Not having anything to sing for the first 35 minutes of Ruddigore allows us chaps in the back row to settle in nicely and get a tiny bit of shut-eye while the MD attempts to galvanise the wayward bridesmaids into showing some enthusiasm for their task. It is a time when one's mind can wander.
Following the Mikado must have been difficult for the original production of Ruddigore but it is a return to the more conventional form of G&S opera, if one can use the word 'conventional' at all given Gilbert's creativity. Most G&S operas hinge on exchanged identities, disguise, (most ingenious) paradox or all three.
Mikado, Pirates and Iolanthe all contain some paradox that needs to be resolved: whether you can be guilty of executing the heir to the throne, which you have just described in enormous detail, when he is still alive but in disguise (disguise: tick); what your real age is if you are born on 29 February; whether you can, as appellant, address yourself, as judge, in a court of law ... and so on. In Ruddigore the main paradox is the solution to the witch's curse but Richard is also faced with a dilemma - and one he spends little time debating to himself: whether he should reveal the true nature of his foster brother.
In Rose Maybud we have the quintessential G&S Heroine: naive, beautiful and aware of it, and indecisive when it comes to love. Indeed, it is hard to think of any other heroine who changes her mind as often: I make it about five times but, unusually, she seems unable to choose between three men. If there were a third act, she would no doubt change it again and add Old Adam to her roster of 'lovers'.
She cannot be terribly bright, however, to be so slavishly devoted to the Book of Etiquette that was left with her on the steps of the workhouse. So this must be a heroine with real sex appeal.
There are paradoxes for the attentive audience as well. For instance, it seems strange that Sir Ruthven managed to avoid becoming the baronet and having to submit to the curse by simply disguising himself (disguise: tick). If it were this easy, why did Despard or the ancestors not do the same?
And how come Ruthven and Richard are 'foster-brothers'? Was Ruthven sent to foster parents or was Richard brought up as a member of the family in Ruddigore Castle? If Ruthven was fostered then why? And why away from his brother Despard?
If Richard and Ruthven were brought up in the Castle then how come Despard does not recognise either of them since he too was presumably brought up in the Castle like any self-respecting Murgatroyd? Maybe Despard is as innocent and dim as our heroine. He clearly deserves Mad Margaret.
And towards the end, Despard, now an honourable married man, attempts to persuade Ruthven, restored to the baronetcy to abandon his evil ways. Um ... has he thought this through. If Ruthven follows his advice then he will 'die in unspeakable agony' and guess who will inherit: yes, none other than Despard. Definitely dim.
Hang on, is that Margaret muttering something about a lark ...? Open your eyes, chaps. Look lively. We are running out of time. It is OK. There is not much to do and we will soon be into the Act I Finale, a few ghostly rumblings and we can all go home.
And what about Richard? He sounds like something left over from HMS Pinafore. Did a copyist swap the scores when G&S were not looking? Did they simply have a few tunes left over or was it part of a running gag to mention Pinafore in as many other operas as possible ('And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore')?
Hang on, no time to answer that one. The MD is looking at us and seems to be crossing her fingers. Anyone who gets the timing wrong on this number is going to get more that the witch's curse. Adjust your false teeth, try to sound enthusiastic and ... oh damn! We did not sound sufficiently Elysian and have all been turned to ghosts. Still, it will be useful for Act II.
Thursday, 18 June 2015
Thursday, 7 May 2015
First performance - Lostwithiel
Our opening night looms. We bet Lostwithiel (Friday 8 May at 19:30 in the Community Centre) can hardly contain their excitement.
It will be wonderful relief from the tortured complexities of the politics of the last few days. Gilbert would have loved the political atmosphere of a modern campaign: lots of paradox and posturing just waiting for his ready wit.
Ruddigore is not short of its own complexities: a whole village of professional bridesmaids, a picture gallery of ghosts eager to see fair play, a jolly jack tar, a hidden identity, a beautiful - but distinctly naive and flighty - heroine, even a mad woman who believes that the word Basingstoke is redolent with hidden meaning. Only Gilbert could unlock the knot. Come and along and find out how.
It will be wonderful relief from the tortured complexities of the politics of the last few days. Gilbert would have loved the political atmosphere of a modern campaign: lots of paradox and posturing just waiting for his ready wit.
