Judy has had a twenty-two year career at the ABC Television Studios as a graphic designer, with occasional forays into children's book illustrations. This was followed by ten years working with the Rex Reid Dance Company on costume, set and props design. Since the late 1990s Judy has been closely involved, in a design capacity, with many of the annual musicals presented by Melbourne High and Mac.Robertson's Schools.
BOOK REVIEW: Glimpses of Graeme—Reflections on the work of Graeme Murphy by Michelle Potter, FortySouth Publishing, 2022
From the very first paragraph I am so tempted to raid my treasured stock of dance programs featuring the work of Graeme Murphy—in order for them to accompany me on this journey through Michelle Potter’s Reflections.
The Preface informs us this is a collection of her writings on Murphy—his career as a dancer, choreographer and director, dating from his Glimpses—A Look at the World of Norman Lindsay—a part of Ballet ’76, within a program of new choreography presented at the Canberra Theatre in that year. With this work he ‘won the prize for the most outstanding creation on the program’ and was reported as saying ‘I want to provide a nucleus of creativity for designers, composers and choreographers’. Something he has adhered to, without a shadow of doubt, for the next forty-odd years.
Glimpses is divided into eight chapters, each of which contains several parts, with dates and original sources. Each entry shines a little more light on Murphy’s life and immense ‘body of work’—this last also being the title of a program created in 2000 to celebrate his 50th birthday, and all he had at that stage achieved. As Potter so rightly states ‘His energy and ideas appear to be boundless’. The Americans refer to him as ‘an artistic hero of his country’. Murphy pays tribute to Janet Vernon, also a dancer and now his wife—‘his Muse from day one’. There is more on the enormous part Janet has played in Graeme’s life and in his work …
Truly, this volume certainly goes to emphasize the need for a ‘true biography’ of Murphy, something in the style Dr. Potter has presented before, with her 2014 biography Dame Maggie Scott: A Life in Dance (Text Publishing).
But apart from her reflections on Murphy’s work Glimpses is a fascinating account giving us a history and/or overview of dance in Australia—a wonderful bonus. Companies covered are, principally, The Australian Ballet and the Sydney Dance Company, this last Murphy directed from late 1976 through to 2006. Within the Prologue there is a brief biography and mention is made of the many choreographic works Murphy has created. Although he was born in Melbourne, Graeme, the son of two schoolteachers (one of which, his mother, was a formidable and inspiring pianist), lived in Tasmania up until his early teens when he was accepted, at the age of 14, into the Australian Ballet School, having taken ballet classes, in Launceston, under Kenneth Gillespie. By the age of 18 he had become a member of The Australian Ballet Company—by which time he had already ‘tried out his choreographic wings’. In particular, it was a privilege to read, here in the Prologue, Potter’s article on Murphy’s Swan Lake, seen here in published form for the first time.
Glimpses is not overly endowed with photographs but of the images included some have rarely been seen previously, while others are, just simply, iconic. I can find no credit for the designer, but it must be said—the design is a credit to its creator, who happens to be, in fact, one Kent Whitmore. A most attractive and inviting book—the study of Murphy on the front (photograph by Branco Gaica) is both striking and totally appropriate, and inside within the cover’s wraparound format, it presents us, thanks to photographer Lisa Tomasetti, a bold and tantalizing stage panorama.
Under Music Initiatives mention is made of the many composers Murphy has drawn upon—new, old and emerging (also the scores that were commissioned). The list is long—from Sutherland to Sculthorpe on the ‘local scene’, and beyond these shores and present times, Xenakis to Mahler.
It is evident, in Crossing Generations, that Murphy has always been deeply interested in and involved with ‘time and age’, his productions incorporating dancers ranging from 12 years onwards. Potter’s article on the 2017 work The Frock gives a splendid description of its theatricality and highly emotive nature. ‘Magnificent Murphy’ is how she ends this particular Glimpse.
In the section entitled Approaches to Narrative the author deals with Murphy’s ‘two sorts of work’—those with a narrative and those without, and over the years the two, somehow, managed a natural sort of balance. Nutcracker: The Story of Clara (1992) is an example of the former sort, and is dealt with in some detail, whilst Berlin (1995) is of the latter. Swan Lake (2002) and The Firebird (2009), for example, both follow a narrative. In this last ballet Murphy tells us he wants ‘to give the audience the magic that they believe Firebird is’ and although he retained all the original (1910) work’s elements, the focus is a little different—as it is not difficult to imagine, being Murphy.
He collaborated with Kristian Fredrikson (see Michelle Potter’s Kristian Fredrikson: Designer—Melbourne Books 2020) over a period of almost three decades, and most notably for Swan Lake, Tivoli and Nutcracker—or rather, these were possibly the ‘grandest’ productions. But other designers, under Elements of Design, include Jennifer Irwin, George Freedman, Andrew Carter, Akira Isogawa and Gerard Manion. Some would be responsible for both sets and costumes, others for one or the other, but always there would be a strong collaboration between designer and choreographer/director Graeme Murphy—not forgetting the role of the lighting designer. Several of his ballets’ costumes were shown at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2012 in the exhibition Ballet and Fashion, curated by Roger Leong.
Potter tackles Postmodernism presenting the comments and opinions of several writers, not necessarily of dance, and her own thoughts on the term. The 1995 dance work Fornicon is discussed, Murphy’s Romeo and Juliet (2011) and The Happy Prince, which sadly, Melbourne and Sydney never got to experience, due to the Covid-19 pandemic—Brisbane was the only lucky city! Eight performances were all that were seen. I, for one, was so looking forward to viewing Kim Carpenter’s designs, along with, naturally, Murphy’s choreography.
Potter discusses Theatricality and Collaboration—regarding the former Murphy admits he simply ‘can’t help it’. Why do his works appear so theatrical? The collaborative approach is described here, recounting the many composers and designers that have been essential in the creation of so many productions (just how many have there been?)—not only for ballet but also opera and film. There are several very telling reviews or reflections in this section, on Salome (1999), Mythologia (2000), Body of Work (2000), Ellipse (2002), and there is more on Nutcracker: The Story of Clara and his Romeo and Juliet.
Finally, within the Epilogue, there are words from David McAllister (former artistic director of The Australian Ballet) and critic William Shoubridge, plus a summing up of Murphy’s long and exceptional career, dating from 1976’s Glimpses—A Look at the World of Norman Lindsay to his most recent work for Tasmania’s Mature Artists Dance Experience (MADE)—and here I feel, prior to heading to the last few pages presenting Chapter Notes, a Bibliography and Acknowledgements, Michelle Potter should have the very last word: ‘Murphy thrives on engaging an audience and on giving that audience the opportunity to reflect on life, culture and society, as well of course as enjoying the theatrical occasion.’
We have a lot to thank J. Alan Kenyon for—not only for his memoirs—currently published online in Theatre Heritage Australia’s quarterly newsletter, On Stage—but also for the over-large and fairly bursting folio of J.C. Williamson designs, dating back to very early 20th century, if not a little before. Mr. Kenyon, aka George, worked as a set designer, scenic artist and props maker for more than four decades; his son John joined him, and when the latter died in 2019 his son Miles discovered he was now the custodian of this veritable treasure-trove of scenic work.
All in all, there are around 120 examples, from pencil sketches to highly detailed and finished artwork, wings, flats, legs, borders, front and back cloths, cut-cloths, mostly executed at a 1 to 24 ration, very close to the ratio now favoured by today’s scenic designers—1 to 25. To absolutely verify this I would need to measure all 120 examples. This is something to be attempted at a later stage, but one setting I have examined suggests the height at around 7 metres—with the width at 11 metres.
Unfortunately none of these designs are signed—the most we can find is the occasional name scrawled on the reverse, by someone else—but someone who felt confident enough to identify the odd example. The following are all the names, rightly or wrongly, that appear.
George Upward, William R. Coleman and son William, W. Hogg and J.F.Hogg, Philip William Goatcher, Hawes Craven Green, Conrad Tritschler and Joseph Cunningham Harker. Some were born in the UK and then moved here, more or less permanently, others simply forwarded their designs for adaptation here following their production in London.
Of all the designs contained within the folio Joseph and His Brethren is the most fully represented (and in fact glued on the reverse are fine wooden supports which enable it to be set up as 3-dimensional maquette) so I will focus on the English-born Joseph Harker: the name Harker is tantalizingly inscribed on the back of several pieces.
Born in Levenshulme, Manchester, in 1855 on the 17th of October, Joseph Cunningham Harker was the son of Maria (O’Connor) and William Pierpont Harker, an Irish theatre family who were currently performing at the Theatre Royal in Manchester. Joseph was educated in that city and in Edinburgh and after playing some ‘child parts’ he began his painterly career in 1881 working on a production of Hamlet at the Theatre Royal in Glasgow, following an apprenticeship with T.W.Hall, a scene painter at the Globe Theatre. The young Joseph became a stock artist for a time, but on moving to Dublin and the Gaiety Theatre, he met the indomitable Henry Irving (christened John Henry Brodribb). He also spent a period gaining experience under Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Augustus Harris, Sir George Alexander, Oscar Asche—to name but a few.
