H.M.S. PINAFORE, University of London Opera Group. U.L. Union, 8 Dec. 1977

This was musically adequate, but about the most inane production I have ever seen. I have not been to a ULU production before, but I have heard terrible stories of them. This one confirmed all I had ever heard. The programme note (uncredited) was riddled with errors. It stated, among other things that Pinafore was G & S's fourth comic opera - wrong since Thespis was a pantomime not a comic opera. The notes also state that immediately the authentic version of Pinafore opened in New York, all the pirate productions folded up. The writer also implies that it was the success of the pirate versions in the States which prompted the success, after initial apathy, of the opera in London, and that this happened before Sullivan played his orchestral pot-pourri at the Prom concert at Covent Garden. Enough of that. The opera started twelve minutes late because one of the trumpets had failed to arrive on time. There was some mellow sound in the Overture, but the conductor took it at a pedestrian and lethargic pace. There was an air of lack-lustre about it, and about the style of the conductor (Michael Burbidge). An inexplicably long pause occurred before the final tune of the Overture ("Never mind the why & wherefore"). The curtains were opened during the overture and the stage picture was quite effective, the artificial sun which was hoisted up the sky when the lights were brought up was Offenbachian. The sailors wore blue jeans for no reason I could see (John Barratt told me that he had offered to make sailor trousers and hats available, but the producer did not want them.) One sailor was camp, with a beauty spot painted on his face, and at one point he came forward, said “Yes I'm free” [This was a catch phrase from a TV show of the time. Ed.] and kissed Sir Joseph. Buttercup's opening recit was sung offstage, which seemed unnecessary. There was also a very distracting piece of business during Buttercup's song in which a jar of pink peppermint drops was passed round from sailor to sailor in an attempt to unscrew the lid. Buttercup (Janet Wiener) was young, making no attempt to age herself in appearance or manner, her voice was weak and she spoke with a Welsh accent. Ralph (Adam Skinner) had a pleasing voice but no style. Captain Corcoran (Glenn Wilson) had a beautiful voice, and sang with great style and intelligence. The antics he was required to do and the indignity of his first entrance (buttoning his coat) were at variance with the way he obviously wanted to do it. The chorus were made to do an eyes-front every time they sang, and entrances and exits should have been arranged so that they did not have to queue up to get offstage. This betrays a horrible amateurism in the worst sense of the word. Hebe (Marion Beet) was a horrible St. Trinian's child, who carried a lollipop, and arrived chaperoned by her mother. Sir Joseph (Peter Crockford) was an absurd caricature, with cascades of totally unnecessary and meaningless gesticulations. He had a very good singing voice which was wasted in the role as he didn't make use of it. His acting was hammy in the extreme - it was the worst piece of misdirected overacting I have seen for a long time. "For I hold that on the seas" was omitted, for no reason I could see. The lines for the B'osun were split between the B'osun and the Carpenter's mate: both players were equally useless. To introduce "funny" business into "A British Tar" to the extent that it completely distracted one's attention from the music, as was here done, showed an incredible lack of taste and sensitivity on the part of the Producer (Sue Kingston). This was typical of the production. The best scenes in the piece were the dialogue scenes between two people where there was no chorus to interfere, and the principals were left to get on with it, and behave naturally and intelligently. The Ralph/Josephine duet was inexplicably staged with the two of them standing on the cramped poop-deck, holding hands! The whole point of the sentiments of the song is that the two are emotionally far apart at this point, not close together. Obviously the Producer simply did not understand the opera. Josephine behaved quite lovingly, giving Ralph no possible reason to want to blow his brains out. They sang it well, but Ralph got out of time at one point. My main reason for coming had been to see John Barratt as Deadeye. He confessed beforehand that he was not happy with the part, or with the production. I didn't feel that Deadeye was truly his part. I was not really happy with his acting, but when he opened his mouth and started to sing, I could have forgiven anything, and I knew that it had been worth while coming for that alone (and truly there was nothing else that was worth coming for, except the catty delight in pulling it to bits.) He dodged one or two difficult low notes, but it was all so beautiful, I don't think I have ever heard "He thinks he's won his Josephine" sung so exquisitely. Captain Corcoran developed a horrid gravely vibrato in "Fair Moon" - evidently he is unsuited to legato passages. The inanities of "Things are seldom" were appreciated by the audience (perhaps the Producer was cleverer than I have given her credit for being; she may have known the abysmal standard of her potential audience, and given them exactly what she knew they wanted. Miaow!). The two of them sang it well, but the conductor took it at a leaden pace. "The hours creep on" was quite good, but the lady sang flat in a couple of places. The conductor was doing some very curious things with the music, including a curious slowing just before the final phrase, robbing it completely of its climax. He was no more than competent, and sometimes less than that - he allowed "With muffled oar" to collapse into a complete shambles. The music started off reasonably, but gradually got limper and looser as the evening wore on. Nobody seemed to treat the piece seriously, or think of it as anything other than a pantomime - except John, who admitted afterwards over a drink, that he felt embarrassed by the whole thing. MICHAEL WALTERS

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