Theatre
The Scarlet Pimpernel (Her Majesty's)
Dracula (Lyric Hammersmith) Blood-
Christopher Edwards
Wherever the theatre critic turns, at this time of year, there appear yet more press releases announcing yet another star- packed, personality-toting pantomime. Despite the traditional titles — Cinderella, Puss In Boots etc — past experience confirms that much of the humour is crude and telly-based while the music is relent- lessly pop-oriented. Either you enjoy them or you don't. I avoid them all like the plague. But Christmas is upon us once again and unless Spectator readers can so swing arrangements that they remain peacefully at home in front of the fire with a bottle of fine Berry's Burgundy and a copy of Richmal Crompton or Thucydides then a seasonal outing for the family may be thrust upon them.
Above all other productions I would remind everyone of the delights of Me and My Girl at the Ade1phi (reviewed Spectator 27 July). This is a production that guaran- tees fun and laughter and which, I was pleased to see, won several awards this year. It moves to Australia in the new year and then to Broadway so its London days are almost numbered. If you are at all inclined towards stylish musicals with good tunes then this revival of the 1937 hit is the one for you. Uncannily, as I write, I can hear someone in the next house lustily singing one of the catchiest tunes from the show and, in an instant, whole scenes of the production come rushing back. It really is a good evening out.
Meanwhile, at. Her Majesty's Theatre in the Haymarket Donald Sinden is enjoying himself as the Scarlet Pimpernel in Baro- ness Orczy's celebration of Edwardian gentlemanly virtue. Why do a group of English nobles sally across the Channel incognito circa 1789 to rescue French aristocrats they have never even been introduced to? Sport is the reply that the Hungarian authoress put in the mouth of the monocled Lord Anthony Dewhurst. When the play was first staged in 1903 this devil-may-care amateurism struck a re- sounding chord and the piece was one of the most successful of its day. Does it bear up today?
This production is based upon an old prompt copy of the original and, in the main, it does bear up. There are several surprises, most of them pleasant ones. The sets are excellent and there are a couple of stunning coups; for example the opening scene. From the rear of the stage through swirling white mist Madame Guillotine trundles forward manned by half-naked rabid republicans calling for more upper- class blood. Old men and young women are dragged out, dispatched, and their severed heads stuck on poles. Although much of the acting in the society scenes is a little over the top, the brutality of The Terror is chillingly direct.
The play is also full of lines to which anyone brought up on Rider Haggard or John Buchan will respond with a smile. After Sinden has outwitted the French by snatching a maiden from the jaws of death and making his escape disguised as an old crone, he hands her to his loyal lieutenant with the line, 'Take her to my schooner in Calais and meet me in Dover for a council of war.' The word `schooner' has a deli- cious ring to it, and unlike, say, James Bond this gentlemanly adventurer is, as it were, in private practice; and it really is his schooner.
The evening improves as it moves along. In the first half there were several lon- gueurs when humour was expected but failed to materialise. The second part is more fun. Some will object to the self- indulgence of the battle in front of the guillotine where Sinden dressed as a nun strides nonchalantly through the mayhem puffing a cigar before picking up a stray head and, a la Barry John, dummying his way through the republican ranks. But there are other compensations, including a superbly horrible, greasy, sallow French- man Chauvelin (Charles Kay) who leads the opposition and gets his just deserts. There is also a show-stealing cameo from Desmond Barrit as a disgusting French tavern keeper who serves rat casserole to his guests.
But perhaps the wittier entertainment is to be had at the Lyric Hammersmith where Dracula (subtitled `Out for the Count') is showing until 1 February. The production is set in 1932 and played against a very stylish Art Deco set. Dracula, a Transylva- nian nationalist proud of his ancestors' exploits against the Turks, has learned his impeccable English from the National Geographic and Bradshaw's Railway Guide. His arrival in Purfleet coincides with the mysterious death `from anaemia' of the beautiful fiancée to the head of the sanitorium where the plot is laid. Modern science is baffled and Professor van Hels- ing — doctor, metaphysician, philosopher and aviator — is called in from Amster- dam. He arrives by plane and immediately remarks upon a strange phenomenon; the bat that has been spotted in the sanitorium appears to be deaf. Next, he notices that the lovely Mina has two tiny puncture marks on her neck. What is the explana- tion for her sickness and her strange erotic dreams? Dr Freud might have an answer, but for the celebrated Dutchman (who speaks a very funny form of broken En- glish) it can mean only one thing — wampires.
The appeal of the production is that it combines genuinely disturbing elements with naughtiness and tongue-in-cheek hu- mour. Dracula is flanked by an incompe- tent chorus of blonde Draculettes dressed in black lingerie. Before pouncing upon his victims he mimes to Twenties' ragtime numbers as his girls try, incompetently, to execute dance routines round about him. There are also some neat special effects at the end where the corpse of Dracula appears to ascend into the rafters only for the Count immediately to re-appear in the stalls selling ice-cream. But against these elegantly played routines and a series of good jokes (Wear this crucifix', `But I'm Plymouth Brethren) you have Sylvester McCoy's lunatic inmate. This actor is a brilliant clown who manages to be very funny and very frightening at the same time. He eats flies and sparrows and froths at the mouth. At one point he comes onstage by making his gibbering way over the stalls and all the children and many of the adults seemed terrified of him. Of course he is only a cannibalistic acolyte of the Master of Blood and he recovers his wits by the end but he is scary enough to give nightmares to the young and sensitive. My only misgiving about the production, on its first night, was that it was slightly lacking in pace, but if it picks up and makes the most of itself then I think it is an excellent bet over the Christmas break.
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