Dames and Wicked Sisters

Wanganui Chronicle, 23 December 1950, Page 10

Dames and Wicked Sisters

by

Beverley Baxter

AS a dramatic critic I receive two free seats for every new theatrical production in the West End, as well as the smaller theatres in the suburbs. This sounds wry agreeable, and indeed it has its pleasurable side, but a critic must see plays which no sane man would think of doing. As a professional grave-digger we have no warning as to the condition of the corpses.

Yet once a year the critic abandons his lofty pose of superiority and becomes a gullible as any other citizen. It is when Mr. Littler invites him to “Mother Goose,” or Jack Hylton to “Aladdin,’ or Tom Arnold to “Cinderella.” Christmas is at hand and the pantomime season is about to open. The critic discovers, to his surprise, that he is an intensely popular fellow, his merits being recognised not only by his mature friends but even more so by their sons and daughters. As for nephews, nieces and god-children, you are never out of their hearts at this gladsome season. Warmed by this unaccustomed affection and interest the critic gets on the telephone and actually purchases, for ready money, extra tickets in all directions. It is said that the spectacle of a critic purchasing a ticket has caused even the most hard-boiled box office attendants to burst into tears. Now the strange part about all this is that the critic (and we shall dispose of him altogether in a minute) actually looks forward to seeing the Pantomime. “It’s fun to go with the kids,” he says. “They like all this nonsense about dames and brothers’ men and wicked sisters.” “And the principal boy?” says his wife sweetly. “Queer thing,” says the critics, “I often wonder why the Principal Boy is played by a girl.” “I can think of two well shaped reasons,” says the wife. “Probably goes back to the Elizabethans,” declared. the critic pompously, “when girls used to be played by boys. That’s why Shakespeare was always dressing his boys up in boys’ clothes because they were more convincing that way than dressed as girls.” “You mean,” says his stupid wife, “that when a boy dresses up as a boy he looks more like a girl.” Where did this theatrical extravaganza of pantomime begin? Of course the average person would say that pantomime is as English as Brussels sprouts, that it sprang from the soil of England and has never really taken root in any other country. That answer is about twenty-three centuries wrong in the matter of origin. The original pantomimes came to Rome from Etruria, (look it up on the map yourself, I’m too busy), in the year 346 B.C. They were called histriones, from histor, a dancer, which accounts for the modern word histrionic which has nothing to do with dancing at all. But in those days the dancers were the only actors, wearing masks and speaking no lines. Augustus became the great patron of this art, so much so in fact that he is regarded by some historians (from histoiro, a tall story) as the inventor of dumb acting. If that is so he has an awful lot to answer, for in the modern theatre. You all know that history repeats itself, so it is interesting to note that the mimes, that is the dumb actors, became so popular with the knights and nobles that there was a great deal of fraternisation, and drinking of Homlock Fizzies at the local pub. This made Tiberius very angry, so he checked all this by prohibiting nobles to frequent actors’ houses or be seen walking with them in the streets, or climbing the Seven Hills.

However, things began to improve for the pantomimists in Rome when Caligula looked on them with favour. You will remember (at any rate you ought to if you don’t) that Caligula was so devoted to his horse that he made it a senator. I’ve often rnet a senator who proved to be an ass, but this was the first time, I am almost certain of my facts, that a horse was made a senator.

