Show business

Whilst searching for more particulars about Yorke and Norton, the framers and picture dealers of 87 Collins-street east, who were certainly active by 1855, earlier today I chanced upon the following advertisement for an ambitious midsummer show at Astley’s, the large theater in Spring Street that was tucked behind the old National Hotel in Bourke Street, in other words roughly where the Princess Theatre is today (Argus, Wednesday, February 14, 1855, page 8). I suppose this is a valuable reminder that while picture frames are one thing, show business was an altogether more ambitious affair in colonial Melbourne, with a far longer and arguably more interesting history.

Astley’s

Sole Lessee and Manager, Mr. G. Lewis.

Treasurer, Mr. H. Birch.

Conductor of the Circle and Ring Master,

Mr. T. Nunn.

 Astounding Success of the magnificent Legendary

 Spectacle of

St. George and the Dragon.

Never was success more decided, encouragement more deserved, or the Manager of a Circus more cause [sic] to be grateful.

Crowded houses night after night

Are the best criterion of all popular entertainments; and it is with the greatest pride, the Proprietor asserts, that he has been singularly fortunate in the production of such entertainments as are adapted to the public taste. For the great support he is nightly receiving, he begs leave most respectfully to thank his kind patrons, and to assure them that every novelty that capital and taste can command, shall, during the season, be brought forward for their amusement.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, February 14^th,

15^th, and 16^th [1855].

Previous to the Performance, a Grand Overture

will be performed by the Band.

Synopsis of the performances:

Terrific encounter of

St. George and the Monster Dragon!

The entertainments will conclude with, first time

this season, the grand legendary spectacle of

St. George and the dragon,

or,

The Seven [sic] Champions of Christendom.

Supernaturals:

Kalaba, the Enchantress, Mrs. T. Lee.

Sycorax, a Fiend, doomed to perpetual torments

for conspiring with other fiends to free St. George,

Master J. Christoff.

The movements of the dragon performed by

Mr. H. Walker.

Mortals:

St. George, Mr. Barlow; Tom of Coventry, a Tinker, afterwards Squire to St. George, Mr. Yeamans; Kate, Mrs. Yeamans; Dame, Mrs. T. Lee.

The Six Champions:

St. Denis of France, Mr. G. Nunn; St. Patrick of Hibernia, Mr. Klaer; St. James of Spain, Mr. H. Walker; St. Anthony of Italy, Mr. Pablo Fanque; St. David of Wales, Mr. Lee; St. Andrew of Scotland, Mr. Smith;

Cavaliers of Coventry, &c., by the company.

Egyptians:

Ptolemy, King of Egypt, Mr. H. Birch; Almandar, King of Morocco, Mr. T. Nunn; Lampthos, a herdsman, Mr. Adams; Princess Sobra of Egypt, Mrs. T. Lee.

Mr. Pablo Fanque, the Eminent Artistic

Rope Dancer!

Florist’s Daughter, Mrs. Yeamans.

French Vaulting by the whole Company.

That Constellation of the Hippo-dramatic Hemi-

sphere, Mr. W. Barlow, will execute on a

Flying Charger his Scenic Act, called

Rinaldo Rinaldini, the Bandit Chief;

Or, The Scourge of Italy.

The Renowned Slack Rope Vaulter, Mr. H. Walker,

will appear as

The Star spangled Sprite of Flying Mercury.

Mr. Klaer as the Bottle Imp.

Comic act of equestrianism by Mr. T. Lee, entitled

The Clown and his Granny!

Mademoiselle Antoinette.

Messrs. Dhering and Stebbing’s Gymnic Feats as

The French Dromios.

Mr. J. L. Smith, the great Trick Act Rider, in his

surprising Equestrian Feats on a Single Horse

at full speed, as

The Bounder of the Rialto…

Persons of improper character will be strictly excluded from the Dress Circle and Side Boxes.

