Pantomimes.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 11, 17 March 1909, Page 51

Pantomimes.

A FRENCHMAN’S VIEWS. „ “THE TYPICAL ENGLISH ENTERTAINMENT.” Pantomimes, if one is to trust etymology, are epeetavles confined to gesticulation and dancing, to mute from the Greek pantomimes, all-imitat-ing. But in reality, the English type js made up of dialogue and song. "Pantomimes are essentially English.” But, as a'matter of fact, they are of Italian origin—not to say Latin or Greek —and most of the fables which form the basis of those winter extravaganzas are French. Pantomimes are meant for the children. That is why the grown-up form the overwhelming majority of the audit nee. Having made these three disagreeable remarks, I hasten to inform the reader that I have seen, so far, live pantomimes, and that I considered them the most eharming ami refreshing specifies imaginable. t he English pantomime is intensely typical of the English. It answers a purpose; it does them good and makes them happy. It reigns supreme during the worst winter weeks, and counteracts the depression which fog, snow, frost, and mud create among the inhabitants of these isles. The English pantomime parries on into delightful realms of fantasy, fairies, ami etrange animals—stiange by their size, at least. No spectacle is more adapted to the requirements of the publie. It seems as if the theatrical managers had set themselves the following problem to solve:— Given that the English wish to enjoy themselves, in a simple and almost childish manner, during the dreary English winter, and care little what the amusement is so long as it is really cheering and bright—what can be concoct that will satisfy fully their various requirements, tendencies, and feelings? And they solved the problem by inventing the English pantomime—l insist on the word English because this sort of spectacle is nowhere else to be found —unfortunately. Having been told "by a native” —as Voltaire would say —that pantomimes truly responded to every inclination typical of the British, I made a list of those inclinations, and when I saw “Cin-

derella,” “Dick and other pantomimes, 1 consulted my list, and ticked off those in< iiuatious one by one whenever I found that they were being satisfied. I -candidly acknowledge the fact that the “native” had beau right; J ticked off every item. DOVE OF PAGEANTRY. The English bring great traditionalists, are fond of everything that recalls the elaborate processions of the past. The annual Lord Mayor’s Show, the pageants organised every year in every part of this country, the gorgeousness of all oflieial and many private functions, leave no doubt as to this particular inclination. What could be more satisfactory in thbs respect than the finale of each part of the great pantomimes? The spectacular effects are marvellous, the costumes of incredible richness, the orgy of light, colours, gold embroideries, spangles, crystals, is dazzling, and the whole of the production artistic—even to a spoiled Frenchman. SENTIMENTALISM. Here again the pantomime makers reveal a clear knowledge of their audience. There is love of the most poetical kind, and romance of the most utterly impossible and sweet variety, in these clever spectacles—one or two songs are desperately sentimental.’ The Words melt in the mouth like “inarrons glaces,” and the music is so . . . «hall we sav, s y ru Py» that, while listening to its caressing strains, one has the impression of floating aimlessly on an ocean of treacle. Oh! the sentimental English ballad! How generous and young—and soft—it makes one feel! And there arc the fairies, the nymphs, the angels, with gigantic and embarrassing wings. There are the butterfly girls and the girls who are flowers. Everybody is a hero or a heroine ; there is no villain to speak of. Everything is amusing, kind, .pretty, sprightly, optimistic, unreal. It is all so sentimental that one feels good and generous before the end of the play; the lieart glows; common sense vanishes merrily, and one love’s one neighbour—especially if she happens to have romantic eyes or luxurious tresses. As for the children (there are a few in the boxes), they revel in this spectacle. A magic book with wonderful living pictures is opened before their enchanted eyes, and they are quite as delightful to watch as the principal boy. * * * * * * But sentimentalism, romance, and fair-

ies are not evervthing. The English also want HUMOUR. They do not require essence of wit. dazzling aphorisms, ami unique “bonsmots.” Not < ven British stolidness could stand three hours and a-half of subtle repartees. The English ask for firework-’, for jovial humour, farcical jokes, and nonsensical ditties. It does not matter how absurd the humour is as long as there is plenty of it. What is wanted is quantity, not quality: speed, not genius. The audience get what they require, and they enjoy it. And I do not blame them. Rabelais is quite as amusing and more hygienic than Voltaire. and laughing whole-heartedly is better than smiling, however cunningly. Although not used to this particular kind of humour. I revelled in it. Like the children around me. X laughed when I read on the programme such names as Sarah Slapp. Captain Keel, Lord Chestnut. the Duke of Foxbrush, and Lady Sweet briar. I laughed at remarks of this kind: “1 know her frightfully well: we are terribly friendly.’’, I laughed when a comedian called another. ‘‘You bird’s-eye view of the Albert Hall,” and pronounced “cow-yard’’ for coward. I even laughed when a fair person in tights innocently remarked: “I have a pain in niv stadium. . . .” 1 laughed when Wilkie Bard, unctuously and with a mellow voice, sang “She sells sea shells on the sea-shore.” After half-an-bour at a pantomimp one feels so happy that one is ready io accept anything, even dialogue of the following description: “Shall I skin this rabbit?*’ “No, shave it”: or ‘‘Where is London?’’ “A place near Croydon.” The audience roared. Who said the English took their pleasures sadly? LOVE OF POLITICS. Another typically British inclination. The Englishman can—and will—talk politics every day of the year. The pantomime concocters know it. and they •satisfy him. The “principals” make a few Harmless allusions to current topics. I need hardly add that John Burns, Tariff Reform, and the Kaiser are most frequently mentioned. PATRIOTISM. In every pantomime there should clearly be, and there is, at least, one national, patriotic. hero-worshipping song. After their Majesties—Lord Rob-

erts, Lord Charles Beresford. and Mr. Joaeph Chamberlain, are the great favourite »>. LOVE OF ANIMALS. \\ ho would deny that this is essentially English? Nowhere in the world are horses, dogs, and cats so petted as in England. Ihe cast of a pantomime always includes some animal. During the last few nights I have seen on the stage a real baby pig. four Shetland ponitM, several horses, and an army of rabbits, to say nothing of those artists who took the parts of animals, dogs, wolves, girafirs, and cats altogether a small W hat is the chief attraction of English pantomime? Fun. Laughing is so healthy. <o necessary, so rare, too. in these strenuous days ot intensive business, that it almost reconciles one to the idea that certain comedians receive a larger salary than Cabinet Ministers or directors of national museums. It also makes one realise why so many men, of nil ages, watch these childish pantomimes with unmistakable joy. They like the wild antics of the comedians and the sumptuous processions; they listen with eager pleasure to the dainty actresses who sing delightful bits ol nonsense with artistic conviction, and to al] the jokes, all the “patter’*— and they are quite right. One cannot help envying England her healthy spirit, her love of |»hin, honest farce and buffoonery. I compare those charming pantomimes and their refreshing atmosphere, their winsome actresses in fairy parts, their huge jokes and crazy anarehronisms, with the French “revues” —the nearest approach to English pantomimes full of bitter sarcasms, double-meaning expressions, doubtful humour, and vulgar, not to say cynical, allusions. 'l'he French want daring satire. The English love “childish” beauty, genuine humour, and bom st sentiment. The latter are right—evidently.