The Mikado
The plot is
simple, but, well, bizarre, with a mixture of light-heartedness and black
humour that seems peculiar to G&S (I suspect that there’s few cultural
products that can have both the adjectives “whimsical” and “pointedly
satirical” applied to them.) A year
before the action of the operetta, Nanki-Poo, son of the Mikado (Emperor) of
Japan, flees court to avoid an arranged marriage to the much older Katisha. (The
only offered alternative is death.) Posing as a traveling musician, in the
village of Titipu he falls in love with Yum-Yum, only to discover that she is
to be married to her guardian, Ko-Ko, a tailor. Nanki-Poo leaves Titipu in
despair. As the operetta opens, Nanki-Poo has returned to Titipu, having heard
that Ko-Ko is to be executed for violating the Mikado’s new law against
flirting.
Upon arrival, he
finds that Ko-Ko has been spared execution and has instead been appointed as
Lord High Executioner (although it seems that since his induction, no one has actually
been executed.) The twists and turns
that follow from this setup have less to do with conventional plotting or
psychological realism (or indeed, with real Japanese culture) and more to do with
Gilbert’s satire of British institutions and self-serving modes of thought.
The Nova Scotia
Society’s production is excellent, although it comes with a few unique twists.
The most obvious is the almost exclusively female cast, meaning that all of the
major male leads are played by women, (which I imagine entailed some
considerable musical readjustment, transcribing bass and baritone parts into
alto and soprano parts.) The performances, however, transcend any concerns this
casting may have raised. Far less successful is the opening setting in a
“college for young ladies at the turn of the 20th century.” When I
read this in the program I looked forward to what I thought was going to be a
whimsical play-within-a-play experiment, but the school only exists during the
overture, and merely allows for some haphazard business, most of which is
drowned out by the (deliberately?) too-loud overture.
As is always the
case, there were a few opening-night glitches, most inconsequential and not
worth mentioning (and, in any event, much fewer than I’ve seen with other companies.)
What could have been a major stumbling
block—the lack of an orchestra—turned out to be at worst, insignificant, and at
best, enlivening. The single piano accompaniment helped highlight the
performers’ singing voices, which always fulfilled their task, whether it be
hitting those impossibly high notes, or navigating the rapid-fire staccato
delivery that G&S songs frequently require.
While every
performance is high-caliber, there is, however, a marked difference in level of
technique between younger and more seasoned performers. A lot of W. S Gilbert’s
satiric power comes from the close attention he pays to meter and sound. His
songs and speeches are filled with wordplay, with tortuously clever rhymes and
rapid-fire consonance. More even than Shakespeare’s, I think, Gilbert’s prose
and lyrics benefit best not merely from clear enunciation, but also from a
delivery that emphasizes and savors every syllable.
Thus while all
of the performers—including Vanessa Breijer as Nanki-Poo, Jennifer Mealiea as Ko-Ko,
and Lise Renault as Yum-Yum—are outstanding, I reserve special praise for the
performances of Jacqui Good as Pooh-Bah, Ko-Ko’s right hand man and possessor
of every title except Lord High Executioner, and Marthanne Williamson as the
spurned Katisha. Both actors say their lines as they should be said, attacking
each of Gilbert’s carefully placed syllables with verve and gusto. Pooh-Bah is
often played with ironical pomposity, but Good adds a conniving note, imbuing
the character with an energy often lacking in other portrayals. Similarly,
portrayals of Katisha often paint her as dumpy or shrewish (and therefore less
worthy than Yum-Yum of Nanki-Poo’s love) but Williamson’s Katisha, replete with
shocking red kimono and sharp nails at the end of expressive bejeweled fingers,
is a terrifying, grandiose figure who threatens to burst out of the play.
(There is no doubt that there are reasons other than age and lack of beauty
that make Nanki-Poo a reluctant groom.) Her miming of violence behind Ko-Ko’s
back as he professes love, is both hilarious and energizing. (Watch Williamson
when she’s not the main focus of action—these are the times that separate good
actors from excellent ones.)
At the risk of
alienating other audiences, I’ve always preferred Gilbert and Sullivan operettas
to the more usual Rodgers and Hammerstein fare of high school musicals. (My
discovery of G&S dates back to my teenage days, when CBC ran a late-night
series of TV productions—to be honest, I had been looking for the nudity that
the wee-hours relaxation of censorship frequently made possible.) I may be in
the minority though. While I noticed some young people here and there at the
theatre (and most encouragingly, onstage), I was struck by the sea of gray hair
that I saw as I looked out over the audience. I’d like to think that this was
an anomaly, that’s there’s enough interest in G&S to pass these
productions, however modified, on to new generations. If you’re one of those
who cannot abide musical theatre (and yes, there are an awful lot of you), then
this argument is not for you. However, if you’re open to a little satire with
your musical virtuosity, a little whimsy, a little wordplay that, even when it
does not make you laugh, makes you gape at its audacity, go see The Mikado. As
the woman sitting next to me said at the end of the production, “There’s not a
bad song in it, is there?” ~ Review by Martin Wallace
The Mikado
Halifax; May
16,17,18Liverpool; May 25
Annapolis Royal; June 1