Ruddigore is not short of its own complexities: a whole village of professional bridesmaids, a picture gallery of ghosts eager to see fair play, a jolly jack tar, a hidden identity, a beautiful - but distinctly naive and flighty - heroine, even a mad woman who believes that the word Basingstoke is redolent with hidden meaning. Only Gilbert could unlock the knot. Come and along and find out how.
 |
| Rose - who obeys her book of etiquette while being a little vague as to which man she should marry |
 |
| A happy couple running a National School |
 |
| Bridesmaids eagerly awaiting an appointment |
 |
| Dame Hannah - don't mess with her |
 |
| Mad Margaret - and our Producer |
 |
| Old Adam - a former valet de chambre |
 |
| The Musical Director |
 |
| Richard Dauntless RN whose deadeyes are famous throughout the fleet |
 |
| Robin Oakapple - but is he? |
 |
| Roddy Doddy and Nannikins re-united |
 |
| Sir Despard Murgatroyd |
 |
| Sir Roderic Murgatroyd producing something painful |
 |
| Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd |
 |
| Villagers |
Wednesday, 18 March 2015
Fa la la ...
Did you get it?
Saturday, 6 December 2014
Ruddigore - the cast
You will have been waiting with bated breath for the names of the principals. Here they are:
We can hardly contain ourselves.
- Rose Maybud, that innocent flower of the village: Sally-Ann Gretton (Patience, Gianetta)
- Mad Margaret, the demented scourge, Anna Scutt (Tessa)
- Dame Hannah, the aged crone and wise woman, Linda Thomas (The Duchess of Plaza Toro)
- Zorah, a leading bridesmaid, Jenny Jelbert making her debut solo with the Society
- Sir Roderic, the duped brother and Bad Baronet of Ruddigore, Max Braga (Private Willis and occasional Grand Inquisitor)
- Sir Ruthven/Robin, the disguised brother, Alan Russell (Guiseppe, Bunthorne ...)
- Richard Dauntless, the sailor home from the sea, Terry Wall also making his debut with the Society
- Sir Despard, the original Bad Baronet and hater of witches, Hugh Slater (Grand Inquisitor)
- Old Adam, the faithful servant of young Robin, Steve Flavell (Shadbolt, Sergeant of Police)
We can hardly contain ourselves.
Monday, 1 December 2014
Ruddigore - the programme notes
The following was written by one of the Society's former Producers, Michael Swift:
For many in the first night audience, the biggest fault of Ruddigore was that it was not The Mikado, its predecessor at the Savoy Theatre and Gilbert and Sullivan's greatest hit. The original title of Ruddygore offended Victorian sensibilities.
They were surprised at Gilbert's choice of Victorian melodrama for the opera, a genre that was already out of date, with its villains, ghosts and Gothic settings. Sullivan had supplied a tuneful and, where needed dramatic, score complete with hornpipe and suitably scary effects. The picture gallery that came to life in Act II was a theatrical coup, and yet Ruddigore has remained one of the lesser-known of the Savoy operas.
So what was Ruddigore really about? The targets of the earlier Savoy operas are obvious - the Law (Trial by Jury, Iolanthe), the Aesthetic movement (Patience), the Navy (HMS Pinafore), etc - all subjected to Gilbert's caustic wit and topsey-turveydom. Here he took a theatrical convention of hero, heroine and villain and typically turned them all upside down.
The hero (Robin) is a cowardly egocentric who will always take the easy way out, regardless of anyone else. The heroine (Rose) is one of the best gold-diggers on stage, despite disguising all her comments in the language of the King James' bible. The dashing sailor (Richard) is no Errol Flynn except in his tendency to chase the first available attractive female. The first villain (Despard) reforms to the extent of taking a homicidal maniac (Margaret) under his wing. And the second villain (Roderic), despite his ghostly bluster, cannot be taken seriously when his nickname is revealed as Roddy-Doddy.
Ruddigore then is about human frailties. Simply sit back and enjoy its absurdities and splendid music. You might even care to hiss at any of the characters in true melodrama tradition.
For many in the first night audience, the biggest fault of Ruddigore was that it was not The Mikado, its predecessor at the Savoy Theatre and Gilbert and Sullivan's greatest hit. The original title of Ruddygore offended Victorian sensibilities.