But it was for Irving and the Lyceum Theatre in London that Harker was to produce some of his finest work, often in collaboration with Hawes Craven and William Telbin. Over the years he worked on well over one hundred productions, collaborating also with T.E. Ryan, Walter Hann, Henry Emden, Robert McLeery—among others. Theatres included the Haymarket, Empire, Garrick, Drury Lane, Lyceum, and many, many more. Bram (Abraham) Stoker was the latter’s business manager at the time Harker was employed there, under the directorship of Henry Irving, later Sir Henry Irving. One of the leading characters, Jonathan Harker in Stoker’s novel Dracula, was named after him, and the name appears enigmatically in Joseph O’Connor’s 2019 Shadowplay. Harker, in the novel, is a young woman hoping to attain the position of scene painter at the Lyceum, and she disguises herself as a young man. It is also suggested that the ‘leading role’ of Dracula was inspired by, or based on, Stoker’s much-celebrated employer, Henry Irving. And I cannot help but wonder if Shadowplay’s author, Joseph, is not a descendant of Joseph Harker’s mother’s family, Maria O’Connor’s, or of two Victorian scenic artists, also by the name of O’Connor.
Well into the 20th century Harker was a great champion of the scene-painting profession. He wrote extensively on the subject, which included, in 1924, a book of reminiscences entitled Studio and Stage.
In the late 1870s he married Sarah Hall, daughter of the aforementioned T.W. Hall, and they produced a family of nine children, three girls and six boys—Alice, Dora and Phoebe, Philip, Gordon, James, Joseph, Roland and Colin. Several of the boys went on to continue the family tradition of scene painting, and Gordon (1885–1967) had a long career on the stage from the age of 17, and also appeared in almost seventy films between 1921 and 1959, most notably in three silent films directed by Alfred Hitchcock.
More family matters: Joseph and Sarah’s grand daughter (I can’t track which of the nine Harker siblings produced her) married one Mr. Adams and their daughter, Polly (Pauline) Adams, became an actress of some note. She married a Richard Owen and their daughters are named Nelly, Caroline and Susannah—all actresses—and all have taken the surname Harker—for pretty obvious reasons, I would say. The latter, now in her 50s, has worked in film, television and theatre and is most widely remembered for her role as Jane Bennet in the 1995 television adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It should be noted, her mother Polly played that same character in a 1948 film version of the novel. Most recently Susannah appeared in a 2017 episode of Grantchester, but her many other roles date back to the mid-1980s.
So, another wonderful theatrical dynasty, to join that of the Foxes, Kendals, Redgraves, Kembles and Cusacks—and there are more.
But, it is time to return to the designs for Joseph and His Brethren. Along with these JCW examples attributed to Harker are several colourfully exotic pieces inscribed with ‘Hogg’. Where do they belong? On checking the lists of the work of the two Hogg artists, initials J.F. and W. only, was hardly enlightening. But on calling up the 1914 Australian production of Joseph and His Brethren, some answers were provided. J.F. Hogg was responsible for Zuleika’s Room in Act II and The Prison in Act III. It would appear W.R. Coleman, and son, were the designers for many of the other scenes, along with George Upward. So the vibrantly scarlet pieces are the work of Upward or—are they, in fact, truly the imported creations of Joseph Harker, following London’s production.
Joseph and His Brethren, an oratorio by George Frideric Handel, was first performed in 1744 at Covent Garden. Almost 170 years later Louis Napoleon Parker was responsible for its presentation, now a Pageant Play of a very biblical nature, incorporating family jealousies, lies and deception, and the ever-constant feuding between Israelites and Egyptians. This was first performed in 1913 at His Majesty’s Theatre in London. On the 14th of February, 1914, Melbourne’s Theatre Royal was treated to its Australian premiere—six weeks later Sydney was home to the production.
The play was produced by Cecil King, Stage Manager for Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree’s His Majesty’s Theatre in London, and presented by J.C. Williamson. The play consisted of four acts and incorporated thirteen scenes.
According to The Australian Live Performance Database, Joseph Harker is listed as being the designer for several productions in Sydney and Melbourne, and in New Zealand, but that does not necessarily mean he had joined the team of scenic artists here in His Majesty’s paint-room except that—from April 1912 to June 1913 one of his sons, the actor Gordon, toured Melbourne and Sydney, appearing in several productions, all with scenery attributed to his father Joseph. But it is highly unlikely that he accompanied his son, with so many scenic commitments back in London, including Joseph and His Brethren, The Merchant of Venice and Twelfth Night. He could hardly have made a ‘flying visit’. According to Matthew Someville’s ‘Theatricalia’ Harker was involved, in the period 1911 to 1914, in the production of eight major plays and operas, and on referring to the 1984 March edition of Theatrephile, a further eight plays and pantomimes: here, obviously, was a man in very high demand.
Wikipedia tells us: ‘In 1905, Harker had a two-storey, open plan studio constructed to his specifications on Queen’s Row, a narrow street off Walworth Road in London. The painting studio continued to produce scenic designs for the West End and other UK theatres until the 1990s. It was used to create David Hockney’s celebrated backdrops for the Glyndebourne Opera Festival.’
And goes on: ‘Despite the building being Grade ll listed in 1989, as an important and rare example of a theatrical scene-painting workshop, the Southwark Council in early 2017 granted permission for the studios to be redeveloped into six luxury flats and an office unit … In response a petition which gained more than 4000 signatures was organized in 2017 requesting that the council change its decision.’
Sadly, this petition was unsuccessful and the studios were carved up and redeveloped as threatened. See Spitalfieldslife.com for some wonderful shots of the former studios.
Returning home, if we refer to the images we can access in the digitized JCW Scene Books, many give clues to the identity of the Kenyon folio’s designs. It is not always that we see a full stage set—we see a backdrop, borders, wings, a cut-cloth, a flat. Which is why it is important—or lucky—that in Book No. 5 we can often see a whole plan for a stage set, if not an actual elevation. If only there were more of these plans and elevations—although we can see, for example, plans for Silver King, The Arcadians, The Boy, Katinka and House of Temperley—for none of which, sadly, Harker seems to have created designs.
There is also the fact that backdrops/cloths were recycled or cannibalized, or simply painted over. Cut-cloths of foliage—trees, flowering plants—were also used time and time again.
In Book No. 3 and Book No. 6 there’s a surprising amount of backgrounds for Joseph and His Brethren—palms, pyramids and pillars, sphinxes, formal gardens and rocky outcrops—and many cut-cloths, foliage necessary for the romantic garden scene between Joseph, an Israelite, and Asenath, a young Egyptian girl. Sometimes the scenic artist’s name is typed or written alongside the image—the name Coleman appears frequently. For the back-cloths 36 feet by 23 feet is the measurement most often cited, around 11 metres by 7 metres high. There is a panoramic scene that worked out at 14 metres across, another at 20, but the height was always set at 7 metres.
Then there is the question of colour—was the deep red (shown here) for Potiphar’s House used in the London production—was it used in the Australian one? Was it Harker or the Colemans who were responsible for these models—are they a true representation of what was seen on stage, back in 1913 and/or 1914?
We are so used to thinking of 19th century sets as monochromatic—the 1000s of examples within the JCW Scene Books—when of course they were ‘in colour’, as is very evident when viewing the many pieces of artwork within the Kenyon folio. Could we discover the JCW sets’ colours by applying that special technique, whereby one can convert black and white to colour? Something film restorers have been doing for decades.
In Book No. 10 we have photographic records of some actual English productions. Here we can see the originals—the inspirations or guides for the later Australian plays or operas. They include The Second Mrs. Tanqueray (Harker design), As You Like It, Guy Domville, Importance of Being Ernest and Lady Windermere’s Fan—among others.
There is something that I very much doubt happens these days: within one production of, for example, 3 acts with 2 or 3 scenes in each, there would be—as we have seen—several different artists, depending on their painterly or design expertise, or on their speciality. One artist may specialize in landscapes, another in architecture, interiors, ornamentation, etc. Figures may also come into it—see A Royal Divorce (Books 1,4,5,6 and 8). Apparently Joseph Harker was passionate about birch trees and often introduced them into his pastoral settings—Joseph and His Brethren definitely being the exception!
To learn more about Harker and his work, his studio and his family, I cannot recommend highly enough Raymond Walker and David Skelly’s formidable 2018 publication, Backdrop to a Legend—a limited edition with ongoing supplementary chapters. I am indebted to them both.
But to close, in 1927 on the 27th of March, Joseph Cunningham Harker died, at the age of 71. His scenic design business carried on—first by his eldest son Philip (whose two sons were to die tragically during the Second World War), followed by fourth son Joseph and fifth, Roland. I found listings, from 1930 to 1962, for a dozen productions attributed to a Joseph Harker—possibly the work of Joseph junior and of Roland? Two of the Harker daughters, their sisters, took to the stage—and so the tradition continued.
And continues to this day.
