Artsmonkey Blog

Well maybe I was a bit hasty about Panto, having just been to see Dick Whittington at Salisbury Playhouse directed by Hannah Chissick who, surely must have seen enough panto’s in her time to know what makes a good one. Perhaps not. A good cast let down by inconsistent direction and low budget.

I can’t believe that Tommy the cat didn’t even get a pair of silver trainers or some nice bling for the walk down, well not so much walk down as walk along. Times may be hard but many companies manage to produce a lot more for their money than this simple and at times confusing panto – Dick arrives in London wearing last years Robin Hood costume, Fairy Bow Bells only gets one costume the whole way through and when Tom the cat first came on I thought his wasn’t finished yet as one leg was cut off at the knee, and the other flapping about like cowboy chaps – but no, this was street stylie (allegedy). However, it didn’t stop Nyron Levy pulling some cool moves throughout. The plot was jumpy and it was hard to understand how come Alice Fitzwarren was so sure Dick hadn’t stolen her fathers ’stash’ of cash given they’d only just met. The overall design was gloomy perhaps subconsciously infected by recession blues and lacked sparkle despite valiant attempts by Stephen Matthews and Paul Caulfield as Sarah the Cook and Silly Billy although even Mr Matthews kicked off the jokes with - “it doesn’t get any better than this” luckily it did get better but it might be worth going elsewhere if like me, you’re a panto buff and whilst you might put up with a rusty old lamp with exciting potential you find it hard to stomach a half baked pudding with little chance of rising.

Caught the penultimate performance of Oscar Wilde’s ‘Ideal Husband’ at Bath Theatre Royal. Another Peter Hall production sent about the country courtesy of Bill Kenright before being gently retired to make way for Panto season. We sat second row back in the stalls and what an amazing sight the whole thing was from there. The cast featured TV glory girls from the seventies and before; Carol Royle, Kate O’Mara, Fenella Fielding and it was quite something to witness these ladies close up, almost a show in itself. Their various styles of delivery all something to behold against their male counterparts more naturalistic, or in Robert Duncans case, more ‘music hall’ style. Comforting to see that big performances can still hold the audiences attention and hypnotically so in places – watching Fenella Fielding artfully fishing for her lines with a sweep of her gloved hand or inclination of her fantastically bewigged and hatted head was gripping.

The fact that commercial theatre makes money by wheeling out casts of TV favourites i.e. Tony Britton – remember ‘Father Dear Father?’ and then there’s Michael Praed (a sensitive Lord Chiltern) and Robert Duncan (charming, witty but miscast) surely means people are entertained by and therefore willing to pay to see classics performed by casts that seem to have been thrown together by virtue of the fact they will be recognised from the tele, to some extent or another. I know it’s unfair, they’ve usually got a bulky CV behind them but what a mixed bag when you see them altogether onstage.

I’m being churlish, I didn’t go for an acting masterclass and Oscar Wilde’s writing is brilliant when a light is shone on it. I’m grateful that apart from one or two lost lines the story was clear and the actors audible so I could appreciate Wilde’s wry and sharp observations of society. Bonus entertainment to see grande dames giving it their all, and to be able to sit and guess what the other members of the large cast who were all onstage at the beginning could possibly have been doing during the other two acts? It was good to see veteran rep actor Robert Aldous butlering away with aplomb right up to the fall of the curtain (or the coin, in this case) and I enjoyed James Dinsmore as the French Ambassador (I’m sure I’ll enjoy him for longer though when we see him in Jack & The Beanstalk at The Camberley Theatre later this year) and Isla Carter as a bouncy Miss Mabel (surely she is Harriet Walters daughter or niece?) although not perhaps her final wig (split ends – yuk! Must have been a long tour)

I know that the impracticalities of touring mean that ones belief must be suspended so as not to notice that Lord Chiltern and Lord Goring both have the same furniture and that the art of onstage letter writing has clearly been lost when a long note only takes up three lines on the page (picky old me, yes I know!) but when the average age of the performers means that delivery of lines is weighted and veering on ponderous there is unfortunately time to notice these things.

I’m torn, I missed the energy of pace and the sting of a more biting delivery and, if I’m honest more appropriate casting but I sort of enjoyed the whole spectacle of watching the older actors trumpet their foibles onstage. Never mind, it’s over now. What a unique experience, not my ideal theatre experience by any means– I had very strange dreams about Madame Tussauds and Carry On Films when I finally got to sleep that night. Roll on Panto.