They were surprised at Gilbert's choice of Victorian melodrama for the opera, a genre that was already out of date, with its villains, ghosts and Gothic settings. Sullivan had supplied a tuneful and, where needed dramatic, score complete with hornpipe and suitably scary effects. The picture gallery that came to life in Act II was a theatrical coup, and yet Ruddigore has remained one of the lesser-known of the Savoy operas.
So what was Ruddigore really about? The targets of the earlier Savoy operas are obvious - the Law (Trial by Jury, Iolanthe), the Aesthetic movement (Patience), the Navy (HMS Pinafore), etc - all subjected to Gilbert's caustic wit and topsey-turveydom. Here he took a theatrical convention of hero, heroine and villain and typically turned them all upside down.
The hero (Robin) is a cowardly egocentric who will always take the easy way out, regardless of anyone else. The heroine (Rose) is one of the best gold-diggers on stage, despite disguising all her comments in the language of the King James' bible. The dashing sailor (Richard) is no Errol Flynn except in his tendency to chase the first available attractive female. The first villain (Despard) reforms to the extent of taking a homicidal maniac (Margaret) under his wing. And the second villain (Roderic), despite his ghostly bluster, cannot be taken seriously when his nickname is revealed as Roddy-Doddy.
Ruddigore then is about human frailties. Simply sit back and enjoy its absurdities and splendid music. You might even care to hiss at any of the characters in true melodrama tradition.
Ruddigore - the book
Ruddigore is one of the later works of the Masters. It was first produced on 22nd January, 1887, at the Savoy Theatre, London, with George Grossmith as Robin, Rutland Barrington
as Sir Despard Murgatroyd, Leonora Braham as Rose Maybud,
Jessie Bond as Mad Margaret and Rosina Brandram as Dame
Hannah.
Happily for us, it is set in Cornwall. A remarkable feature of the Cornish village of Rederring (Red Herring) is that it possesses an endowed corps of professional bridesmaids on duty every day from ten to four, ready dressed, in case their services should be needed.
The bridesmaids appear and complain that there has been no wedding in the village for at least six months. They suggest to old Dame Hannah that she might marry, but Hannah, the victim of an unhappy girlish romance, is pledged to eternal spinsterhood. She had fallen in love with a young man who courted her under an assumed name but who, on their wedding day, she discovered to be no other than Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, one of the bad Baronets of Ruddigore and the uncle of the man who now bears that title.
As a son of the accursed race of Ruddigore, Sir Roderic was no husband for an honest girl, and madly as she loved him she left him there and then. The girls crowd round curiously as Dame Hannah tells them the legend of the curses.
Sir Rupert Murgatroyd, his leisure and his riches
He ruthlessly employed in persecuting witches.
But one of his victims while being burned at the stake laid a dreadful curse upon him: that he and all his line must commit at least one deadly crime each day or perish in agony. And so it has come to pass.
As Hannah finishes her story, her niece, Rose Maybud, arrives. Rose is a foundling. She was discovered in a plated dish-cover hung on the door of the workhouse; her only possessions a change of baby-linen and a book of etiquette, to which, whenever in doubt, she refers. Rose is fond of a young farmer, and when he appears on the scene Hannah leaves the young people together.
Now this young farmer, who calls himself Robin Oakapple, is in reality Ruthven Murgatroyd. In dread of the terrible curse, he fled from home, while his younger brother, Despard, believing him to be dead, succeeded to the family title and the curse.
Robin is greatly attracted to Rose, but he is too shy to tell her that he loves her. So he pretends to ask her advice as to how he can bring a bashful friend of his to the point of proposing to the girl he loves, in a duet which finishes with oblique encouragement from Rose and a broad hint to her from Robin to meet him half-way.
A stir in the village heralds the arrival of Richard Dauntless, a blue-jacket, on leave. He is Robin's foster-brother and closest friend, and Robin enlists his services to propose to Rose on his behalf. In doing so, however, Richard falls in love with Rose himself, proposes on his own account and is accepted. But when Rose learns the true state of affairs she transfers her affections to the shy and modest Robin, and Richard in pique reveals the identity of Robin, who in consequence has to assume his family title with its terrible curse.
