Footlight Flashes.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue XIII, 30 March 1895, Page 302

Footlight Flashes.

By

the Prompter.

cry is still they come ! Huge audiences for the ! Royal Comic Opera Company now in Auckland, that is. ‘ Nitouche ’ has capped all previous successes so far as the ' down stairs ’ house is concerned. The musical farce was, however, not to the taste of everyone. Some of the more prim and proper denizens of the ‘ dress-circle ’ professed themselves shocked. Perhaps dear St. Nitouche is a trifle advanced ! ! There are one or two somewhat quaint suggestions! It is, in short, all right for the modern young woman, but she should, perhaps, hesitate to take her innocent father and mother to see it. But Miss Stewart’s acting—who that has seen her as Nitouche can hesitate to call her a genius ? The jtunesst doree of Auckland cannot find praises enough for her, and down south it was just the same. The ‘Green Room Ballet’ in Auckland caused such a rush for orchestra stall seats that the management had serious thoughts of putting on another row or two. By the way, should not this ballet be billed as the ‘ Grand Combination Show ?’ It caused an even greater sensation in Auckland than either Wellington or Christchurch. and the ‘ baldheads ’ there were pretty appreciative, too, weren’t they? * The Mountebanks ’ drew only fair houses in Auckland, and frankly lam not surprised. Cellier’s music is good and pretty, but is melancholic to a degree. Perhaps it is imagination, but it seems to me as if the shadow of sickness and death is over the entire score. The ‘ Put a Penny in the Slot ’ music is the only portion that is in any degree fitted to the humour of the libretto. The splendid acting of Mr Lauri and his clever wife (Miss Nash) saved the opera from becoming dull, but it dragged as no Gilbert and Sullivan opera ever did —even ‘ Ruddigore.’ ‘La Cigale' should prove an enormous success in Auckland when it goes on on this (Wednesday) evening. As all Southern opera goers will admit, ‘ La Cigale ’ is the most beautiful of all the operas staged by the Company, now, alas ! winding up their season. Miss Stewart's part fits her as well as—as well as that fleshcoloured silk tights affair she wears round her waist, etc., in ‘ Mam’zelle Nitouche,’ Act 11. The scenery and dresses are, too, superb. ‘ LaMascotte ’ on Saturday and Monday and ‘ Mikado’ (Vernon as Executioner, of course) on Tuesday wind up the New Zealand season. There will be a concert after ‘Mikado,’ and Bracy is to sing. That will draw Aucklanders ; they remember him and his exquisite voice. ‘Black-eved Susan’ (Douglas Jerrold’s not the burlesque of that ilk I as performed by the Lucas Company in Dunedin Princesses' must be well spoken of. It drew good houses. The nautical drama was preceded by the closet scene from ‘ Hamlet,’ in which Mr Lucas equalled himself excellently as the Prince of Denmark. The Kinderspeil—‘The Happy Family’—has been succesfully performed in Nelson during the past week. The lively music and pretty marches met with great approval . When Brough and Boucicault come to New Zealand next November one of the principal attractions will be • The Masqueraders,’ in which play the new importations made their first appearance in Sydney last week. The following is a criticism of the play from the liullet'n : — ‘Jones’ drama, “ The Masqueraders,” which introduced the new Brough-Boucicault Company at Sydney Lyceum, is an unsatisfying affair, with many good things in it. and many things which are not bad, but are only rather slow. It ends nowhere in particular, chiefly because the author has by that time got it into such a state that it can't end anywhere else. The story covers four acts, and can be told in as many sentences. A bright, ambitious girl has been reduced to become a barmaid at a fashionable hotel, and, being loved by a poor and dreamy man of science and a hog-like, gilded baronet, she marries the baronet, as most girls would. The baronet drinks away his fortune all but 3s 3d, his other assets being a daughter, a blotched, fullmoon countenance, a footballer's expression, and a wife who is on the verge ofinsanity. The dreamy astronomer becomes rich, and stakes his pile against his old love and her child in a midnight game of cards and wins. Then he takes the stakes away to his home among the Alps, and there the lady thinks better of it and they

