No 40 -- Spring 1993 Edited by Michael Walters
This production was different, not perversely so, but with a genuine attempt to think things out. Unfortunately the result was a bit of a curate's egg. But to begin at the beginning. The producer (Colin Smith) wrote thus in the programme:
The first stirrings of this production of Ruddigore began on a late summer's evening in 1989, eating fish and chops by the harbour in Whitby. For those unfamiliar with the Yorkshire resort, one half of Whitby (beneath the ruins of the abbey) retains its old world charm, while the other half has succumbed to the commercial pressures of the 20th Century. It occurred to me then that it would be fun to imagine the quaint fishing village of Rederring, which provides the picturesque setting for Ruddigore, similarly corrupted by the passing of 150 years. The second major element in our ideas was hammered out in the rather more mundane surroundings of a pub in Notting Hill. Ruddigore is plainly a pastiche of the larger than life stock characters of Victorian melodrama. Who would Gilbert consider their equivalent if he were writing today?
It began well. The stage was open from audience entry, and consisted along the back of a square alcove (centre) in which the small orchestra were crammed, like a seafront bandstand. On either side of this were Dame Hannah's house (a respectable bed and breakfast establishment) and a fish and chip shop. The back part of the stage was, as it were, the promenade. In the auditorium to one side of the thrust stage was a beach of real pebbles, with an inflatable fishing boat lying on it, the beach being littered with a number of crushed beer cans (a nice touch!). The set, designed and executed by Wesley Henderson, was excellent. The only negative, was that it did not look like a Cornish (or a Yorkshire) fishing port, but more like Blackpool or Southend. The ladies costumes were all modern, but varied somewhat in length. While the audience entered, Dama Hannah (who looked as if she had wandered in from a 1960s episode of Coronation Street) toddled about the stage, chatting with a few cronies, and then they all drew their deckchairs to face the bandstand, while a man in a very colourful shirt (who turned out to be the conductor) played what appeared to be a game of chance with them. The business died down as the overture began. Contrary to the fashion of some producers these days, there was no business nor choreography during the overture itself. The Battle's roar was performed, as was the Gideon Crawle verse, but no other "deleted" material was restored (that is a statement, not a criticism).
The bridesmaids were at no time dressed as such, but wore beachwear throughout. This was surely a mistake. I could accept their lack of "professional" attire through most of Act 1, but surely when they attended the wedding, they ought at least to have put on some semblance of dress for the occasion? There was no Ruth, her lines were divided between various girls – quite a good idea. Zorah (Jane Witkowska) had a thin voice, but was adequate. Act 1 was eventful; during the course of it there were four girls having a picnic on the beach, and a detachment of the Salvation Army with a priest (Stephen Paul Cormack). Dick Dauntless was accompanied by four W.R.E.Ns who danced the hornpipe, he refraining. The Bucks and Blades were beer–swilling Hell's Angels. On the whole the singing was no more than adequate. Dick (Anthony Cotterill) used a Scottish accent which had a habit of coming and going. Sir Despard (Peter Buckley Hill) arrived and left in a chauffeur–driven motor–cycle (a real one). He was a tall, rather hatchety individual, and I am convinced his interpretation was a caricature of some personality – the trouble was I couldn't work out who! Old Adam (Steve Brown) was not very old, and played as a fairly down–to–earth fisherman. John Chamberlain's Robin was such a contrast to his D'Oyly Carte in Tarantara, that I could hardly credit that it was the same person. He spoke in a nervous high–pitched tone, which was quite masterly, as in the hands of a lesser actor it could easily have become monotonous, but did not in this case. On his first entrance he carried a large pink rose which he kept behind his back as he was too nervous to give it to Rose. During the duet, his fingers twiddled with it so much that he knocked all the petals off, so that by the end of the duet when he had plucked up enough courage to present it to her, nothing was left but the stalk. Rose (Jane Ambler) had quite a pleasant singing voice.
Mad Margaret (Fiona Harcombe) was drunk for most of Act 1 (she had spent the time up to her entrance lying in a stupor on the beach) and this worked extremely well. She was the only thing in the production that looked at all "old fashioned". In Act 2 she had changed out of her long dress into modern jeans. By then the production seemed largely to have run out of steam. The "pictures" were statues, which was a bit of a kop–out, particularly as they were all covered with white dust sheets, and were probably nothing more than coat racks underneath. At the blackout these were whisked off and men took their place, all similarly attired in dark coats and hats. But had they been statues, they should have been white. Sir Roderick (Nick Poole) was seated in an armchair centre stage, similarly covered in a sheet. After the ghost scene, he returned to this position (minus sheet) and remained motionless, no mean feat! However, as will be gathered from previous reviews (Gondoliers, Tarantara) he is a performer I do not like, and his harsh singing of "When the night wind howls" was certainly one of the minuses of Act 2. The main trouble was that the producer's concept of "partly new/ partly old" failed to materialise. It was all modern. The picture gallery might have been in a YMCA hostel or a Community Centre, so little did it resemble an ancestral castle. Ruthven sat at a modern desk, and there was virtually no other stage dressing except Sir Roderic's chair on a plinth, and a series of plain alcoves for the statues. All the melodramatic element had been stripped away. The ghost's scene went for nothing, and the "torture" was for a couple of the ghosts to sing old songs rather badly. Anaemic, and not very funny. Most of Act 2 was just boring; I nearly nodded off a couple of times towards the end. MICHAEL WALTERS
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