Sir Despard Murgatroyd, now free, proposes to Mad Margaret, a poor, crazed creature whose brain has been turned by his previous heartless conduct; while Rose, in horror of the dreadful curse, once more bestows her affections on Richard.
As Act II begins, the scene is the picture-gallery in Ruddigore Castle. On the walls hang full-length family portraits of the baronets of Ruddigore since the reign of James I, the first being that of Sir Rupert of the legend, and the last that of the deceased Baronet, Sir Roderic.
Robin is now in residence as Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd, with his faithful servant, old Adam Goodheart. They are discussing what the crime of today is to be. Robin asks for suggestions, and Adam proposes that, as Richard and Rose have called to ask for Robin's approval of their marriage, he might like to poison their beer. Robin will not hear of such a suggestion and counters with the proposal to tie Richard to a post and curdle his blood by making hideous faces at him, which Adam dismisses as merely rude.
Alone before the portraits of his ancestors, Robin confides to them his detestation of his accursed doom and begs to be released from having to commit his daily crime. As he speaks the lights dim, the family portraits become animated and, stepping from their frames, they sing:
Painted emblems of a race,
All accursed in days of yore,
Each from his accustomed place,
Steps into the world once more.
The ancestors make it clear to Robin that he has so far woefully failed to observe the terms of the curse and threaten him that unless he is prepared to set upon a course of evil he will suffer untold agonies. Robin attempts to win their sympathy by pitying their ghastly state, but Sir Roderic, in one of Sullivan's most masterly songs, assures him that the spectres are a jolly crew, especially
When the night wind howls
In the chimney cowls
And the bat in the moonlight flies.
Robin attempts to rebel, but Sir Roderic merely exclaims: Very good, let the agonies commence, and Robin is soon writhing in torment, shrieking for mercy. He is ordered for his next crime to carry off a lady, and after Robin has promised to be obedient in the future, the ancestors return to their frames and change once more into pictures. Adam finds poor Robin in a shattered state and, learning that he has agreed to carry off a lady as today's crime, volunteers to oblige and sets off to find the lady.
While Adam is absent Robin receives a visit from his brother Despard and Mad Margaret, who are now married and devoted to good works. Margaret is a District Visitor and she has discovered a recipe to recover her saner self. Whenever madness threatens she merely repeats the word Basingstoke - a word redolent with hidden meaning - and she is immediately in control of herself.
Despard points out to Robin that he must realize that he is morally responsible for all crimes committed during Despard's occupation of his place, and Robin is more than ever determined to find some means of freeing himself from the conditions of this dreadful curse.
Old Adam, who has performed his task of carrying off a lady with more zeal and discretion, now returns to Ruddigore Castle, hustling Dame Hannah. She is in a rage at the treatment she has received and after an angry passage of words attacks Robin with a formidable dagger. Robin in alarm calls to his uncle Roderic for help, and once again Sir Roderic Murgatroyd comes to life and descends from his picture-frame. He realises that that lady that Robin has carried off is none other than a lady to whom he was once engaged. He denounces Robin and turning tenderly to Hannah joins her in a duet (as one does):
There grew a little flower neath a great oak tree
When the tempest 'gan to lower, little heeded she.
Seeing their happiness in their reunion, Robin has a brilliant, and typically Gilbertian-paradoxical, idea. He puts it to Sir Roderic that a Baronet of Ruddigore can only die by refusing to commit a crime and that is tantamount to suicide. But suicide itself is a crime. They ought therefore never to have died at all. Consequently they are all alive.
It is obviously impossible to contradict this sound logic and all ends on the happiest of notes with Rose united to Robin, and Richard to the prettiest of the bridesmaids, while Sir Roderic, assuming his fleshly garb, is reunited with Hannah.
Happily for us, it is set in Cornwall. A remarkable feature of the Cornish village of Rederring (Red Herring) is that it possesses an endowed corps of professional bridesmaids on duty every day from ten to four, ready dressed, in case their services should be needed.
The bridesmaids appear and complain that there has been no wedding in the village for at least six months. They suggest to old Dame Hannah that she might marry, but Hannah, the victim of an unhappy girlish romance, is pledged to eternal spinsterhood. She had fallen in love with a young man who courted her under an assumed name but who, on their wedding day, she discovered to be no other than Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, one of the bad Baronets of Ruddigore and the uncle of the man who now bears that title.