Australian Live Performance Database—AusStage
Backdrop to a Legend—Walker & Skelly—2018
Miles and Lisa Kenyon
Elisabeth Kumm—Theatre Heritage Australia
Shadowplay—Joseph O’Connor—Harville Secker, 2019/Vintage, 2020
Theatrephile—Vol.1, No.2, March 1984—Sean McCarthy
The Ballets Russes is an immense subject celebrated in literally hundreds of books, theses and articles over the years since its birth in 1909, when the Premiere of Serge Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes was held at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. But here is neither the time nor place to do more than concentrate on a few brief, but exhilarating, moments.
THE YEAR IS 1940, the place is very likely Brisbane’s His Majesty’s Theatre, the occasion—performances by Colonel W. de Basil’s Ballet Company, also known as the Original Ballets Russes.
J.C. Williamson’s Lighting Director, Les Thorp, has captured a few moments of the ballets Le Beau Danube and Graduation Ball. Obviously he was shooting on 8-mill film, from the stage’s flies, and we have an exceptional view of several series of fouettés—that fabulous, famous ‘party trick’ beloved of particular choreographers. Thorp, a man of many skills, was with The Firm for more than three decades, and his grandson Paul Worsnop, a ‘live-aboard cruising yachtsman and freelance actor’, permitted us to view reel after reel of his grandfather’s ‘home movies’, and to incorporate them within our digital gallery of material.
Le Beau Danube was abridged both in title and length from the 1924 ballet Soirees de Paris, to the one-scene ballet first performed by the revived Ballets de Monte Carlo, in Monte Carlo, in 1933. The music is by Johann Strauss, the sets by Vladimir and Elizabeth Polunin—after Constantin Guys, costumes by Count Etienne de Beaumont and choreography and book by the Moscow-born Leonide Massine.
The story is simple, one of encounter and rivalry, set in a public garden in Vienna in the 1860s, between an innocent young girl (the Daughter), an ex-mistress, a not-so-innocent Street Dancer, and the young girl’s fiancé the dashing Hussar.
Le Beau Danube was included in the first and third Ballets Russes’ tours to Australia—to Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Adelaide—over the years 1936-1940. In Monte Carlo, back in 1933, the main roles were danced by Massine himself as the Hussar, Alexandra Danilova the Street Dancer, Tatiana Riabouchinska the Daughter, David Lichine the King of the Dandies and Irina Baronova the First Hand. Usually the spirit, if not the details, of the Polunins’ Guys’ backcloth depicting an elegant hansom cab bowling through a park, and the subtle colours of the majority of the costumes, have been retained.
In this 1940 film segment it is also possible that both Tatiana Riabouchinska and David Lichine are included in the cast. Edouard Borovansky, a Czechoslovakian dancer who had partnered Anna Pavlova and who had first visited Australia in 1929, stayed in Australia at the conclusion of the Ballets Russes tours, and went on to form his own ballet school and company. He performed the role of the Athlete, or Strong Man, and here in Les Thorp’s film it is highly likely that it is Borovansky we see, and on the 30th of June 1945, his company first performed this ballet in His Majesty’s Theatre in Melbourne, Borovansky reprising his role as the Strong Man. Tamara Tchinarova and Peggy Sager shared the role of the Street Dancer, Paul Grinwis the Hussar and Strelsa Heckelman the First Hand. The daughter, unfortunately unconfirmed, Laurel Martyn, Edna Busse or Dorothy Stevenson.
The ballet continued within the company’s repertoire until November 1960. The original scenery was recreated under the direction of William Constable and painted by Rupert Browne. The costumes were made by JCW Modes, ‘Henry’, Misses Little and Jock Miller.
As we see in Les Thorp’s footage a chandelier is lowered and Graduation Ball takes to the stage. The premiere of this one-act ballet took place in March 1940, in Sydney’s Theatre Royal. The scenario and choreography were by Russian-born David Lichine, the music—one again—Johann Strauss, arranged and conducted by Antal Dorati. Alexandre Benois was responsible for the scenery and costumes.
The cadets of a military school are invited to a dance at a fashionable girls’ school in 1840s Vienna. There are a series of divertissements and episodes, including a flirtation between the Old General and the Headmistress (always played by a man), a fouetté competition, a romantic pas de deux, a cheeky young girl who performs an impromptu solo and a brilliant variation for the Drummer Cadet. From the moment the girls and the cadets catch onto the singular behavior of both the Old General and the Headmistress, decorum is abandoned, and the Ball is transformed into a ‘gay revel’. The evening ends, but not before one of the cadets returns for a secret rendezvous with his lovely partner, only to be surprised by the appearance of the Headmistress who brings about an abrupt ending to their little tryst.
In the 1940 premiere Borislav Runanine played the Headmistress and Igor Schwezoff the Old General. The Junior Cadet was David Lichine himself, the lovely young pupil Tatiana Riabouchinska. The premiere in Sydney was an unprecedented success—there was curtain call after curtain call—shouts of ‘Lichine! Lichine!’. Graduation Ball was a godsend as far as the Sydney season was concerned—and also for J.C. Williamson’s management!
In Mr. Thorp’s film, now mid-1940, we see the two competition dancers, the Old General, the Headmistress, the cheeky girl, plus the cadets and students.
In February 1954, fourteen years after its premiere, the Borovansky Ballet Company introduced Graduation Ball into its repertoire, with David Lichine personally restaging the work. The Headmistress was Paul Grinwis, the Old General John Auld, the Junior Girl Claudie Algeranova and the Junior cadet Vassilie Trunoff or Raoul Celada. Pamela Proud was a delight as the cheeky young student. Under scenic director William Constable, J. Alan Kenyon and Cecil Newman created the sets, and the costume team was that of the earlier ballet, Le Beau Danube.
But almost exactly two years before Borovansky’s production, the National Theatre Ballet Company in Melbourne presented their Graduation Ball at the Princess Theatre. Kira Bousloff (née Abricossova) reproduced Lichine’s choreography. She and her husband Serge had danced in one of the Ballets Russes tours. The scenery, after a design by O. Pedersen of Copenhagen, was painted by Dresford Hardingham. The Headmistress was Leon Kellaway (aka Jan Kowsky, and brother to Cecil Kellaway), the Old General Ronald Reay. Marie Cumisky had a lot of fun with the Junior Girl, or Pigtails, and Raymond Trickett was an exemplary Drummer, or Drum Major.
Graduation Ball was performed by the Borovansky Company almost right up until its demise in early 1961—its last performance in late November 1960, and since then most notably in early 1980, when the Australian Ballet Company presented a ‘Tribute to Borovansky’, and this time the ballet was reproduced by a founding member of the Borovansky Company, the Melbourne-born Vassilie Trunoff (although not surprisingly, of Russian parentage). This tribute was a resounding success—Graduation Ball proved to be, once again, undeniably the ‘hit’ of the night. On the opening night Ken Whitmore was the Headmistress, Joseph Janusaitis the Old General, Lynette Mann the Junior Girl, Sheree da Costa a delightfully provocative Pigtails, the Leading Cadet was David Burch, and Dale Baker, the Drummer Boy. Designs, after Benois, were by Geoffrey Guy and the scenery painted by Melbourne’s Scenic Studios.
There were further performances over the next ten years, when the Australian Ballet Company took the ballet, along with several others, further afield—to countries including Russia, China, and America.
What a joy to be able to access these very special moments in Australia’s dance history: little did Paul’s grandfather imagine, as he stood aloft with his trusty 8-mill camera, that his contribution to Australia’s theatre heritage was to be viewed and enjoyed by so many of us, eighty years on.
BOOK REVIEW: Built for Ballet: An autobiography by Leanne Benjamin with Sarah Crompton, Melbourne Books, 2021, A$49.95
First let me emphasise, this is not a coffee-table book but an excellently written autobiography by an incredibly articulate and literate person, a dancer—or ex-dancer if you insist—of enormous talent and strength of character.
This is an absolute must-read for anyone interested in dance training, in ballet, its practice and performance, and its history—The Royal Ballet Company’s in particular. In the Foreword Sarah Crompton presents us with a brief summary of Leanne’s life and her career, from her first to her very last stage performance, and the years beyond that, when she draws on decades of experience. Within the Introduction by Leanne she, also, gives us a wonderful overview of her life, from first dance classes and her teachers in Rockhampton, to the Royal Opera House, home to Britain’s Royal Ballet Company.
The Contents page gives us a tantalizing idea of what is to come—the chapter headings are provocatively telling, cheeky and determined, like Leanne herself. They give a very clear and amusing indication of what is ahead of us, from her first ballet classes, along with her older sister Madonna, to leaving Australia at the age of sixteen for the Royal Ballet School—right through to her glorious, but emotionally overwhelming final performance on the Covent Garden stage, at the age of forty-nine, in August 2013.
Both her parents had three siblings—her father Bernie’s family was Catholic, whereas mother Jill’s was Anglican; her conversion to Catholicism, in order to solve any difficulties—ultimately resulted in a marriage that survives wonderfully to this day. Lucky Leanne has inherited her mother’s good looks and her father’s lean, strong frame and enviably long legs.
