"Victorian," to our modern minds, suggests "stuffy" and "repressed." But the Victorians were remarkable for their nostalgic love and idealization of childhood and their interest in children's literature, including fairy tales.
Even the popular entertainments enjoyed by Victorian adults seem, by our standards, almost childlike, as well -- and at times even nonsensical and silly. But much of it could be appreciated on a dual level -- as aimed at both children and adults. Think of the Alice in Wonderland books in the 1860's, and of Peter Pan in 1904, just at the end of the era: "If you believe in fairies, clap your hands!" Even the plays of Oscar Wilde, in the 1880's and 90's, bear a childlike, other-worldly quality, as the writer relies on witty word-play and bizarre coincidences to the almost total exclusion of any serious plot development and characterization.
The light operas of Gilbert and Sullivan, most of them also written in the 1880's and 90's, also show us how the Victorians could approach adult concerns through flights of fantasy and displays of silly, childlike whimsy. Unlike more serious literary satire, however, the silliness in these operettas overwhelms the problems being satirized, leaving us entertained, happy and amused, rather than disturbed.
The downside of Gilbert and Sullivan mania -- as an expression of the English character and attitude to life generally -- is that it can make large sections of the populace who ought to think a bit harder snigger instead.--A.N. Wilson, The Victorians
None of that makes the G&S light operas any less appealing to us today. We can enjoy the music, the satire and the humorous nonsense without feeling guilty about ignoring problems that British society may have faced over a century ago.
Last night, Pat and I attended the opening performance of The Mikado, the most popular and well known of the G&S operettas, and this year's annual production by the Seattle Gilbert & Sullivan Society. Last night was also "children's night," and there were a large number of children in the audience, all of them seemingly entranced by the show.
The Mikado is set in Titipu, a fantastic vision of a small Japanese village, "quite some time ago." The plot, as with most Gilbert and Sullivan plots, is contrived, absurd and highly amusing, satirizing the similarly absurd plots of Italian grand opera. Nanki-Pooh, the son of the Mikado, having escaped the matrimonial clutches of an elderly harridan in his father's court, has been wandering the countryside as a minstrel. On his last visit to Titipu, he fell in love with Yum-Yum, a yummy young village lass. He has eagerly returned, only to find that she has since been betrothed to her guardian, Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner of Titipu.
Ko-Ko, a skinny, Woody-Allen-esque figure and former tailor by profession, staggers about Titipu with a giant axe over his shoulder and a measuring tape around his neck. It seems that he's a felon awaiting death himself, but justice has been long delayed ever since the day the crafty villagers appointed him to his present exalted position, reasoning that before Ko-Ko could decapitate anyone in the future, he would first have to decapitate himself. As Ko-Ko notes, self-decapitation can be both awkward and dangerous.
This idyllic state of affairs -- from the villagers' point of view, as well as Ko-Ko's -- is rudely disturbed by word from the Mikado -- the Emperor of Japan -- that he is concerned by statistics revealing that there have been no executions in the village for too long a period of time. He demands an execution within one month. Much as Ko-Ko adores Yum-Yum, he adores his cervical integrity more. He agrees to consent to Nanki-Pooh's marriage to Yum-Yum, if Nanki-Pooh in turn agrees to be decapitated -- out of sequence, as it were -- at the end of one month.
Things can only get more complicated, especially after the Mikado arrives in the second act and discovers that his son, the heir to the throne, has allegedly lost his head. Needless to say, the show ends with no actual executions, with everyone happy (or, in Ko-Ko's case, at least appreciative of still being capitated), and with promising marriages neatly arranged.
As is customary, the actor playing Ko-Ko (John Brookes) re-wrote G&S's original list of persons ripe for execution, who "never would be missed; no they never would be missed," to cover topical references; Brookes's list included "that Senator from Idaho, discovered in the loo." The Mikado himself is played by Dave Ross, an annual favorite in the series and a local talk show host, as well as a former Democratic candidate for Congress. (Hey, we've got it all in Seattle!) A portion of the Overture was accompanied, somewhat unusually, by a ballet performed by local dance students. Charles Srisatayasunton, the lead male dancer, was especially notable for a very nice, rather sensual performance.
In fine Victorian style, we left the theater laughing, chattering, humming melodies -- with not a serious thought in our heads about capital punishment, women's rights in ancient Japan, the power of the monarchy and the aristocracy, or political and theological concerns in general. Gilbert and Sullivan would have been pleased. As middle-class Victorian society would have been, as well.
The Mikado will be performed in Seattle's Bagley Wright Theatre through July 26. It's well worth an evening.
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