part. The dreamer with his unsatisfied longing still upon him goes away to Africa, and no one knows what becomes of him. The lady stays behind, and her afterfate is a matter of conjecture. The baronet is left insensible on the floor, with 3s 3d between him and perdition, and the drama goes on and leaves him. A dozen other characters come into the story, but the drama goes on and leaves them all. Ma F. M. Wallace, violinist and musician, very well known in Canterbury, has managed to hurt himself rather seriously by a fall while playing tennis in Christchurch. He is doing fairly well, but it will be some time before he is • quite right again,’ a compound fracture of the shoulder is the trouble, and very nasty trouble, too. So poor Corner Grain and Mrs German Reed are both gone. Where will country cousins, whose parents do not permit of theatre-going, go now for a night or afternoon’s pleasure when on a visit to London town ? Corner Grain and the German Reeds were almost entirely supported by this class of people. When the writer was a child there were three entertainments he was taken to on the rare occasions when allowed to return from school via London. German Reed’s was one, the dear old Polytechnic with its diving bell was another, and the Crystal Palace the other. How many expatriated Englishmen will sigh sympathetically with me over the days those names recall ! Charles Arnold, with ‘Hans the Boatman,' ‘Captain Fritz,' and ‘ Charley’s Aunt,' opens a season at Townsville. Queensland, on Easter Monday. A little girl, with large, iunocent eyes, baby curls, and wearing a sunbonnet, fell into the hands of the Melbourne police the other day and told them a long, romantic story of a journey from Maoriland, and her experiences as a homeless toddler in a strange, wicked city. She had travelled to Melbourne, she said, to get an engagement as a song-and-dance artist, and she had bounced accommodation at hotels for several days on the strength of being a poor little thing without any ma. The sceptical policeman immediately removed the sweet child’s bonnet, whereupon she grew suddenly old and displayed an air of much guile, and at once admitted that she wasn’t an orphan, nor was she of particularly tender years, and she hailed from Brunswick, and was simply ‘ out on her own.’ Case pending. The sunbonnet of late has covered a multitude of sinners. The Christchurch Liedertafel Harren abend—whydon’t they say smoking concert in plain English ?—took place at the Assembly rooms on last Friday ‘as ever was.’ It was, as usual, an unqualified success. The Christchurch Liedertafel is the best in the colony by long chalks. Ovide Musin, whose promise to revisit New Zealand in ‘ a year or two ’ is becoming about due, was in Louisville when the last mail left Musin is as great a favourite as ever. Herr Scharf, whose pianoforte solos are gratefully remembered, was with him, and ‘Madame’ was still singing as gayly as ever. Tableaux vi>’ant» have been added to the attractions of popular concerts in the Christchurch Opera House. These are being managed by C. McGuiness, and are thoroughly well done. They deserve their success. Fillis is doing tremendous business in Johannesburg, where his show is pronounced the best that has ever visited South Africa. A letter from Johannesburg says : —‘ Fillis’ spectacle of the Matabele war, and Wilson's last stand, was a fine production, and drew crowds. The sad and touching sight of an Englishman’s bravery hardly ever failed to evoke rounds of applause. “Mazeppa” was produced in the same well-finished style. Miss Madeline Wirth in the title-role was good. Mr and Mrs Fillis nearly lost their little daughter, Adele, a few weeks ago. She was playing on the balcony of the hotel, and hanging over the bannisters, fell to the ground, a depth of thirty feet. She was in a dangerous condition for some time, but owing to the untiring care of her mother she has now recovered, and is none the worse for her accident.’

WELLINGTON Orchestral Society have given the last concert of this season. It was a very successful affair. The programme was an excellent one, including the fine overtures to * Fingal's Cave,’ ‘ Raymond,’ and the ‘ Cavalleria Rusticana.’ Worth's Circus is also iu South Africa, hut not doing any great business. It has fallen off greatly during the last couple of years, they say.

' Miss Geraldine Olliffe, Mrs Brough's successor, is an unalloyed success. She is tall, graceful, and stately, with a bright, expressive face, a strong musical voice, and a magnetic presence ; also, she is a finished actress, and, as Jones’s heroine, she is nearly half the drama. Most of the other half is Titheradge. As the baronet with the footballer’s expression. Titheradge outshines even himself. The greater part of the time he is a slouchy, sullen, sodden, leering ape, but in the scene where he gambles for his wife and daughter and loses them he is blotchy and rampant and the living picture of an ape in a state of crazy excitement. Mr Elwood, another new importation, makes a great hit in the same scene, but the rest of the time he is a stagey person with a stride and a sombre drawl and a number of exhausting attitudes. The Bulletin suspends its judgment until it ascertains if the stride and the drawl belong to Elwood or if he belongs to them, and respectfully hopes for better things. Mr Compton, a third new arrival, has a small part and no definite opportunity, save the opportunity of letting the public know that he pronounces surely as “ shurley.” Miss Beryl Faber leaves a decidedly good impression in a Quakerish part ; Miss Talbot —still another new attraction —does sufficiently’ well in a very small character; and Cecil Ward is a bright spot in Jones’ wilderness. Providing Elwood doesn’t always stride and Compton doesn’tsay“shurley” too regularly, the new importations promise well on the whole. Boucicault, who engaged them after personal inspection, is a man of few histrionic mistakes.'