Tipped into the book are many photographs from her personal archive, giving us glimpses of her as an endearing ‘tiny tot’, through to stunning professional studies of rehearsals and performances—photos of the likes of Kenneth MacMillan, Frederick Ashton, Peter Schaufuss and Jonathan Cope, and particularly illuminating, those of Carlos Acosta, Edward Watson and Australian Steven McCrae. Mentioned throughout the book are many who helped shape Leanne’s career, or who were her guides on one path or another—Monica Mason, Anthony Dowell, Peter Wright, Ninette de Valois, Christopher Wheeldon and those already mentioned. And what Leanne writes of ‘legendary teacher’ Martin Rubinstein—who ran a series of summer schools in Sydney from the late 1970s and which she attended—has a very familiar ring for many of us who were taught, at some age or stage, by him.
Underpinning all is the heart-warming support of her family, their journeys to London and Leanne’s trips back to her hometown—we read of the occasional injury or illness, mishaps on stage, the struggles—her decisions regarding moves to other companies and the subsequent experiences – the strict adherence to the daily class, the demands of rehearsals, and the constant striving for perfection.
We learn about ballets never performed here—in particular those of Kenneth MacMillan—Mayerling, Requiem and Gloria, for example, and we learn a lot about the man himself, his incredibly demanding and often controversial choreography that ‘show-cased’ strong female characters; how fortunate that Leanne was to have such a connection with the man, and that she has been able to continue to honour his work with her ongoing coaching and tutoring. ‘She’s astonishing, very, very talented. She has a lovely line and all that, but she brings out the dramatic qualities in the music too.’
There is a description and a possible explanation of, and insight into, what went wrong with Ross Stretton’s tenures, both with The Australian Ballet and The Royal. Leanne is very appreciative of both the latter and Covent Garden, it is clearly obvious she has a deep understanding of their combined histories and their relevance today. Her writing makes such lively, warm and engaging reading that her story is a delight, from start to finish.
Her extraordinary self-knowledge is demonstrated by an intense investigation into, and dissection of, a dancer’s life and motivations, and a continual striving for a ‘life balance’. Leanne describes, for instance, the way the daily class proceeds through the music chosen, from plies to jetes, a gradual build-up—“I love the way it develops over the ninety minutes … the music matches you every step of the way”. She questions her decision to prolong her career, the choice she made to stay with the company for so long. Articulate, assured, obsessively conscientious—all these may be applied, along with the evidence of a combination of extraordinary athleticism and superb dance quality.
Built for Ballet certainly does not end with that final performance of Mayerling (interesting that the role of Mary in MacMillan’s ballet was her first leading role in her ‘new company’, The Royal Ballet)—Leanne writes of ‘Rebuilding a Life’ followed by ‘What I have Learnt and What I Pass on’—which takes us up to, give or take the odd month, the present day.
And naturally we read of her marriage to Tobias, son of British ballerina Georgina Parkinson and photographer Roy Round, the birth of their son Thomas in 2003 and how this event affected and ultimately strengthened the decade of performing that followed, where she was able to totally inhabit every character she had the good fortune to portray, be it Odette or Odile, Mayerling’s Mary Vetsera, Swanilda, Anastasia, Lise or Juliet … A beautiful, beautiful dancer.
Leanne describes the creation of what is now an iconic image—that of her executing a flick jete in the outback, not far from Alice Springs—where she launched herself into the sky ‘in touch with the red, red earth of my beloved country’. This image of Jason Bell’s we are fortunate to enjoy again (having first encountered it on the cover of Valerie Lawson’s 2019 book, Dancing Under the Southern Skies) on the wrap-around back cover of Built for Ballet.
On what is most certainly the most perfect and seamless of collaborations Leanne and Sarah are to be congratulated; please come forward—to take curtain call—after curtain call!
Later this year, within the 2021 Australian Ballet season, we will see a revival of the 1900 ballet Harlequinade—a ballet originally choreographed by Marius Petipa (1822-1910) and initially entitled Les Millions d’Arlequin and first presented at the Hermitage Theatre in St Petersburg. After meticulous research Alexei Ratmansky, former director of the Bolshoi Ballet and artist-in-residence at American Ballet Theatre, created Harlequinade for the New York City Ballet, and it premiered on the 4 June 2018, at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. And now, finally and coronavirus permitting, it is Australia’s turn.
Based on Commedia dell’arte, with its origins in 16th century Italy, and in particular the city of Padua where the first professional company of players were legally incorporated, the Harlequinade was originally a slapstick adaptation of the form and was developed in England between the 17th and mid-19th centuries and defined as ‘that part of a pantomime in which Harlequin and Clown play the principal parts’. The basic plot: Harlequin loves Columbine, her greedy and foolish father Pantaloon tries to separate the lovers, and he is in league with the mischievous Clown and the servant Pierrot. Chaotic chase scenes would follow, often involving a bumbling policeman.
Masks, fashioned from leather, could almost completely hide the face of the player—could totally take over and transform the character. As recently as mid-20th century two men, France’s Jacques Lecocq and Italy’s Amleto Sartori, began a collaboration resulting in the creation and construction of these masks—an ancient manufacturing technique was reinvented, leading to a revival, last century, of Commedia dell’arte, which has led to the evolving of a new modern theatre practice that focuses on mask work.
Turning back several centuries, the performers were silent, although music and dance were involved, but later dialogue was introduced—but principally the Harlequinade was purely a visual spectacle. It was very popular as the closing segment of a longer and more serious presentation involving opera and ballet. There would often be an elaborate and magical transformation scene, introducing a fairy, quite unconnected with the preceding story—sometimes the most curious and unlikely of plots, but a method of transforming the characters into those of the Harlequinade.
Two rival theatres in London, Lincoln’s Inn Fields and Theatre Royal Drury Lane, presented productions that began with classical tales but would conclude with a comic ‘night scene’. A Harlequin of the era, the early 18th century, John Rich (1682-1761), had the power to create all manner of magical tricks—with the help, of course, of offstage craftsmen. His weapon, a magic sword or bat, or ‘slapstick’, he treated as a wand, to bring about the scene changes and the transformation of objects.
Throughout the 18th century this format was presented in the London theatres and plots ranged from Greek and Roman mythology, British folk stories and popular literature, and by the start of the 19th, nursery tales. No matter what story had unfolded in the first part of the evening’s entertainment, the Harlequinade followed the same pattern, the ubiquitous fairy had spectacularly turned the pantomime characters into the obligatory Harlequin, Columbine, Clown, Pierrot and their fellows.
In 1800, enter Joseph Grimaldi (1778-1837), the popular comic performer who turned the role of Clown from a ‘rustic booby into the star of metropolitan pantomime’. New costume designs were introduced and Clown was now sporting a flamboyantly colourful outfit. Harlequin became an increasingly romantic character who left all the mischief and chaos to Grimaldi’s inspired Clown—a Clown that now appeared in several different roles, ranging from a rival suitor to Columbine, to a Cook or a Nurse. His popularity was such that the balance of the evening’s entertainment was altered in that the first part dwindled to what David Mayer (Harlequin in His Element—The English Pantomime—1806-1836) calls ‘little more than a pretext for determining the characters who were to be transformed into those of the Harlequinade’. Productions often ran for four or more hours, pantomimes boasted double titles, describing two totally unconnected subjects or topics—for example, Harlequin and the Red Dwarf; or the Adamantine Rock (1812), Harlequin and Fortunio; or, Shing-Moo and Thun Ton (1815) and Harlequin Padmanaba; or, the Golden Fish (1811).
In early 19th century the Harlequinade came to dominate the evening’s fare and there were spectacular stage effects that it is hard to believe could possibly have been brought off—a whole cottage would disappear, a complete candle-lit supper would appear on a table at a touch, a letterbox turn into the head of a lion from which a diminutive postman would materialize, a sideboard become a beehive, the stage would be transformed into a lake—or a hot air balloon would advance through the proscenium and ascend over the heads of the audience. How was all this achieved?!
Stage machinery and technology were evolving constantly over the 19th century—but having said that, descriptions of some of Grimaldi’s antics are quite beyond belief! His magic wand could turn a dog into sausages, a bed into a horse-trough—Clown could dive into a clock face, leaving no sign of entry, let alone exit. Magic indeed!
Toward the end of this century the Harlequinade lost popularity when music hall, Victorian burlesque, comic opera and its ilk dominated the British comedy stage. By the 1930s it had apparently disappeared, but not quite, as later will be revealed. Here in Australia we saw the form persisting well into the 20th century.
Mention must now be made of the 1943 ballet Harlequin, a ballet choreographed by Helene Kirsova (1911-1962) for her (albeit short-lived) company—and considered to be her masterpiece—seen here at His Majesty’s Theatre in January 1944, after opening in Sydney in late 1943. She used the music of Maurice Ravel and the decor and costumes were the work of Amie Kingston. Some, or even many of our readers will recognise a few of the dancers’ names—Paul Clementin (Hammond), Rachel Cameron and Peggy Sager, Thadee Slavinsky, Helene Ffrance, June Newstead and Strelsa Heckelman. The costumes were made by Peggy’s mother Rose. Harlequin and Columbine ask the Moon to reveal to them their future, with a disastrous result. Columbine has no future, and Harlequin loses the woman he truly loves—his future is a rich and gaudy woman of whom he soon tires. He unsuccessfully begs to be given back his Columbine, but he is drawn by his future and she is left to mourn her fate.
