When I was no more than a hemidemisemiquaver, I would listen attentively as my mother sat at her old Hardman piano and sang ditties by Gilbert and Sullivan. I believe that the first song I ever learned “by heart” was “I’m called Little Buttercup” with its still mysterious “pretty polonies.” In 1947, when the D’Oyly Carte company made its first post-war American tour, I was taken to see a performance of H. M. S. Pinafore. I was utterly transported. No subsequent theatrical experience has worked equivalent magic. I still think that it’s a little miracle that I saw with my own rapt eyes such legendary Savoyard stalwarts as Ella Halman, Darrell Fancourt, and Martyn Green.
Pinafore was the only stage play that I saw until I was past adolescence and out of the house. What could have prompted such uncharacteristic extravagance on my parents' part? Whatever the cause, the result was that my infatuation with Gilbert and Sullivan's operas was early established. The attachment was difficult to sustain because there was no family phonograph; moreover, those thick, heavy albums of 78s would have broken the budget. I was fortunate to possess a tattered old anthology of G & S songs from which I would pick out tunes as best I could.
In college I had a roommate who was a genuine savoyardophile and who arrived with a "hi-fi" and an extensive collection of ‘long playing’ records. I took advantage of his resources and his knowledge. During the fifties and sixties I attended performances of the full G & S repertory in various amateur and semi-pro productions-–even a rare Utopia Ltd. at the Loeb Drama Center in Cambridge. I also acquired a treasured collection of D’Oyly Carte and Glyndebourne performances on vinyl. During the seventies and eighties, I couldn’t clean the house or cook a meal without the assistance of Sir Arthur. But turntables and 33s went the way of 78s, and then the vinyl itself came to be sequestered in plastic tubs in the basement.
I was G & S-less for a decade or so, but Topsy-Turvy (1999), the great Mike Leigh film, rekindled an unfaded love. Now, sixty years after my first Pinafore, I’m compiling a new collection of recordings (everything’s out there on CD if you’re patient). I now own reissues of classic D’Oyly Carte recordings and also of a sparkling Mikado by the Welsh National Opera. In the fall, the entire collection will be transferred to the iPod. Who would have guessed that I'd have gone through four or five new technologies in my lifetime? And yet the song remains the same.
What is the attraction? Gilbert and Sullivan, I think, gave me early authorization to be silly. The operas licensed criticism of oppressive or irrational social norms. Everything was fair game. Inasmuch as I was raised in a rigidly conformist society, the G & S precedent was a great liberation. I’m absolutely convinced that a great big hunk of my sense of humor was formed around a Gilbertian core.
When I was a boy, it was the clever patter songs that most struck me. They’re still good, and some are brilliant. Bunthorne’s soliloquy in Patience, in which he confesses that “he’s not fond of uttering platitudes/ In stained glass attitudes” is as fully on target now as it was in 1881. Simply substitute tired modish Derridadaism for the "high aesthetic line," and “the meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter of a transcendental kind” jumps right out at you.
But nowadays, it’s not Gilbert's free-standing wit but Sullivan's glorious ensembles that cause the shiver of delight. Instances: Iolanthe's “Oh, many a man in friendship’s name”; Ko-ko, Pooh-Bah, and Pish-Tush singing “To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock”; in Ruddigore, the trio “In sailing o’er life’s ocean wide,/ No doubt your heart should be your guide/ But it is awkward when you find/ A heart that does not know its mind.” And many others, including, certainly, the quartet from Yeoman of the Guard: “Strange adventure, maiden wedded/ To a groom she’s never seen.” Still another transcendent moment: the high silliness in Pirates, when the assembled choruses kneel to sing the resplendent, ridiculous: "Hail poetry, thou heaven-born maid… All hail, divine emollient." I think that the touchstone of all touchstones is a truly wondrous brief duet in Iolanthe, when the lovesick Lords Tolloler and Mountararat, tenor and baritone, rejected by Phyllis, who chooses a simple shepherd over their dignities, leave the stage singing "Neath this blow/ Worse than stab of dagger/ Though we mo-/ Mentarily stagger,/ In each heart,/ Proud are we innately,/ Let’s depart, dignified and stately.”
In addition to the satire, and the splendid music, G &S also supplies great big helpings of joy. G & S manage to persuade me, at least for the duration of the play, to give credence to “rapture, rapture,” and that “pleasures come in endless series,” and “joy unbounded,” and “laughing song and merry dance,” and “happier than any/ A pound to a penny,/ A lover is when he/ Embraces his bride."
There’s much to deplore in Gilbert’s creations: nasty racism, an insufferable obsession with class (embraced even as it appears to be refuted), jingoism, which is sometimes satirized but often (as in the faux-japonisme of The Mikado) unconsciously accepted, as well as the constant distasteful bludgeoning of middle-age women. But just as we forgive Shylock in order to embrace King Lear, so we must suspend our moral indignation to revel in the best of Gilbert.
Last week, two of the grandchildren visited for a few days. We rented the DVD of the Central Park Kevin Kline-Linda Ronstadt Pirates. The kids were attentive, engaged. Next time they visit: more Gilbert and Sullivan. Perhaps we can plant a savoyardian seed.
I'm very glad to have re-read this piece, which is what first led me to your blog.
It's the first time I have read something intelligent which has licensed my love of G&S, a love which dare not speak its name as they are so derided generally.
I was taken to two or three shows a year throughout my childhood, all performed by local amateur dramatic societies, and I loved them. I remember some of the songs to this day. As an adult I have only seen Yeoman of the Guard (sublime throughout), Mikado (entertaining with moments of beauty) and Princess Ida (I'm sorry but this one was tedious).
The amateur dramatic and operatic societies seem to shun G&S these days. It's a shame.
Posted by: Sarah | August 02, 2008 at 12:07 AM