Though this kind of variety program was not especially unusual, on the whole theatrical copy running sometimes on consecutive days in the columns of the Argus was usually a little tighter. Astley’s notice, for example, was immediately followed by the following:

CREMORNE GARDENS.

Cattle show this day.

Madame dalle Case’s

Extraordinary and Terrific Ascent, on the illumi-

nated rope, 400 feet in length, across the

Cremorne Lake,

Every Evening.

Entire change of performance every evening.

Vocal and Instrumental Concert.

Equestrian Circus.

Major John Downey, jun.,

And his auxiliary troupe of talented Apes.

Pony Races with Monkey Jockies.

Music and Dancing as in the Old Cremorne;

A new Hungarian Band.

All the World’s Curriculum

Will run, as usual, every quarter of an hour.

Shooting gallery, Chinese skittles, &c.

I am not quite sure what “All the World’s Curriculum” was, but it was clearly a favorite with Cremorne-goers. Perhaps it was some sort of panorama. It had been running since early January when, in addition, “the sagacious Elephant” performed as usual.

Private Lives

One thing leads to another. A Talent to Amuse, the seventieth birthday tribute to Noël Coward lately issued on CD—contains a snippet from Act I of Private Lives (1930), played in this instance by the youthful Susannah York and Richard Briers, but originally conceived as a vehicle for Coward himself and his great muse Gertrude Lawrence. It is so good that I have since then tracked down and devoured the whole play. The writing is, of course, brilliant—consistently clever and funny throughout—but encased in the substructure is a rich vein of defiance. “It doesn’t suit women to be promiscuous,” declares Elyot. “It doesn’t suit men for women to be promiscuous!” retorts Amanda with feeling. There is a presumption throughout that all four characters’ social credentials are impeccable. At one point in Act II Amanda refers to performing a “Court curtsey,” so we may assume that she has had occasion to deploy it. On the other hand, Amanda knows that the specter of a second divorce will put them in a “Hell of a mess socially.” There is not the merest hint at the Great War, although we may assume that Elyot and Victor are easily old enough to have fought in it and survived. In other words, there is much here of interest to anyone in search of an essentially Edwardian frame of mind, just as it surely exists in comparable novels by P. G. Wodehouse, Vita Sackville-West, and the work of any number of artists (visual or not) steering a parallel course through the 1920s and beyond. True, Amanda and Elyot profess absolutely no faith in anything. They do not believe in Heaven or Hell, merely, as Amanda puts it, “in being kind to everyone, giving money to old beggar-women, and being as gay as possible.” Even here, however, one detects an echo of much earlier but no less shockingly anti-Victorian frivolities, just as one may see the pompous veneers of Art Deco and fads such as silk dressing-gowns, nightclubs, golf, cocktails, and the gramophone all deriving much nourishment from a root system firmly embedded in the Edwardian decade. Coward himself, after all, served his dramatic apprenticeship to Sir Charles Hawtrey. Two other tiny but telling flecks of detail strengthen this impression and they concern diamonds and flamingoes.

In Act II, warming up to one of their bitter rows, Elyot quizzes Amanda about one of her male friends. “You took presents from him,” he accuses. “Presents? Only a trivial little brooch,” she replies defensively. “I remember it well,” Elyot continues: “Bristling with diamonds in the worst possible taste.” “Not at all. It was very pretty. I still have it and I wear it often,” says Amanda with a hint of provocation. There are a few clues in the play as to whose taste is the more reliable, Elyot’s or Amanda’s. Elyot made sure he saw the Taj Mahal in the moonlight. Amanda always suspected that it might look like a biscuit box. Nevertheless, the question in the mind of this middle-aged art museum curator, so recently and thoroughly immersed in the study of Edwardian diamonds, is this: What might a little brooch, ca. 1930, trivial or not, that is “bristling with diamonds in the worst possible taste” actually look like—one, moreover, that Amanda describes as “very pretty”? Was the lapse in taste somehow connected to the number and concentration of the stones, or in their cutting, setting, size, or even colour—fancy pink, perhaps, or intense fancy yellow, or even blue? Or is the problem located nearer to the form of the jewel, some perch-dwelling parrot, for example, or a spray of fuchsias, a miniature pineapple, or something equally vulgar? Not perhaps an issue to lose sleep over, but it is intriguing, because in the design and manufacture of precious jewels one detects one of the most striking curves of stylistic and market continuity extending from ca. 1905 to ca. 1925 and beyond, as if the Great War had simply never happened. This is one of the most interesting aspects of our exhibition, now barely seven weeks away—Heavens!—in which we have plotted several other such curves, all of which appear to defy many of the more conventional, currently accepted rules of Modernism in art and design.

