No 41 -- Spring 1994 Edited by Michael Walters
This was the Club's centenary production, and I had heard so much about their productions from Linda Wood that I decided I would like to come and see for myself. However, when I tried to book a ticket, I was surprised and delighted to receive an invitation to join the official party. I am sure I did not deserve such an honour. The production was "traditional", in effect a repro-duction of an "old" D'Oyly Carte production of the 1960s or early 1970s, but done with such panache that it was effective in a way that such reproductions rarely are. In some respects it was better than what it sought to emulate.
In the 100 years of its existence, the Club has performed almost exclusively G&S with only a few departures - Les Cloches de Corneville (1896), Merrie England (1907 & 1951), Haddon Hall (1908 & 1925), The Rose of Persia (1910). Utopia Ltd was first performed in 1906, The Grand Duke not till 1981.
The large orchestra played well under the incisive baton of Gordon Mabbott, though I was puzzled by the alterations to the overture, which seemed unnecessary. When the performance started, the first thing that struck me was the very different style of delivery from that customary in England. Here was no attempt at "naturalistic" acting, the dialogue was heavily and carefully enunciated. This puzzled me at first, but I gradually realised that it was a deliberate policy to reproduce the stylised delivery of the 1960s D'Oyly Carte. In the hands of less talented performers than were here displayed, this could have been quite excruciating. Here it worked; one was forced to listen attentively to every word - and that, no doubt, was Gilbert's intention. Also noticeable was the total lack of Scottish accents (Society policy I was told) - this fact, too, tended to underline the stylised nature of the acting, though perhaps it resulted, in one or two cases, of slightly more precise and obviously careful enunciation than was absolutely necessary. The intensity of the attack by all the members of the cast meant that if this were a production in the style of 1960s DOC, it was also better, or worse, depending on how you looked at it. The question which might therefore with profit be asked: Is there a place for this kind of "traditional" (or old-fashioned) production in the world today? One had only to look round at the great 3-tier auditorium of the 1700-seater King's Theatre, packed for the last of its seven performances (better audiences, I was proudly told, than the New D'Oyly Carte got for its last Glasgow season in the same theatre) to register a most emphatic, YES.
The sets and costumes, of course, were not reproductions of 1960s D'Oyly Carte - as these would not be available. The sets, from Stagesets and Maxwell Exhibitions Ltd., were pleasantly Japanoiserie with plenty of blossom for Act 2, and a functional central gateway for Act 1. The costumes from Utopia Costumes were also pleasantly Japanoiserie, though the lurex on some was not Japanese in the least! (Isn't it odd that no costumiers ever seem to have come up with a set of costumes based on the Ricketts designs - one would have thought this would be quite easy to do!) The stageing was traditional except for one most excusable and delightful departure. The scene between Ko-Ko and Pooh-Bah in Act 1 ("come over here where the XXX can't hear us") was set in "Miss Cranston's Japanese Tea Rooms" - a Glasgow hostelry, and apparently a very "in" place for the elite to meet. This caused much merriment. Ko-Ko and Pooh-Bah were seated at separate tables on runners which moved when one or both had to "come over here". Pooh-Bah was revealed first drinking tea and eating a chocolate eclair. Ko-Ko came in later and in the course of conversation, absent mindedly put about 20 lumps of sugar in his tea.
For the rest, the production reproduced pretty faithfully the DOC traditional business. There were 6 or 7 encores for "Here's a how-de-do", including one in which Ko-Ko partially descended temporarily through a trap door (actually a theatre with a still-working trap door! - Linda never told me that) and then (supposedly) by means of a little battery rotating fan, propelled himself up again. In another he appeared in a theatre box, totally disrupting the people occupying it (though I am sure they were briefed in advance) and playing with a box of Roses chocolates - laying them out one by one on the cushion along the edge of the box. At the end of the verse the theatre usher came in and ordered him out. Delicious! The rest of the encores were more or less as D'Oyly Carte; the broken fan, the huge fan, the small pedal-car in which he crosses the stage, the series of fans of ever decreasing size which he produces one after the other and which Yum-Yum has to carry out, and so on. In this case, one of the fans was a chocolate taken from the box in the theatre box. I have seen many of these encores before, from DOC and other amateur companies. Never have I enjoyed them so much.
On the negative side, however, it must be said that on the whole little concept of character emerged - with the notable exception of Katisha. All the soloists sang with force, clarity, attack and (often) beauty, and delivered their lines with forward enunciation, precision and style. Rarely, however, did I get the feeling that a real person with real emotions was speaking - the text was treated as entertainment rather than drama.
Walter Paul (Producer and Ko-Ko) was the life and soul of the performance. The emphasis here was on extrovert performance and repart with the audience - much in the John Reed style but less blatant and obvious, and altogether better in every way. But one did not get the feeling that this Ko-Ko was timid, or had ever been a cheap tailor; clearly Mr. Paul was not attempting to portray this. David Blackwood (Pooh-Bah) was suitably pompous and insinuating, but had not got nearly enough padding. All the traditional business associated with Pooh-Bah's size - here all faithfully portrayed, looked a bit daft in view of the fact that he was so svelte. The sitting down heavily on Ko-Ko's "Take a seat, gentlemen" (traditional, but not in the script!), making the ground shake and the other two bounce up and down, the awkward getting up on "places us in a very awkward position", rolling on to his back during the scene when the 3 grovel on the ground in front of the Mikado, and experiencing difficulty in getting back again: it was all there.
Andrew Bryce looked a trifle on the elderly side for Nanki-Poo, but he sang with that beautifully clear platinum-toned voice typical of Celtic singers. Alyson Raworth (Yum-Yum), Chriss Mills (Pitti-Sing), Aileen Holm (Peep-Bo), Jerry Taylor (Pish-Tush) and John Shirreffs (Mikado) all sang strongly. Ian Hamilton as Go-To got only the single line to sing. Jean Campbell had been off part of the week with a throat infection, but was back on Saturday evening. She was indeed a formidable Katisha, breathing fire and spitting venom, but there was only one drawback - she was far too attractive! Ko-Ko's exaggerated "Have you seen her? She's something APPALLING" was really quite unjustified.
Nevertheless, it was a wonderful evening, given by a highly talented company in the grand manner, the like of which I had not seen since the days (I won't say how many years ago) that I saw the New Lyric OS at the Grand Opera House in Belfast.
MICHAEL WALTERS
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