Close on this ballet’s heels, but in London, there emerged a Harlequinade that must be acknowledged and described in some detail. Within a children's musical play, based on the age-old tale of Cinderella (apparently the most popular of all pantomime plots), Herbert and Eleanor Farjeon, son and daughter of Benjamin and Margaret Jane (Jefferson) Farjeon, collaborated to create, in late 1944, The Glass Slipper. Other productions of theirs include Kings and Queens (1932), The Two Bouquets (1938) and An Elephant in Arcady (1939). Interestingly, their father Benjamin (1838-1903), a promising journalist and printer, emigrated to Australia at the age of sixteen in 1854 and worked on the gold-fields, moving to New Zealand in 1861, where he continued with journalism, and later became manager and sub-editor of the Otago Daily Times. In 1868 he returned to London, marrying “Maggie” Jefferson nine years later at the age of 39. He was a prodigious writer of novels, something inherited by three of his four children—the fourth was a composer. Eleanor’s collection of whimsical short stories The Little Bookroom inspired Albert Ullin, in 1960, to open a bookshop here in Melbourne devoted solely to children’s books. The shop’s logo is a delightful example of the work of Edward Ardizzone.
In addition to Cinderella’s three acts, the Farjeons devised, once Cinders had been claimed by her Prince, a Harlequinade where many of the cast were recast, or deconstructed, as participants in this ‘merry romp’, intended as the fulfilment of the wishes of the Prince and Cinderella. It was entitled Harlequin in Search of His Heart—a Paradise in Nowhere. Ballet Rambert were very much involved for Hugh Stevenson, the company's principal designer, was responsible for the costumes and settings and Andrée Howard, another Rambert mainstay, for the choreography. Music was by Clifton Parker, the production by William Armstrong and presented by Robert Donat at the St James’s Theatre in December 1944. The cast included Audrey Hesketh, Rambert's daughter Lulu Dukes, Margaret Scott, Paula Hinton, Walter Gore, Sally Gilmour, Rex Reid, Brenda Hamlyn and Joyce Graeme.
Jump ahead to Christmas 1949 and we see several of these cast members appearing here at the Princess Theatre in Melbourne. Following the Ballet Rambert tours here in 1947/1948 the dancers who decided to stay on were Margaret Scott (later Dame), Sally Gilmour, Reid and Graeme. And once again names familiar to many of us crop up within the production—Helen Franklyn, Amy Rochelle, June Jago, Justine Rettick, Leon Kellaway, June Wood, Marion Ward, Mary Duchesne, Marilyn Burr, Marie Cumisky, Alison Lee, Bruce Morrow, Max Collis, Barrie Irwin, Stefaan Haag ... The production was presented by Carroll-Fuller Theatres in association with the National Theatre Movement of Australia. The Hugh Stevenson sets were recreated by Max Martin, an Australian painter and set-designer, and Ann Church and Barry Kay designed the costumes. Reid and Graeme were responsible for the choreography, basing it on the original—which they were so familiar with! William P. Carr was the director, Harry Jacobs the conductor and the entire production was supervised by Garnet H. Carroll.
Thanks to my later association with Reid, I now possess the vocal score for The Glass Slipper plus the book that was published, with the entire script and Hugh Stevenson's artwork (with a dedication to Rex), by Allan Wingate Publishers in 1946. No doubt both these came in very handy for the recreation of the production in Australia.
Returning to London, in 1951 John Cranko (1927-1973) created Harlequin in April for the Sadler’s Wells Theatre Ballet. Scenery and costumes were by John Piper, the English painter and designer, and Richard Arnell was the composer. Columbine is Harlequin’s love and the representation of the ideal he aspires to, but Pierrot stands between the two—he is the perpetual fool and ‘we laugh at him until he interferes too much’. The title was suggested by lines from T.S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land which began:
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain …
More than a decade later George Balanchine (1904-1983) presented his Harlequinade, using the original score by Riccardo Drigo, and his designer was Rouben Ter-Arutunian, an American of Armenian parentage and a designer of remarkable range. The company, the New York City Ballet, and this Harlequinade a modern reworking of Les Millions d’Arlequin, telling how Harlequin, helped by a Good Fairy, succeeds in releasing his beloved Columbine from her wealthy father’s domination. Others over the years, including the Russian Alexander Mishutin, have recreated or reconstructed versions of Les Millions, using Petipa’s as an inspiration or as a basis.
So it can be seen that Harlequinade and/or Commedia dell’arte have appeared in countless plays, pantomimes and ballets over the last five centuries, since the first was documented back in 1571 when a troupe of Italian comedians took their traditional native farces to Paris. Almost a century on the Italian composer and dancer Jean Baptiste Lully collaborated with France’s Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere—to create Le Mariage Force, combining Commedia dell’arte with French court dancing.
Closer to home and our times, the Harlequinade appeared at the close of pantomime after pantomime—in Viola Tait’s wonderful book Dames, Principal Boys ... and all That there are eighty appearances of Harlequin in the titles—although not necessarily indicating a following Harlequinade. In 1833 Sydney was treated to this character’s first appearance in the production The Three Wishes; or, Harlequin and the Black Pudding. Ten years later in 1843 George Buckingham presented Melbourne with Robinson Crusoe, a reproduction of Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s (only) 1781 pantomime—for London’s Drury Lane—Robinson Crusoe; or, Harlequin Friday.
Harlequin, a difficult character to pin down, dancing, cavorting through the centuries—now you see him, now you don’t: but we are assured, he and his trusty companions are about to pop up again, and are ‘wide awake and ready to charm ballet lovers of all ages’.
The Australian Ballet, ‘A New Era’, brochure for 2021 Season
Australian Variety Theatre Archives
George Balanchine's Festival of Ballet, Hutchinson/W.H. Allen London, 1978
Peter Bellew, Pioneering Ballet in Australia, Craftsman Bookshop, 1945
Clarke &Vaughan, Encyclopedia of Dance and Ballet, Pitman, 1977
V.C. Clinton-Baddeley, To Study a Long Silence, Victor Gollancz, 1970
Gadan, Maillard, Crichton & Clarke, Dictionary of Modern Ballet, Methuen, 1959
Arnold Haskell, Gala Performance, Collins, 1955
John Hood, Peggy Sager: Prima Ballerina, Southwood Press, 2004
David Mayer, Harlequin in His Element, Harvard University Press, 1969
Andrew McConnell Stott, The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, Canongate, 2009
Viola Tait, Dames, Principal Boys ... and All That, MacMillan, 2001
Frank Van Straten, National Treasure, Victoria Press, 1994
Victoria and Albert Museum, London, The Story of Pantomime, https://www.vam.ac.uk/articles/the-story-of-pantomime
FROM A NORFOLK FOLKTALE to Sydney’s George Street and Melbourne’s Elizabeth Street we trace the footsteps of two of the world’s most put-upon waifs and encounter a multitude of characters, ranging from babes to barons, robins to robbers, and dance or stumble through forests and fountains, caves and castles.
Once upon a time, as the old English ballad goes, there were two little children who lived at the edge of a forest. When their father died, they were entrusted to the care of their uncle and if the children died a fortune would be left to him, so of course he must find some willing assassin to ‘do the dastardly deed’ once the children had been abandoned deep in that wood. The original ballad was also known as The Norfolk Gentleman’s Last Will and Testament, and very naturally, and as the story goes, this wicked uncle eventually received his ‘just desserts’.
In 1793 The Children in the Wood was created by Dr Samuel Arnold and presented as an opera at London’s Haymarket Theatre. In this first version the children survived and were restored to their parents, neither of whom had died. Later versions decided to return to the ballad’s gloomy and tragic original ending.
Almost twenty years later the Surrey Theatre, having begun life as the Royal Circus and Equestrian Philharmonic Academy (Blackfriars Road, Southwark), presented the tale as an operatic Burletta—a musical farce or comic opera. And in 1827, entitled Harlequin and Cock Robin; or, The Babes in the Wood, the children succumb to the elements in what was the first pantomime version, at Drury Lane, and again in 1856 at the Haymarket.
In 1867, eleven years later, Robin Hood made an appearance within the plot. Was the character of Robin suggested by the fact that, in the original ballad, the children were discovered by the feathered variety, a Robin Redbreast? The legend has it that this tiny bird will cover bodies with leaves, robins will never suffer a dead body to remain unburied. Anything goes—anything went—this was pantomime and Robin Hood, even though two centuries out, always appealed greatly to the pantomime-going public. This time Robin rescues the babes from their fate, but not always was this the case. In 1874 Covent Garden’s panto restored the original unhappy ending and also brought about the death of the Wicked Uncle—or Wicked Baron. In modern versions the children always survive, their uncle is unmasked or vanquished.
There followed many versions and many additions and alterations to the title and to the list of characters. Maid Marion joined Robin Hood, the Merry Men made an appearance, sometimes the ‘Wicked’ Sheriff of Nottingham is the Babes’ uncle—and naturally a Fairy makes an entrance at some point in the plot. Young women play boys and men, men play women and children, the two assassins, or cronies or robbers, one or sometimes both, would find they could not carry out those grisly orders.