As for the flamingoes, we also learn in Act II that travel throughout the empire did nothing to diminish the pain of Elyot’s divorce from Amanda. “I saw such beautiful things,” he says wistfully lying next to her on the sofa: “Moonlight shining on old temples; strange barbaric dances in jungle villages; scarlet flamingoes flying over deep, deep blue water—breathlessly, love, and completely unexciting because you weren’t there to see them with me.” “Take me, please,” she gushes, “take me at once. Let’s make up for lost time.” “Next week?” he suggests. “Tomorrow,” she urges. “Done!” And for emphasis Amanda adds: “I must see those dear flamingoes.” So the ne plus ultra of Edwardian aestheticism, with its strong, even insistent art nouveau prompt, our old friend the sinuous flamingo, glides over the waters and right into the heart of the mental and emotional décor of Coward’s scene almost as if nothing had disturbed it over the previous twenty years. It might almost be a direct paraphrase of Edwin Austin Abbey’s bizarre painting here at Yale. How interesting! I wonder if Noël Coward ever met Syd Long. In this respect at least, quite apart from the obvious, they had much in common.

A Talent to Amuse

To usher in the New Year, this morning I have been listening with complete fascination to A Talent to Amuse, a rare live recording of excerpts from the “midnight matinee,” which was staged on December 16, 1969, at the Phoenix Theatre in London in honour of Noël Coward on his seventieth birthday. The show was a marathon, with a cast of almost 200, and ran to 4 o’clock in the morning, but the excerpts here have been perfectly chosen and amount to just a fraction more than an hour and fifteen minutes. The CD has been made possible by the agreement and permission of the performers, their agents and, of course, in many cases, their executors and estates, as well as by the Noël Coward Society and Must Close Saturday Records (www.must-close-saturday-records.co.uk) (MCSR 3048). Dear Richard Warren put me onto this gem just before he died, but I haven’t had a chance to listen to it before now. Silly me, for it is wondrous. Highlights include John Gielgud in his prime reciting “The Boy Actor”; the great Irene Worth playing the brilliantly funny telephone sketch “Early Mourning”; Joyce Grenfell singing “If Love Were All”; Maggie Fitzgibbon singing “Why Do The Wrong People Travel?” and the marvelous Cyril Ritchard doing “Nina”—“She said ‘I hate to be pedantic but I’m driven nearly frantic / When I see that unromantic, sycophantic lot of sluts, / Forever wriggling their guts: / It drives me absolutely nuts!’” As well there are ravishing performances of “Mad About the Boy” by Cleo Laine and John Dankworth—again in their prime; “I’ll Follow My Secret Heart” by Patricia Routledge, and “That is the End of the News,” the batty ensemble from Sigh No More nimbly executed by Avril Angers, Hy Hazell, Stella Moray, and the great June Whitfield. Perhaps most moving of all, Celia Johnson recites “I’ve Just Come Out From England,” lines composed for imperial troops in Cairo, shortly before Noël Coward’s departure for Southeast Asia in 1943, and first printed in the Egyptian Mail. Seventy years is not such a long time, but these lines proclaim an English outlook, mood, and soul that might as well be 700 years farther distant.