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Direction
and design
Peter Mulloy
Conductor
Richard Balcombe
Major-General
Stanley
Barry Clark
Pirate King
Steven Page
Frederic
David Curry
Sergeant
of Police
Jo Brand
Mabel
Deborah Myers
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The Gielgud Theatre
18 Feb - 1 March 2008 |
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The
stuff of an indeterminate
number of amateur-dramatic
productions for over a century
- Gilbert & Sullivan's hardy-perennial,
The
Pirates of Penzance,
appears preserved in amber.
Even on the London stage,
in the Carl Rosa Opera Company's
(almost) orthodox presentation,
one can imagine watching it
in some far-flung post of
Empire, conjouring up Blighty
for home-sick expats, clinging
- Alan Bennet-style - to a
lifestyle long lost. Unexpectedly,
this flag-waving vision works
in producer Peter Mulloy's
favour: despite the opera's
paucity of plot, pace and
passion; it is no less appreciated
for the nostalgia, bonhomie
and memory-lane meanderings
which continue to work their
magic on audiences.
Obsessed by real-life pirating
- the copyright enfringement
which had dogged them with
earlier, unendorsed performances
of H.M.S Pinafore in America
- Gilbert & Sullivan launched
Pirates
of Penzance
in person, in New York, on
New Year's Eve 1879. To avoid
further illegal shenanigans,
the British premiere had been
held the night before. Anecdotally,
the event was fraught with
panic, as Sullivan had forgotten
to pack all his music, and
had to re-write most of Act
I from memory. Billed as a
'new and original modern comic
opera' it marked the beginning
of their best loved works'
glory years.
The Company's latest run of
interpretations are all distinguished
by their unsusual choice of
'stars'. Behind me sat Alistair
McGowan, who recently (and
to some minds, unexpectedly)
distinguished himself as The
Mikado - obviously supporting
his team-mates as they reprised
alternative roles. The night's
least-likely diva award went
to the cheerfully iconoclastic
comedienne, a surprisingly
self-deprecating Jo Brand.
As a cross-dressed Sergeant
of Police, she did not actually
sing the part but (endearingly)
growled nervously along to
the music. Brand's Force are
attempting to preserve the
modesty of a gaggle of maidens
- wards of bewhiskered Barry
Clark's garrulous parvenu,
Major-General Stanley - in
the face of a half-heartedly
marauding band of renegade
sailors. Clark's speedy solo,
the classic tongue-twister
of 'very modern' self-praise,
leaves nothing to be desired.
Their Pirate King, charismatic
Steven Page (every bit as
good as he was as Iolanthe's
Lord Chancellor) is the happenstance
master of Frederic, 'Slave
of Duty' (a handsome David
Curry). The latter falls for
Deborah Myer's luscious Mabel,
despite opposition from her
guardian, the police and his
ex- comrades.
The facility of the lovers'
voices and accompanying chorus,
make up for Brand's shortfall
in the singing department.
Appearance-wise, costumes
are workaday, and although
the lacklustre beach back-drop
gives way to more atmospheric,
gothic ruins in the second
act, sets are also only average.
It transpires that the parodied
Stanley (in a nod to the arrivistes
of Victorian society) has
bought his castle, despite
bogus claims to non-existent
ancestors. Happily for him,
we then learn that the orphan
pirates are of authentic,
noble descent, and thus he
is happy to affiance these
jolly rogers to his virgin
brood. Nothing ventured, nothing
gained, but in every sense,
a perfectly acceptable outcome.
Caroline
Kellett Fraysse |
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