite superfluous Archbishop, who blesses the people in a drawing-room.

Unfortunately, Mr. George Grossmith’s music did nothing to help the piece: indeed, it was a failure—no other word is adequate. The best songs were such a close imitation of Sullivan that a debt should have been acknowledged, but it was not; however, the loan did not profit Mr. Grossmith, who failed to handle the borrowed matter cleverly. The rest was monotonous and ineffective; it was unpretentious without being tuneful, and not a number had any real quality, nor was the orchestration at all clever. Under the circumstances it is not strange that no one made a hit, and, except to say that Messrs. W. Blakeley, Frank Wyatt, and Lionel Brough were fairly successful, and that three less-known actors—Messrs. D. S. James, S. Valentine, and G. Grossmith junior—a true chip of the old block—showed considerable ability, there is no need to mention names. The author and composer were called, though half the house protested, and Mr. Grossmith showed signs of satisfaction that we fear will lead to a decided disappointment.

Transcribed by Arthur Robinson

Page modified 27 December 2020