As a son of the accursed race of Ruddigore, Sir Roderic was no husband for an honest girl, and madly as she loved him she left him there and then. The girls crowd round curiously as Dame Hannah tells them the legend of the curses.
Sir Rupert Murgatroyd, his leisure and his riches
He ruthlessly employed in persecuting witches.
But one of his victims while being burned at the stake laid a dreadful curse upon him: that he and all his line must commit at least one deadly crime each day or perish in agony. And so it has come to pass.
As Hannah finishes her story, her niece, Rose Maybud, arrives. Rose is a foundling. She was discovered in a plated dish-cover hung on the door of the workhouse; her only possessions a change of baby-linen and a book of etiquette, to which, whenever in doubt, she refers. Rose is fond of a young farmer, and when he appears on the scene Hannah leaves the young people together.
Now this young farmer, who calls himself Robin Oakapple, is in reality Ruthven Murgatroyd. In dread of the terrible curse, he fled from home, while his younger brother, Despard, believing him to be dead, succeeded to the family title and the curse.
Robin is greatly attracted to Rose, but he is too shy to tell her that he loves her. So he pretends to ask her advice as to how he can bring a bashful friend of his to the point of proposing to the girl he loves, in a duet which finishes with oblique encouragement from Rose and a broad hint to her from Robin to meet him half-way.
A stir in the village heralds the arrival of Richard Dauntless, a blue-jacket, on leave. He is Robin's foster-brother and closest friend, and Robin enlists his services to propose to Rose on his behalf. In doing so, however, Richard falls in love with Rose himself, proposes on his own account and is accepted. But when Rose learns the true state of affairs she transfers her affections to the shy and modest Robin, and Richard in pique reveals the identity of Robin, who in consequence has to assume his family title with its terrible curse.
Sir Despard Murgatroyd, now free, proposes to Mad Margaret, a poor, crazed creature whose brain has been turned by his previous heartless conduct; while Rose, in horror of the dreadful curse, once more bestows her affections on Richard.
As Act II begins, the scene is the picture-gallery in Ruddigore Castle. On the walls hang full-length family portraits of the baronets of Ruddigore since the reign of James I, the first being that of Sir Rupert of the legend, and the last that of the deceased Baronet, Sir Roderic.
Robin is now in residence as Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd, with his faithful servant, old Adam Goodheart. They are discussing what the crime of today is to be. Robin asks for suggestions, and Adam proposes that, as Richard and Rose have called to ask for Robin's approval of their marriage, he might like to poison their beer. Robin will not hear of such a suggestion and counters with the proposal to tie Richard to a post and curdle his blood by making hideous faces at him, which Adam dismisses as merely rude.
Alone before the portraits of his ancestors, Robin confides to them his detestation of his accursed doom and begs to be released from having to commit his daily crime. As he speaks the lights dim, the family portraits become animated and, stepping from their frames, they sing:
Painted emblems of a race,
All accursed in days of yore,
Each from his accustomed place,
Steps into the world once more.
The ancestors make it clear to Robin that he has so far woefully failed to observe the terms of the curse and threaten him that unless he is prepared to set upon a course of evil he will suffer untold agonies. Robin attempts to win their sympathy by pitying their ghastly state, but Sir Roderic, in one of Sullivan's most masterly songs, assures him that the spectres are a jolly crew, especially
When the night wind howls
In the chimney cowls
And the bat in the moonlight flies.
Robin attempts to rebel, but Sir Roderic merely exclaims: Very good, let the agonies commence, and Robin is soon writhing in torment, shrieking for mercy. He is ordered for his next crime to carry off a lady, and after Robin has promised to be obedient in the future, the ancestors return to their frames and change once more into pictures. Adam finds poor Robin in a shattered state and, learning that he has agreed to carry off a lady as today's crime, volunteers to oblige and sets off to find the lady.
While Adam is absent Robin receives a visit from his brother Despard and Mad Margaret, who are now married and devoted to good works. Margaret is a District Visitor and she has discovered a recipe to recover her saner self. Whenever madness threatens she merely repeats the word Basingstoke - a word redolent with hidden meaning - and she is immediately in control of herself.
