MiV Home
Charlie White Theatre
March 20, 2015
One question which puzzled me greatly until the final moments of the Victoria Gilbert and Sullivan Society's excellent production of Iolanthe, or The Peer and the Peri was: where do fairies comes from?
Consider the situation: Iolanthe has been banished by the Queen of the Fairies because she married a mortal; they had a son - the bizarrely-named Strephon - together, so we know that fairies can reproduce in the usual fashion. But there are no male fairies and fairies are not allowed to marry (evidently in the Nineteenth century cohabitation was not an option).
Are we thus compelled to believe in some kind of fairy parthenogenesis? Or that infant fairies are left under enchanted gooseberry bushes by storks?
In the event, as it transpired, the fairies all marry mortals (apparently a significant fraction of, if not the entire House of Lords) and the Queen of the Fairies waves her magic wand - well, pole, actually - and transforms the peers into peris, thus enabling a neat coup de theâtre which I am not about to spoil by revealing here.
Which, if you think about it, doesn't really answer the question. But, as Ralph Waldo Emerson observed, "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds" and I don't believe anyone ever accused either Gilbert or Sullivan of little-mindedness.
The evening opened with the overture, beautifully played by George Corwin's hand-picked chamber ensemble (whose accompaniment throughout was exceptional) before the curtains parted to reveal "An Arcadian Landscape", which stage direction one could probably have deduced from the set, which was simple and functional yet conveyed precisely the right atmosphere.
I suppose nobody could accuse the fairies, who tripped merrily onto the stage, of being fashion victims. Indeed, one of the disadvantages of being a fairy must be the limited, or non-existent, opportunities for sartorial splendour. Dorothy commented afterwards that the peers had more sumptuous costumes - but that is the way of the world. (British peers have always had a tendency to overdress.)
Still, the fairies looked enchanting in their pastel-coloured dresses and rainbow-hued wings and sang deliciously. I also very much enjoyed the way the production took advantage of the fact that not all of the fairies were still in the first flush of youth (later on Iolanthe is described as looking to be seventeen years old, presumably all fairies, being immortal, appear likewise). One fairy was clearly suffering with her feet and had to sit out the terpsichorean merrymaking, while sympathetically attended to by one or two of her colleagues. It was a nice touch and typical of the production.
When the peers finally arrived, to sing one of G&S's most memorable choruses: "Loudly let the trumpet bray", their ermine-lined gowns (no, I'm sure no ermines were harmed during the production) did indeed turn out to be more resplendent than the poor fairies' dresses and their arrogance ("bow, bow ye lower middle class / bow, bow ye tradesmen, bow, ye masses") was enough to make one wonder why the House of Lords still exists at all. I did rather feel, though, that (and this is most unusual) there were not quite enough basses.
Having said which, the choral contributions are one of the glories of any VG&S production and this was no exception, even though, in their (commendable) enthusiasm the chorus occasionally tried to get ahead of the accompaniment. As orchestras around the world could testify, you are not going to get away with that with George Corwin on the podium.
Inge Illman's Phyllis was delightful: unlike many a Gilbertian heroine, she actually seems fairly sensible and Illman managed to make this very fetching. Her enamorata, the half-fairy Strephon is a somewhat vapid character (as are many, if not most, of Gilbert's heroes), and one shudders to imagine what a writer from a later generation would have made of the notion that his upper half is fairy, and hence immortal, where his lower half is human and hence mortal. Thankfully Victorians tended to avoid the salacious, at least in public. Jonathan Woodward certainly made the most of his part and one did not feel, as one often does in G&S, that the heroine has made a choice she will live to regret. (Incidentally, according to one website Strephon is a girl's name, which would perhaps have come as a surprise to Jonathan Swift, whose scatological poem Strephon and Chloe may have supplied it.)
Rachel Moss, Mary Kirkwood and Elizabeth Sly were uniformly delightful as the leading fairies; Andre Palin's Iolanthe was appropriately lovelorn and confused - as well she might be after spending a quarter of a century standing on her head at the bottom of a stream, only to be immediately recognised by her son, who has not seen her since his infancy. As the Queen of the Fairies, Merissa Cox was suitably regal, yet her infatuation with the lugubrious Private Willis (the splendid Rudy Ewert) was entirely credible, if not comprehensible.
As my Lords Mountararat and Tolloller, Colin Grewar was incisive yet basically dim, whereas Robert Hall managed to be both obtuse and dim.
In the Lord Chancellor, I suspect that Adrian Sly has found his perfect rôle. His portrayal of the "heavy" has always proved a high spot of VG&S productions for me and this was no exception. Moreover in Iolanthe he gets what is arguably the finest of all the "patter" songs, the "Nightmare" song ("When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety / I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety"), although also perhaps one of the most difficult to pull off: unlike, say, "Modern Major-General" or "Ruler of the Queen's Navy" it has no refrain and no orchestral interludes between verses, so there is almost no chance for the singer to breathe. While it would be paltering with the truth to suggest that every single syllable was audible, it was pretty close.
I have already hinted at the glories of the costumes, designed and made by Norma Jee, and the scenery (Act 2 featured a gloriously incorrect-in-almost-every-detail-but-spot-on-in-overall-impression backdrop of the Houses of Parliament), designed by Tony Hubner.
In addition I must also commend Heather-Elayne Day's choreography (given that I don't know much about choreography, but know what I like, Ms. Day may or may not view this as a compliment) and the stage direction of Jennifer Hoener, which impressed by its naturalness and unobtrusiveness.
There are, of course, many other people whose contributions were essential - sets don't just paint themselves, for example, nor do rehearsal accompany themselves - and to all of them I also offer my congratulations.
Of all the Victoria Gilbert and Sullivan Society productions I have attended this was certainly one of the most enjoyable.
MiV Home