No 42 -- Summer 1994 Edited by Michael Walters
Ayrshire Philharmonic needs more men. Maybe they should try the method successfully (as I can testify) employed by Aberdeen Opera Club this year, of having an article in a local paper with a photo of three pretty female members in costume, anxiously looking for partners. But as it was, a mere dozen men, mostly elderly, is not a sufficient resource with which to stage the most magnificent male chorus in the history of the musical stage. And the producer seemed to be perversely trying to make a virtue of emphasising the paucity of his means: while the mighty fanfares were being thundered forth by the orchestra, what the audience saw was two men in robes walking in front of the closed curtain, chatting informally; then another two, this time one of them with an ear trumpet; another two reading a newspaper together, and so on: not until the singing actually started did we see them all against the background of scenery, as if twelve were at least bound to look impressive after a sequence of pairs. Sorry, but it didn't work.
But if in this respect the production fell far short of the Philharmonic's usual standards, the rest of it was fully worthy of their tradition. The female chorus too could have been more numerous and more youthful; but a much cleverer idea was adopted to limit the damage from fairies who did grow old: the curtain rose to reveal ungraceful huddles of sleeping fairies, who awoke to shauchle and stumble hither and thither, musically but not gracefully, feet encased in those big bedroom slippers adorned with the heads of cats, dogs and Disney animals. This got the production off to a fine funny start, even if it wasn't exactly orthodox Iolanthe; and thereafter the pace was well maintained. A pace-maintaining device which I found disturbing, however, was that for several of the musical numbers the orchestral introduction was played through the last few lines of dialogue, so that the actors stopped speaking and started singing practically in the same breath. Is this done regularly? [Yes. Ed.] I hadn't noticed it before in G&S, and I don't approve: the introductions are an integral part of the numbers, and should not be made to compete for our attention with the dialogue.
To the cast: first, I've certainly never seen a more appealing Queen than Isabella Dovaston. Attractive in features, "moderately stout" only to the extent of being comfortably curvaceous, beautifully arrayed in a shimmering dark blue and green dress, and possessed of a fine rich voice, she played the part with a quiet grace almost more suggestive of what Gilbert presumably imagined for his other fairy queen, Selene in FALLEN FAIRIES, than for this one. Her melancholy rendering of "Oh foolish fay" was really moving. The only adverse criticism is that this gentle creature, who greeted Iolanthe with an affectionate kiss even before pronouncing her pardon, could certainly never even imagine condemning anybody to death, let alone carry out the execution herself.
Next best of the women was Phyllis - a delightfully pert, giggly, flirtatious rendering by Isobel Miller. Iolanthe (Wendy-Ann Duncan) also sang and acted nicely, and, unlike most of her "sisters", really did look young and pretty. She made her entrance from behind a gauze waterfall - no water weeds though: her pardon was marked by the Queen placing a tiara on her head. Her dramatic self-revellation was somewhat spoiled by the reaction of the Chancellor (Brian Johnston), who - surprisingly for an experienced and normally excellent actor - said "Iolanthe! thou livest?" as if it were "Oh, hello, dear"; and what was the idea of having the chorus reduce "Aiaiah - Aiaiah - Willahala - Willaloo" to simply a continuous "Ah..."?
New recruit Robin Innes made a bright, brash and unsubtle Strephon: he has a fine voice and presence and is obviously full of enthusiasm, but he needs some training in acting. I look forward to watching his further progress. Relative newcomer Ian Mackay and old hand Andrew Miller acquitted themselves well as Mountararat and Tolloller. Brian Johnston's Chancellor, except for the aforementioned lapse and - nightmare of nightmares - a memory black-out that lasted through a verse and a half of the Nightmare Song, was a fine rendering - quizzical, cantankerous, but sharp-witted as well as sharp-tongued and very much in charge.
But Bill Gaffney's Private Willis towered over the rest of the cast metaphorically as well as literally (the Queen was not what you'd call petite, but the top of her tiara barely reached his collar bone). Massive in voice as in figure, he gave a bluff and boozy rendering (when first revealed he had a tankard in his hand, which he drained at top speed in time for his song) which made Private Willis a major character in the drama instead of - as so often - a bit of singing scenery
DERRICK McCLURE
Web page created 31 July 1998