Despard points out to Robin that he must realize that he is morally responsible for all crimes committed during Despard's occupation of his place, and Robin is more than ever determined to find some means of freeing himself from the conditions of this dreadful curse.
Old Adam, who has performed his task of carrying off a lady with more zeal and discretion, now returns to Ruddigore Castle, hustling Dame Hannah. She is in a rage at the treatment she has received and after an angry passage of words attacks Robin with a formidable dagger. Robin in alarm calls to his uncle Roderic for help, and once again Sir Roderic Murgatroyd comes to life and descends from his picture-frame. He realises that that lady that Robin has carried off is none other than a lady to whom he was once engaged. He denounces Robin and turning tenderly to Hannah joins her in a duet (as one does):
There grew a little flower neath a great oak tree
When the tempest 'gan to lower, little heeded she.
Seeing their happiness in their reunion, Robin has a brilliant, and typically Gilbertian-paradoxical, idea. He puts it to Sir Roderic that a Baronet of Ruddigore can only die by refusing to commit a crime and that is tantamount to suicide. But suicide itself is a crime. They ought therefore never to have died at all. Consequently they are all alive.
It is obviously impossible to contradict this sound logic and all ends on the happiest of notes with Rose united to Robin, and Richard to the prettiest of the bridesmaids, while Sir Roderic, assuming his fleshly garb, is reunited with Hannah.
Thursday, 16 October 2014
A moment of real theatre
Some of us feared for the electrics but Mother Nature shone on our endeavours.
As the Duchess (Linda) sang the song of her courtship of her Duke she came to the immortal lines:
I was overcome with panic
For his temper was volcanic
And I didn't dare revolt
For I feared a thunderbolt!
The heavens responded with a clap of thunder - bang on cue.
Never has cast and audience joined in such laughter together. Like the pro that she is, the Duchess played to the gallery.
You should be able to see some more photos here.
Thursday, 17 July 2014
Was she a good mother?
It is a well-known fact that the old men in the back row are not the sharpest knives in the drawer. Most of us have worked our ways down through the ranks from our days as innocent, cherubic trebles, via spotty altos and nervous tenors before finding our true metier amongst the growlers where our grey matter can decay peacefully. Here we can put the world to rights, well out of sight and reach of the MD, that person we can just about see in the far distance thanks to Specsavers.
She has high expectations. She recently suggested that 'we should know the words by now'. What does she think we are: masterminds? We had two consecutive years of singing 'tan-tan-tara' (Pirates and Iolanthe) and were almost word-, if not note-, perfect by the end of the second year. Then a year off when we were asked to sing almost nothing (Patience) and now she expects us to remember difficult texts like 'Tra-la-la-la'. We might just manage this by the end of this season but occasionally it just goes 'La-la-la-la' or 'La-la' rest 'La-la'. Taxing stuff for an oldie.
Having a few bars, well actually numbers, in Gondoliers, left to our own devices gives us time to catch up on sleep provided the posh lot out front are not making too much noise (We nudge our neighbours if they are snoring too loudly). Sadly, there are a couple of the nobs who keep singing about sparkling eyes or something and this tends to keep a chap awake.
It was during one of these breaks that I thought a bit about this mystery character, Inez, the nurse who holds us all in suspense ('Did you see what I did there- suspense - geddit?'). She, my books tell me, is based on a character in Verdi's Il Trovatore (a small classical allusion to give this narrative some academic credibility). Like all great 'revealers of truth' she has a small part and yet completely dominates the stage when she grinds her way through her narrative, spinning out the tension like a low-quality game show (is there any other?). If Sullivan were writing today he would add in a long pause and over-long drum roll before she declared the word 'Luiz!'
Is she an acceptable role model in today's world?
She had a child of her own (was there a husband?) and was entrusted with the infant prince in the Palmieri household. Were Marco and Guiseppe older than Luiz? If so, then it is strange that they show no sign of recognising him when he turns up in Venice. On the other hand, if they are younger than he, they show no respect for someone who must have been their older playmate. And how did he ever get to be in the service of the Duke of P-T in distant Spain? Was this Don Alhambra again? He does not admit to it although he seems to know who Luiz is when he first meets him.
But the real nub of her story is that Inez 'deftly substituted' her own son when 'traitors came to steal his son reputed'. They 'fell into the trap completely'. We are left to presume that her own son was taken away and killed by the traitors.