But again you see history telling the same story twice. Caligula’s horse was the authentic origin of the Pantomine horse at Christmas, the one with the wide grin and the collapsible back legs. Caligula however, does not deserve as much credit as Nero who not only played the violin, but also fancied himself as an actor. So he became one of the dumbest stars in the history of Pantomines and was much acclaimed by the crtics of his day who did not want to be on the menu at the Coliseum. Unfortunately Nero’s influence was not good. He took the masked, and their voices were not view that since the actors’ faces were used, the audience ought to be given something for their money. In other words, he was in favour of the human body being revealed since it had to do all the acting. This may well have been the first discovery of the female leg—although I doubt it. At any rate the local Jane Russells livened up the old mychosen theme, but I am glad to say that this exhibitionism did not take place without protest. The early Christians were right on the job and said that if this kind of thing continued the Roman Empire would collapse. And so it did, which shows that the critics aren’t always wrong. It was not until the 17th century that the pantominic art spread to England, but the public did not enthuse as much as the Romans did about the mythological legends. So eventually the popular form as the story of Columbine and Harlequin in which Columbine was a simple village lass and Harlequin, not carefully, was always being chased by comic constables. Thus we begin to see the unfolding of the pattern which has become exclusively British. Instead of being a figure of awe, the policeman is always worsted by the comics who have the enthusiastic support of the children in the audience in their attempts td evade arrest. There is in every normal child an instinctinve love of the absurb and the incongruous. It demostrates itself even in the first months of life when a baby will throw dishes from its high chair on to the floor, and gurgle with satisfaction over the deed. The baby well knows that this is breaking the law, as well as the dishes, but that only adds zest to the crime. Not only that, it likes to see its father stand on his head, or put on his wife’s hat, or fall down the stairs, (this always gets a great laugh from the dear little cherub), or crawl under the sofa and bark like a dog. Deep down in its little mind the infant is making its unconscious protest against the drabness of life in later years, when we all begin slowly to die from creeping common sense. And here let me say that the wise man, and certainly the happy one, never entirely loses that early love of absurdity. The keener the mind, the more vivid the imagination, the deeper is the appreciation of the nonsensical. Nothing but a superbly cultivated intellect could have written “Alice in Wonderland” or “The Importance of being Earnest.” The development of the Pantomine was shrewly based on child phychology. Thus in modern times the rapturous Boxing Day audience finds that the “Babes in the Wood” are none other than those eminent adult

London comedians, Mr. Nerve and Mr. Knox. Are the Babes frightened when they are lost in the wood? In a way, Yes; but they indicate by their jokes that they will be quite all right. Even when they lie down to sleep Mr. Knox takes care to place a large rat under Mr. Nerve’s pillow of leaves, and Mr. Nerve carefully places his shoes on the other Babe’s face. And who is their mother? Bless her heart, it is Monsewer Eddie Grey with his alcoholic nose, his prodigious moustache and his exquisite French phrases. The Monsewer is of course the Dame and when she loses her temper in the kitchen does she send the Babes to bed without supper? Not a bit of it. She hits them over the head with a broom while they pull her skirt off, revealing two such spindly legs that the Monsewer admits he won them from a sparrow in a wager. But th 4 finer things are not forgotten. There is compulsory education in Pantomines as in real life, so off the Babes go to school where Bud Flanagan, (I admit that this is an all star cast I am assembling), is the schoolmaster who writes on the blackboard:— How much IS Too and Too? Mr. Nerve says the answer is “Too Much” whereupon he and the other Babe give the teacher a spanking. Now to any well regulated child with normal instincts this is exactly how life ought to be. No Adolf Hitler could rise to power in a setting where everything pompous is ridiculed and everything cruel is punished. There is wisdom as well as incongruity in the kingdom of childhood’s imagination. The Pantomine which differs from all others is “Cinderella” and I wonder that the Labour Government permits it to be shown. In its romantic unfolding it excels class distinction, praises the profit motive, and preaches the lesson that a really nice girl in lowly position should be careful to marry into the aristocracy where there is a lot of money. It is true that Cinders is fond of Buttons but she does not allow her head to be ruled by her heart. Buttons is her only friend, except of course her poor, badgered father, but she has had enough of the kitchen and dreams of better things. Thus she does not even pretend to be coy when the Prince offers his hand after finding her foot. Cinders knew a good thing when she saw it. Personally I have never been convinced that the size of a maiden’s foot was sufficient reason for marriage. But nature in her determination to preserve the continuity of the human race, moves in her own mysterious, inexorable way. It is well known that the daughters of the British aristocracy nearly all have large feet, no doubt due to the amout of exercise they take in their youth. But perhaps for political reasons, the Prince felt that it would be wiser to marry a commoner. The Americans cannot understand our passion for pantomine. To them it just doesn’t, make sense, but that of course is its charm. Pantomine doesn’t make sense, and if it ever does it wil die. But if you go to one this year think of its long history and its ancient origin, how in its own way it is the human spirit finding relief from the cares and drabness of everyday life. Above all, when you laugh at the comedians give a thought to the great Grimaldi, “the genuine droll, the grimacing, filching, irresistible clown,” who laboured so hard in bringing laughter to London that he died prematurely. worn out by his exertions. Sweet ladies and gentlemen, I give you the British nantomine. Long may it survive to keep the wisdom of childhood alive in all of us.