In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries pantomimes took the form of a harlequinade, which was related to commedia dell'arte and the invention of stock characters. Classical myths and later, folk tales, provided an Opening with a Narrative, after which the characters would transform into the classic harlequinade roles—Columbine, Pantaloon, Clown and Pierrot, and Harlequin himself.
In 1897 at Drury Lane two men appeared as the Babes and ten years later another version handed the Babes to the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe, who planned to poison them with deadly mushrooms. The children escape and encounter giants, rabbits and ferrets but finally manage to reach Lollypop Land where they are crowned King and Queen.
The last Babes in the Wood pantomime to be presented at Drury Lane was in 1938 and was produced by Tom Arnold, who was responsible, in 1939, for the production of The Dancing Years in London. I can't help but wonder if he was not a descendant of eighteenth century’s Dr Samuel Arnold, who was the originator of The Children in the Wood!
The first Australian Babes in the Wood to be presented was at Sydney's Prince of Wales Theatre in 1859, entitled Babes in the Wood and the Good Little Fairy Birds, and this occurred barely six months after its first appearance in London at the Theatre Royal, New Adelphi. The author, Henry James Byron, the son of a second cousin of Lord Alfred Byron, described the production as a Burlesque Drama in One Act. Here follows a list of the cast in that original London production, given on the 18 July 1859.
The scenes included the courtyard of Sir Arthur Rowland Macassar’s ‘noble pile’, a schoolroom, an arched chamber within, and, inevitably, a wood in which one of the ‘very dreadful children’ makes himself very ill gorging on blackberries.
Known enigmatically as Mr Guy, the Australian designer was also involved in two other very early local productions—the first in 1856, working alongside a Mr Thomas, Eva, or Leaves from Uncle Tom's Cabin (presumably not a pantomime) and the second in the year following The Good Little Fairy Birds—The Pilgrim of Love; or, Harlequin Prince Ahmed, the Talking Cockatoo and the Enchanted Horse. The mind boggles! The source was likely to be H.J. Byron's Fairy Romance Pilgrim of Love. Here Mr Guy collaborated with Alexander Habbe, the 31 year old Danish scenic artist.
In 1860 the Prince of Wales Theatre was destroyed, as so often happened, by fire, only to be rebuilt—with the same name—in 1863.
In 1879 Babes in the Wood was presented at Melbourne’s Theatre Royal (and at Sydney’s Theatre Royal it was entitled Babes in the Wood; or, Who Killed Cock Robin) and locally adapted by Garnet Walch, from the original pantomime by Englishman John Strachan, who was responsible, between 1879 and 1881, for another three pantomimes. Bland Holt not only played the part of Roberto, the Baron’s Henchman, he also was Our Clown in the Harlequinade Finale. The Babes were both played by girls, Rose and Lily Dampier, daughters of a famous theatrical family, and the scenic designers were the Dane John Hennings, Dublin-born Joseph (John) Little and Harry Grist from England.
The year 1885 saw the Babes presented at St Georges Hall, located on the western side of the Theatre Royal, opposite the Bijou Theatre, in Melbourne’s Bourke Street. And six years on, in 1891, Bold Robin Hood and his Foresters Good joined The Babes in the Wood at Her Majesty’s Theatre in Sydney, on Christmas Eve. Frank Ayrton wrote and directed, Frank Eugarde composed and directed the original music and London-born Alfred Clint was responsible for the scenic art. Here the director, Ayrton, and the choreographer Madge Seymour, played the Babes, Maggie Moore, J.C. Williamson's ex-wife, was Robin Hood and the English dancer Bella Bashall was Maid Marion. Bessie Rignold, niece of the producer George Rignold, was Fairy Goodheart.
The production opened in the Home of Pantomime, a cave full of glittering stalactites, and present were the Gnome King, the Spirit of Pantomime and Father Christmas—‘what is to be the subject of this pantomime?’ They settle on The Babes in the Wood. Act One is set in Sherwood Forest and the two babes are introduced, their wicked uncle Sir Rupert de Guile, his two ruffians, Roger Ruthless and Timothy Trembline, followed by, inevitably, Robin Hood and Maid Marion. The babes are lost, there are situations both very comical and pathetically sad.
In the Second Act there is a series of Dances of All Nations, a Toy Review [sic], accompanied by a cascading fountain of water flowing beneath coloured lights. Act Three is presented in Sir Rupert's baronial hall—a gavotte is enacted, also the Leslie Brothers’ ‘grotesque musical interlude’. The stage was a blaze of colour, with a dazzling frame-work of flowers and fruit, as it transformed itself and led into the traditional Harlequinade.
By this time, in the early 1890s, quite a number of those participating in ‘local’ pantos were sitting for H. Walter Barnett at his Falk Studios in Sydney’s Royal Arcade. To mention briefly a few, apart from those above, Pattie Browne, Jennie Lee, Violet Varley, Florence Young, Nellie Stewart and Aggie Kelton.
The following Christmas, in 1892, George Coppin, possibly inspired by Rignold’s 1891 success, secured Bland Holt as director, along with the entertainer/comedian John Gourley, who stepped in when Holt was taken ill with an unidentifiable illness a mere week before the opening night at Melbourne's Theatre Royal. John Brunton was brought in as the designer and the Sydney Morning Herald reported that for The Babes in the Wood; or, Robin Hood and his Foresters Good ‘the scenery forms a striking feature’ and ‘the transformation scene was a triumph of stagecraft’. Table Talk’s critic was not as complimentary and wrote of the ‘weak dialogue and the incomprehensible jokes’. The music comprised original material plus popular songs from both Australia and abroad; including ‘Finiculi, Finicula’ and ‘Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay’. (John Brunton’s prodigious amount of work and his contribution to this particular production will be the subject of a later article.)
The Opening revealed the home of Father Christmas and a vision of a Christmas tree, surrounded by a circle of expectant children—much to the disgust of Herne the Hunter who plans to slay the precious babes whom he so loathes. The scene changes to an English village near Sherwood Forest, and we meet Dame Tabitha Durden and her scholars, the two babes (both female this time), and presently, Robin Hood and his Foresters. An archery contest takes place, where Robin (played by Ada Bemister) proves his skill. Acquaintance has also been made with the Wicked Uncle, Baron Bullyrag and his two bold, bad ruffians, Burglar Bill and Joe Ugly. They are observed plotting against the babes. Miss Bella Bashall, as Maid Marion again, executes, with fantastic skirt whirlings, her Serpentine Dance.
Windsor Castle, viewed from the Baron's pavilion, presents the opportunity for a spectacular regal pageant—the crowned heads of England, from the time of King William the Conqueror to the present monarch, Queen Victoria, complete with juvenile Life Guards on ponies, banner bearers, pages and heralds, and a band. The National Anthem is very appropriately played, before the curtain falls on Act One.
Act Two begins in the Baron’s picture gallery where the plotters bundle the two babes over to the ruffians, to take ‘a walk in the forest’. There follows a forest scene inhabited by the Foresters Good, who are joined by the children and their murderous companions. The babes manage to escape whilst the ruffians wrangle over how the murders are to be carried out—ultimately there is a duel and presumably they move off stage as the exhausted babes return to lie down upon a leafy couch and fall asleep. Robin Redbreasts and woodpeckers entertain the audience, in ‘high carnival’ fashion. What was described as a ‘Watteau retreat of light and love’ then introduced a children’s ballet and we are returned to the Baron’s Castle of Many Towers, which is now held by our hero Robin Hood, his Foresters Good and the rescued babes. The traditional Harlequinade followed, with Dame Tabitha as Clown, and two of the ‘Bad Ones’ as Pantaloon and Harlequin. Columbine was portrayed by Miss Rosalie Phillipini.
At precisely the same time, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves was playing at Melbourne’s Princess’s Theatre, with more of Walter Barnett’s subjects participating—Katie Barrie, Alice Lethbridge and Leila Roze. The troupe included the London Gaiety Burlesque Company and the prolific Faust Family. George Gordon and son John were responsible for the scenic art.
A rather different approach to those pitiful babes followed a year later with Sydney’s Theatre Royal production The Babes; or, Whines from the Wood. This was a localized adaptation by Cyril Sandham (with music by George F. Pack) from the previously adapted version by the Englishman Harry Paulton. The Australian rights had been secured from Willie Edouin by John Gourley, who had stepped in to co-direct George Coppin’s Babes’ panto the year before. In this 1893 production he had the role of Dolly—‘Poor little Dolly’—and alternated each evening with George Walton, playing Pierrot in the harlequinade. The scenic design was shared by Sydney-born William Kinchela, George Campbell, Joseph Little and John Hennings—a formidable foursome. Once again kings and queens made an appearance, there was a grand transformation scene incorporating a water-nymph and, described as the ‘rage of Paris’, the Ballet d’Action Comique á la L’Enfant Prodigue’s Harlequinade.
Although I have concentrated so far on the pantomimes featuring those ubiquitous babes, I mention others where the cast lists featured actresses and dancers who chose to be photographed by H.W. Barnett, or who were chosen.
