January 25, 2003: Gilbert and Sullivan, H. M. S. Pinafore
January 25, 2003: Gilbert and Sullivan, H. M. S. Pinafore
Evening. Savoy Theatre. D’Oyly Carte Opera Company
Where else, after all, for G & S than the Savoy? This was my choice for my traditional farewell-to-London farce, and it was a rewarding one. This production, directed by Martin Duncan and designed by Tim Hatley, dates back almost a decade, to 1994, and was last staged at the Savoy in 2000. It has been nominated for an Olivier award and has won other prizes as well. It is easy to see why. It is extremely well sung, brisk in pace, not at all gimmicky, and very nicely cast. The Josephine, Samantha Hay (who alternates the role with another soprano), has a lovely voice of surprisingly deep timbre — a real mezzo but with the high notes intact — and is very pretty to boot. She is capable of heavier stuff but yet gave this role her all. The Ralph, Joseph Shoulton, had the requisite lyric tenor voice, though he was a whole head shorter than the especially tall Samantha Hay. Sam Kathy, a very good singing actor, was a very entertaining Sir Joseph, who had a lot of fun with the part while nonetheless not camping it up at all.
The costumes reflected an unusual choice of period: an eclectic mix of late Victorian and frumpy 1930s. What was distinctive and quite comical about this production was that the sailors were almost all young men (the Boatswain an exception, middle-aged), whereas the numerous sisters, cousins, and aunts were — shall we say, of a certain age. One is reminded here of a phrase from the opera itself: “They might very well pass for forty-three in the dusk with the light behind them.” And they wore some of the dowdiest hats this side of Buckingham Palace. Hebe, especially, had a hat with two formidable feathers almost two feet long which at one point almost put a sailor’s eyes out as she whirled and walked up stage. These ladies mean business, there is no doubt about it, though at the same time they find being in the presence of vigorous young men an experience that carries a definite erotic charge.
The erotic charge was all too noticeable in the case of Della Jones’s Buttercup, who can’t keep her hands off these young men; she pinches at least two bottoms, to notable discomfort and surprise, and I for one was shocked, shocked, I tell you, to see such goings-on in a family type of show. Seriously, I thought this added a coarse note, and a false one, to a production that otherwise was beautifully done. The lighting was really fine, and in the day-time scenes suggestive of crisp, sun-lighted mornings with the air redolent of salt breezes.
There was much choreography to the ensemble numbers, much of it rather intricate but none of it clichéd; I would call it asymmetrical and nicely varied, intended to bring delight and surprise more than just to count out the basic rhythm of the music.
I didn’t like the Dick Deadeye very well at first — a young man with a somewhat raspy yet powerful bass voice, Gareth Jones by name. He was playing Deadeye