Mrs Brough's farewell was as big a function as the Lyceum would hold. The departing favourite made her exit in 1 Niobe.’and the Greek lady who haunted the house of Peter Amos Dunn never appeared to more advantage. She also made a pretty little speech, which was altogether successful, especially when she struggled with her rising tears towards the end, and began to be troubled by the exuberance of the audience. Brough also fare welled in a cheerful vein, and didn't struggle with his tears, for he hadn't any about him. The senior member of the firm was in a happy mood, and gladdened the audience with the joyous assurance that he would return by-and-bye. About two tons of flowers were handed over the footlights, and towards the end of the last act the house of Dunn looked like a gorged conservatory. ‘ Niobe ’ lasted longer than usual because the audience insisted on cheering in season and out of season, and in various other places besides, and* altogether it was a great occasion. The Kennedy Dramatic Company are still going strong in Dunedin. ‘The Shaughraun ’ was on the boards last week. Mr Kennedy as Conn, of course. Poor Armes Beaumont, Mrs Palmer, and Harpist Barker—the excellent little company who brought Mr Gee to New Zealand for the first time are passing through a time that can scarcely be pleasant. Ruined by the financial collapses, and obliged to return to the stage after well-earned retirement, they are now singing at a variety show in Melbourne—a variety show that is only redeemed from unqualified wretchedness bv their presence. Sandwiched in between vulgar comic songs, tawdry ill-performed ballets, and miserable juvenile performances, the high-class music of the trio is incongruous in the extreme. A New Zealander who was present at one performance writes : —• Mrs Palmer's singing was perfect. Her voice is much improved, and the technical difficulties of the operatic solo taken were overcome with the greatest ease. But a coarse and blackguard gallery of larrikins shrieked with laughter at the runs and trills, whose beauties they were incapable of enjoying. When Barker played one of his exquisite harp solos they threw pennies on the stage, interspersing the pleasantry with coarse witticisms. All the artists evidently felt their position acutely, and so great was the disgust of many of the audience that they left the theatre.’ Mr Rossiter, a local (New Zealand, that is,) musician, whose compositions are attracting considerable attention in the south, is now in Dunedin. One of his sacred solos. ‘O Salutaris,' was sung in St. Joseph’s Cathedral, Dunedin, last week, and created a most favourable impression.

That much-praised, much-abused, and universallydiscussed play, ‘ The Second Mrs Tanqueray,’ can now be purchased in book form. New Zealanders who have not seen the play should certainly procure it and read it. It is certainly one of the achievements of the century. Concerning its publication in book form Archer, the well-known critic, observes : — •Here, at last, is “ The Second Mrs Tanqueray ” in book form. (1 see,by the way,that "in book form ” is reckoned bad English by the young lions of criticism. What, I

wonder, is the matter with it?) How the whirligig of time brings its revenges I remember devoting the greater part of a morning ramble on Hampstead Heath to a vain attempt to persuade Mr Pinero that there was nothing unspeakably terrible in Dr. Rank's telling Nora, in the “Doll’s House,” before he died, that he had silently loved her, and thanking her for the light she had brought into his life. That was five or six years ago. To-day I take up an American paper, a quite respectable New York Journal, L<fe, to wit. and I find Mr Pinero denounced as an “ Apostle of Filth,” because, pandering to British depravity in order to fill his pockets, he dared towrite “The Second Mrs Tanqueray.” So there is, perhaps, a certain propriety (if that term can be used in such a context) in ranging the two “ Apostles of Filth ”on the same bookshelf. I have re-read, “ The Second Mrs Tanqueray,” bearing in mind all that certain eminent criticshavealleged in its disfavour, and if I do not exactly rank it with “ Hedda Gabler ” and “ Little Eyolf ” on my mental bookshelf, I have not the least hesitation in placing it beside, and in some respects above, the best plays of Dumas. It is not the last word of perfection, either intellectually or technically ; but it is a play of which any stage and any literature might well be proud.’