Just three days after the premiere of Whines from the Wood, at Sydney’s Lyceum Theatre, J.C. Williamson and George Musgrove presented Beauty and the Beast, for which Bella Bashall created the choreography. Nellie Stewart was, of course, Beauty, and Florence Young played Prince Lionel. Polly Emery was one of Beauty’s sisters and Catherine Bartho, the first Russian ballerina to visit Australia, led the troupe of dancers. The following year, 1894, Melbourne's Princess’s Theatre saw a rather revised version with quite a different cast of characters. This classic fairy-tale, as a pantomime, employed several indigenous themes and topics within its narrative. Spiders and mosquitoes do battle with butterflies and bats, that is—bad versus good. There was, inevitably, a boxing kangaroo, an ‘electric’ snake dance, and a fabulous transformation scene disclosing George Gordon’s Beauty’s Bower.
Other actresses and dancers to find themselves on the pages of the Falk Studios’ Album were Hetty Patey, Marietta Nash, Alice Lemar, Billie Barlow, Jennie Opie and Enrichetta D'Argo, billed as the Prima Ballerina of Naples’ Teatro San Carlo. No doubt there are others.
Before the close of the nineteenth century other significant versions of the Babes were presented—in 1897 Babes in the Wood; or, Bold Robin Hood and his Merry Men was presented initially at Her Majesty’s Theatre in Sydney and the following year in Melbourne as an Easter attraction at the Princess, entitled simply Babes in the Wood, but still featuring Robin Hood (Millie Young) and Maid Marion (Ada Reeve). In fact by 1895 Walter Barnett had opened a studio in Melbourne, in Elizabeth Street, close to the Block Arcade, but run by his brother Charles and his sister Phoebe, and by 1898 Barnett was well and truly established in London where his clientele included subjects prominent in society and members of royalty.
Early in the twentieth century the Babes reappeared at the King’s Theatre in Melbourne, and again at Sydney's Adelphi at the start of the First World War, and exactly four years later at the conclusion of the war, at Sydney’s Grand Opera House. From then on, in every state of Australia, and on an irregular basis, someone would be presenting one version or another of this classic tale. Within the last one hundred years, at the last count, there have been at least twenty fully professional productions.
The Babes will continue to be lost, continue to be rescued, wicked uncles, sheriffs and barons to be unmasked, jailed, foiled, vanquished. The Babes have endured for almost two centuries, and here in the Falk Album we can catch glimpses of some who fled through forests, sung along with kings, queens and the merriest of men, and danced with dogs, demons and princesses.
Open the Album and see if you can spot them in costume! Theatre Heritage Australia Digital Collection
|Catherine Bartho||lead dancer in Beauty and the Beast - Lyceum, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Billie Barlow||as Dick in Dick Whittington - Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1891/1892|
|Billie Barlow||as Dick in Dick Whittington - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, April 1892|
|Katie Barry||as Ganem in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves - Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 1892/1893|
|Bella Bashall||as Maid Marion in Babes in the Wood - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Bella Bashall||as Maid Marion in Babes in the Wood -Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1892/1893|
|Laura Bernard||as Perserverance in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Pattie Browne||as Ganem in The Forty Thieves - Theatre Royal, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Addie Conyers||as Boy Blue in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Enrichetta D'Argo||dancer in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Rose Dearing||as Morgiana in The Forty Thieves - Theatre Royal, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Florence Esdaile||as Fairy of Yuletide in Babes in the Wood -Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1892/1893|
|Florence Esdaile||as Jack in Little Red Riding Hood - Princess Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Ethel Haydon||as Queen Rose in Little Red Riding Hood - Princess Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Aggie Kelton||as Cinderella in Cinderella, Gold and Silver and the Little Glass Slipper – Theatre Royal, Sydney, 1890/1891|
|Aggie Kelton||as Jack in Jack the Giant Killer - Alexandra Theatre, Melbourne, 1891/1892|
|Aggie Kelton||as Bo Peep in Jack the Giant Killer - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Alice Lethbridge||as Morgiana in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves - Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 1892/1893|
|Alice Leamar||as Little Red Riding Hood in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Maggie Moore||as Dick in Dick Whittington and His Cat - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, 1890/1891|
|Maggie Moore||as Robin Hood in Babes in the Wood - Her Majesty's Theatre, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Maggie Moore||as Selim in Bluebeard – Her Majesty's Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Maggie Moore||as Sinbad in Sinbad the Sailor - Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1893/1894|
|Marietta Nash||as Jack in Jack the Giant Killer - Her Majesty's Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Jennie Opie||as Abdallah in The Forty Thieves - Theatre Royal, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Hettie Patey||as Zephyr in Beauty and the Beast - Lyceum, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Bessie Rignold||as Fairy Silvertone in Dick Whittington and His Cat - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, 1890/1891|
|Bessie Rignold||as Fairy Goodheart in Babes in the Wood - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, 1891/1892|
|Bessie Rignold||as Queen Felicity in Bluebeard – Her Majesty's Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Leila Roze||as Abdallah in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves - Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 1892/1893|
|Maie Saqui||as Miss Muffet in Little Red Riding Hood - Princess Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Nellie Stewart||as Beauty in Beauty and the Beast - Lyceum, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Cora Tinnie||as Jack Horner in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Violet Varley||as Princess Badroulbadour in Aladdin, Being a New Version of an Old Lamp - Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1890/1891|
|Violet Varley||as Little Red Riding Hood in Little Red Riding Hood - Princess Theatre, Sydney, 1893/1894|
|Isabel Webster||as Princess Sazzlina in Sinbad the Sailor - Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1893/1894|
|Lilla Wilde||as Progress in Little Red Riding Hood - Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, 1892/1893|
|Florence Young||as Pekoe in Aladdin, Being a New Version of an Old Lamp - Theatre Royal, Melbourne, 1890/1891|
|Florence Young||as Prince Lionel in Beauty and the Beast - Lyceum, Sydney, 1893/1894|
I am indebted to the following: Australian Variety Theatre Archives; AusStage—Australian Live Performance Database; Victoria and Albert Museum; State Library Victoria; Wikipedia; National Portrait Gallery; Tait Collection; Plays by H.J. Byron, Cambridge University Press, 1984; Project Gutenberg; It's Behind You - Babes in the Wood; and last but far from least, Elisabeth Kumm and Simon Piening.
BOOK REVIEW: Chalet Monet: Inside the Home of Dame Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonynge by Richard Bonynge, Melbourne Books, 2020
Welcome to Chalet Monet—and how effectively the cover of this dazzlingly illustrated book draws you in, straight onto the landing and then through to the Music Room, giving us a first glimpse of the treasures in store for us. Be prepared for a very extensive, very personal tour of the chalet, with the Maestro as your very own guide.
‘It's our job to make magic. Music can be a very subjective thing, but what I've always believed is that when people come to the theatre they should be immersed in magic, and if you don't get some great feeling of being taken out of yourself and put into another world, then we’re not doing our job.’ These words of Richard Bonynge may well apply to Chalet Monet, a house deeply immersed in magic. Certainly, as Marilyn Horne tells us in the Foreword ‘I can hardly wait to see all their wonderful things …’
Marilyn Horne, the celebrated American mezzo-soprano, first became aware of Joan Sutherland's voice back in 1959 when she heard a radio broadcast of ‘outstanding singers of the day’. Two years later both she and Joan made their New York debuts in Bellini’s Beatrice di Tenda. Fortunately for us all, Richard had convinced Joan, whom he first met in Sydney in the late 1940s at a small concert in which they were both participating, that she belonged to bel canto, a lyrical style of operatic singing, rather than the dramatic repertoire of Wagner. The two Bellini debuts led to the beginning of a lifelong friendship with both Joan and Richard, and Marilyn Horne soon realised the latter was ‘a fanatical collector of just about anything’ as the Bonynges’ home in London was crammed with Richard’s finds, be they music memorabilia, porcelain figurines, paintings, prints or antique furniture.
Richard explains how this book came about, this one topic that had not yet been broached; the home that he and Joan had shared for so many decades. There had been books on their professional lives, on costume designs and theatrical postcards, but no book dealing with Richard’s passion for collecting and how these collections have been a wonderful source for understanding and acknowledging the importance of our ‘musical and artistic heritage’.
Chalet Monet is a family home, visited and stayed in by both family and friends, located in the Swiss village of Les Avants, one thousand metres above Lake Geneva. Fiona James, a mezzo-soprano who made her debut in 1988 with Opera Australia, and now an Artistic Director and General Manager of the Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonynge Foundation, writes of the history of the region, the French-speaking canton of Vaud, of the tiny railway station and the little red funicular, Les Avants hotel and cafe and the prestigious Le Chatelard Academy. She describes the idyllic countryside—‘the Switzerland one imagined from childhood stories with its sounds, quaint villages and majestic mountain scenery’. Fiona continues with the fairy-tale comparisons by describing the approach to the property and the welcome she received back in 2009, when she first made the acquaintance of the chalet and its fragile but fabulous contents, comparing the experience to walking onto the set of an opera or a 19th century drawing room.
Red and green predominate - they are the Sutherland and Bonynge colours. There are glorious displays of coloured glass, stunning views from every window, books, paintings, prints, rugs, china-ware—a positive cornucopia of delights. Fiona moves on to the structure of the house, with descriptions of the four floors, each with a specific purpose, yet the style is similar throughout—music room, bedrooms and bathrooms, study and library, office and attic, small rooms for shelved collections—plus two grand pianos. And then of course there are the gardens, with flowering shrubs, ferns, window boxes and pots, and the luscious greenery. The tennis court, now overgrown, where once, in the 60s and 70s, tennis parties were held.
