A few years ago the
dernier cri in Gilbert & Sullivan was director Chris Monks’ audacious comic re-imaginings, setting
The Mikado in a cricket club or giving a mock-Tarantino spin to
The Pirates Of Penzance.
Now, though, that mantle has passed to the little Union Theatre in
Southwark and its all-male productions. I belatedly caught up with this
phenomenon last spring when the Union’s third such outing,
Pirates, transferred into the East rather than the West End, being followed now by that autumn’s
Iolanthe.
There
is, inevitably, a deal of camp in such a staging, but these productions
preserve the fun and japery of G&S, not steep it in the aesthetic
known as Queer (with a capital Q). The female roles are played not in
drag but in a kind of pick-and-mix costuming; the characterisations are
not
travesti or
mock-female or androgynous, simply… well, slightly more boyish than
most of the male roles, but only slightly. Sasha Regan’s production is
apparently set in a boys’ public school; I must confess I didn’t twig
that, but I certainly picked up a boys-at-play vibe from the overture
during which several lads, rummaging around lit only by their electric
torches, come upon a wardrobe and a storybook. An Enid Blytonesque feel
results, and the 1940s-dressing-up-trunk air of Stewart Charlesworth
and Jean Gray’s costumes blends well with the dilapidated splendour of
this former Victorian music hall. Alex Weatherhill, for instance, plays
the Fairy Queen in fox fur, brocade sleeves, girdle and sock
suspenders. Alan Richardson’s Phyllis is appealing though thinner of
voice in the upper register where the character’s score frequently
veers; Shaun McCourt’s own hair is almost as luxuriant as the formal
peruke would be of the Lord Chancellor he portrays, and copes well if a
little leisurely with the patter song “When you’re lying awake”.
Iolanthe
has one of Arthur Sullivan’s most ethereal scores, and the plot
certainly does nothing to weigh the music down with its inconsequential
mishmash of fairies, shepherds, peers of the realm and guardsmen. Regan
and/or choreographer Mark Smith gives the fairies a constant gestural
language as if, having no wings except whatever scarves or bunting are
handy, their hands must do the fluttering. It makes for a gay evening
more in the outdated sense than the contemporary one.
Written for the Financial
Times.