Was this the act of caring mother or are we meant to admire her loyalty to the Wesleyan Minister/king of Barataria? She certainly put monarchy and duty above her own flesh and blood but does this make her a reliable nurse? I am beginning to doubt Don Alhambra's decision-making and suspect that we should report him to the Metropolitan Police and Social Services and insist on an enquiry chaired by ...
What's that? We are coming to the end of the opera? OK. I shall wake up. No time to think. 'We leave you with feelings of - pause - pleasure.'
Time to go home.
She has high expectations. She recently suggested that 'we should know the words by now'. What does she think we are: masterminds? We had two consecutive years of singing 'tan-tan-tara' (Pirates and Iolanthe) and were almost word-, if not note-, perfect by the end of the second year. Then a year off when we were asked to sing almost nothing (Patience) and now she expects us to remember difficult texts like 'Tra-la-la-la'. We might just manage this by the end of this season but occasionally it just goes 'La-la-la-la' or 'La-la' rest 'La-la'. Taxing stuff for an oldie.
Having a few bars, well actually numbers, in Gondoliers, left to our own devices gives us time to catch up on sleep provided the posh lot out front are not making too much noise (We nudge our neighbours if they are snoring too loudly). Sadly, there are a couple of the nobs who keep singing about sparkling eyes or something and this tends to keep a chap awake.
It was during one of these breaks that I thought a bit about this mystery character, Inez, the nurse who holds us all in suspense ('Did you see what I did there- suspense - geddit?'). She, my books tell me, is based on a character in Verdi's Il Trovatore (a small classical allusion to give this narrative some academic credibility). Like all great 'revealers of truth' she has a small part and yet completely dominates the stage when she grinds her way through her narrative, spinning out the tension like a low-quality game show (is there any other?). If Sullivan were writing today he would add in a long pause and over-long drum roll before she declared the word 'Luiz!'
Is she an acceptable role model in today's world?
She had a child of her own (was there a husband?) and was entrusted with the infant prince in the Palmieri household. Were Marco and Guiseppe older than Luiz? If so, then it is strange that they show no sign of recognising him when he turns up in Venice. On the other hand, if they are younger than he, they show no respect for someone who must have been their older playmate. And how did he ever get to be in the service of the Duke of P-T in distant Spain? Was this Don Alhambra again? He does not admit to it although he seems to know who Luiz is when he first meets him.
But the real nub of her story is that Inez 'deftly substituted' her own son when 'traitors came to steal his son reputed'. They 'fell into the trap completely'. We are left to presume that her own son was taken away and killed by the traitors.
Was this the act of caring mother or are we meant to admire her loyalty to the Wesleyan Minister/king of Barataria? She certainly put monarchy and duty above her own flesh and blood but does this make her a reliable nurse? I am beginning to doubt Don Alhambra's decision-making and suspect that we should report him to the Metropolitan Police and Social Services and insist on an enquiry chaired by ...
What's that? We are coming to the end of the opera? OK. I shall wake up. No time to think. 'We leave you with feelings of - pause - pleasure.'
Time to go home.
Friday, 6 June 2014
Friday, 7 February 2014
The matter of the plot ...
Some folks seem unclear about the exact plot and so is some help from the incomparable Mary Holtby:
Take a pair of gondoliers
Whom Venetian girls adore
And whose history is strange:
For in childhood, it appears,
One was left with t’other’s sire –
The result was interchange.
Take the fact that one’s a king
And his friend of humble birth
(Which is which just isn’t known)
It’s of course the natural thing
They sail off to share the throne.
They sail off to share the throne.
Ah! For your true Republican
It’s a most intriguing plan.
Take the daughter of a Duke,
Of a prince the childhood bride,
One of those we’ve spoken of.
Take the amatory fluke
That the drummer by her side
Is the object of her love.
Let his so-called mum confess
That she swapped him in the cot
For the infant prince – then you
For the general happiness
Quite a recipe have got
(There are girls to share it too,
To share it too)…
Ah! Since the plot’s an also-ran,
Hear the music if you can…
Mary Holtby from that essential guide
How to be Tremendously Tuned In to Opera
Not that we entirely agree with her about the plot of course.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)