‘Chalet Monet is a house with one thousand stories—it is a living history’ and ‘One gets the impression that every object in the house has some sort of story or significance and that they are all special to their owners’. Finally ‘Thank you, Richard, for allowing us to enter your private and colourful world’.
The Bonynges were originally Huguenots who fled to England in the late 16th century and granted land in County Clare in Southern Ireland in 1601, while Richard's mother hailed from a Yorkshire family.
By the age of four Richard was definitely showing some musical talent; from his father he inherited the ability to play the piano by ear, although he was not very adept at reading music. Lessons followed, and at thirteen he was awarded a scholarship to the NSW Conservatorium of Music by Lindley Evans, the South African/Australian pianist and composer. Encouraged and influenced by him, Richard studied Mozart and Chopin, and then, introduced to opera by Eugene Goossens, the English conductor and composer, the ‘gates of heaven’ opened for Richard!
The winner of many competitions, he gained much experience playing in clubs and concerts, and having met Joan in Sydney they went on to perform together several times. ‘I have been so lucky’—Richard was born with a prodigious musical instinct. In 1950 he was awarded a two year scholarship to London’s Royal College of Music, but for various reasons this did not work out as Richard had hoped and he left after one year. 1951 was the year he and Joan met up again, when she was awarded enough prize money—and presented more by an uncle—to set sail for London.
Lessons, coaching and accompanying followed and the two spent as much time as possible attending operas, ballets, concerts and the theatre, and often meeting the many famous dancers, actors and singers. Richard began working with Joan and it was then that he brought about the change from the drama of the Wagnerian style—the forcing of both the top and lower voice—to the musical style of the romantic composers such as Bellini, Mozart, Rossini and Donizetti, and therefore the more natural and more beautiful style that came so very easily to her. Professional engagements followed and an invitation to join the company of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, only one year after her arrival in London.
Joan and Richard were married in 1954 and two years later their son Adam was born. Throughout the 1950s Joan sang in a formidable list of operas—The Magic Flute, Norma, A Masked Ball, Marriage of Figaro, Rigoletto—to name only a few. She was a show-stopping Olympia—the doll—in The Tales of Hoffmann. Joan met and/or worked with the likes of Maria Callas, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Franco Zeffirelli. By the end of the 50s her international career was well and truly established.
But it was not until 1962 that Richard began his career in conducting and that happened quite by accident when the conductor with the Santa Cecilia Orchestra in Rome, in which Joan would be performing, came down with a serious case of influenza and his back-up was, most unfortunately, hit by a taxi! Joan's agent and manager told Richard he was to conduct or else the concert would be cancelled. Horrified as he was, he knew all the repertoire, he was young and fit, he had luck and passion on his side: the concert was a huge success and what is more, he knew Joan's voice so very, very well.
With a combination of the two careers and a young son, life could be difficult and exhausting, but so very rewarding. Their lives were filled with performances, concerts, recordings, with Richard conducting and recording way beyond Joan's retirement in 1990. Her death occurred in October 2010 at Chalet Monet, where her presence and many, many happy memories are very much still with Richard. He remains busy with all sorts of projects, mentoring, visits, travelling, judging and awarding. Although missing his Australian family Europe has been his home and his life for so long—who knows what the future will bring.
But let us return to the early 1960s and how it was that the Bonynges came to own and to live in the chalet, how they met Noel Coward on board the ship they were on, heading for America and various professional engagements. Richard and Joan had fallen in love with an old villa in the south of Switzerland and had taken a five-year lease on it. However, due to one thing or another, purchasing it proved impossible. Coward encouraged them to find somewhere in the vicinity (and close to airports) and asked Richard to stay at his home, Chalet Coward, at Les Avants. After an unsuccessful week of searching Richard inquired about the chalet above Noel’s, where the position was perfect, the views stunning.
A telephone call and a visit later and a positively enviable deal was done—Chalet Monet was now the property of the Bonynges.
Some wonderful years in the early 1960s followed, holidays shared, Richard and Joan meeting so many interesting and glamorous actors and writers, Noel giving son Adam painting lessons, plus Richard working on an album of Noel's compositions - a marvellous friend, who died far too early. But what memories, and it was thanks to Noel Coward that Chalet Monet became the beautiful home that it is today.
The chalet was built around 1900, a sturdily constructed house, with two-feet thick stone walls covered in a dark stained wood - but far too small for the family and necessary staff. Two local architects worked with Richard and Joan to enlarge the house, the original facade was kept but a tower was added, windows altered, floors re-laid, and eventually, after two years of renovations and whilst managing a hectic schedule of performing and recording, the family was able to move in. Van-loads of furniture were brought across from London or taken out of nearby storage. Years later an internal lift was installed and years after that, Richard decided to have the whole chalet exterior repainted green, much to the dismay of the local authorities. However, Richard was victorious. Throughout this book we are treated to many beautiful images of the chalet and its surrounds and there are dozens of breathtaking double spreads.
Since 1964 Chalet Monet has seen many more changes, additions and improvements. Rooms were created or enlarged, but the Entrance Hall, on the ground floor, forms part of the original structure. Here Richard gives us histories of many of his prized paintings, portraits or studies of duchesses, dancers and singers, a wall displaying old song covers, shelves of vases and figurines. Not only are they described here but we can see for ourselves this glorious amassing of exquisite objects, as we move through the ground floor, from room to room. We learn all about particular items of furniture, the Tiffany style lamps, candelabra, displays of snuff boxes, costume designs and miniature paintings. There are endless lists of visiting friends and colleagues, singers and actors, artists and designers from all over the world. And then, of course, there are the books, many first editions with original bindings.
Richard treats us to a short history of the 19th century Spanish singer Maria Malibran, a singer with an extraordinary range of voice, who was perhaps best known for her portrayals of the heroines in Rossini’s works. Displayed are portraits and theatre posters relating to her and her career. Richard admits Malibran has had a great influence on his work, encouraging him to seek out long-forgotten scores, some of which have been revived and even have come to be performed regularly all over the world.
Following Malibran, we learn of Richard’s fascination with Jenny Lind, the soprano known as the Swedish Nightingale. She was the first singer he ‘discovered’ when he moved to Europe and he admits the chalet has almost become a Lind Museum—of figurines, books, music, posters and paintings. There is a glorious portrait of Lind, painted by the German artist, Eduard Magnus.
We move onto the Card Room, a very favourite room of Richard’s where he is often to be found at work on scores, writing letters, playing the odd game of cards. This room has sensational views of Lake Geneva and Rochers-de-Naye mountain, and the walls are lined with portraits—Catherine the Great and her husband, Georgiana the 18th century Duchess of Devonshire, Marie Taglioni, Lola Montez and other personages too numerous to mention. A golden clock with links to an early French opera Cendrillon, the score of which Richard eventually found and performed in 1998, in Moscow. He has always been passionate about lost or forgotten opera and ballet scores.
The Card Room also contains bronzes and figurines of dancers and actresses, there are clocks and vases, cabinets crammed with Staffordshire figures—plus a recently acquired bust of Joan, Richard writes of the discovery of so many of these treasures, the flea-markets, the tucked away shops, the reluctant dealers. Along with the many books, classics and antique editions, he has almost an entire collection of all that Noel Coward wrote, each with an individual dedication.
Moving on through to the Dining Room and the Kitchen, paintings and drawings of La Stupenda, in costumes that were designed for her many productions, line the walls. There are wonderful views from a large picture window—the little cog railway from Montreux climbs to the summit of the mountain, to a restaurant looking out onto a lake, and all around are steep, gloriously green hills. In a line along the windowsill are many pieces of coloured glass, bottles and flasks, decanters and jugs. Joan was responsible for the start of this particular obsession! Antique chairs are drawn up to the dining table—more paintings and porcelain figurines—all set against a striking and, predictably, colourful wallpaper. A large painting by Michael Stennet, the English costume designer and painter (who, very sadly, died only this year at the age of 74), features the family Bonynge, accompanied by Asta, their Bernese shepherd dog. Hanging vertically near the verandah door a wooden type-set drawer is filled with many tiny and rare objects, including some 19th century theatre memorabilia.
The Kitchen is briefly described—but this, Richard tells us, is Petra the cook's territory.
Paintings, including the works of two Australian artists, Loudon Sainthill and Kenneth Rowell, line the staircase which leads down to the Hallway and the Garden Floor below. Richard writes of changes and conversions—and we arrive at his Studio and the Library, two cellars and storage space for his ever-growing collection of DVDs, ballets, operas, films. He admits this Hallway is full to bursting—with paintings of conductors and composers, pianists and singers. And more snuff-boxes and statuettes and miniatures—an extraordinarily rich and varied cornucopia! Throughout, Richard regales us with tales of his discoveries, the history and sometimes challenges behind so many of these pieces, also musical and theatrical anecdotes—of Monserrat Cabelle and Luciano Pavarotti, for example.
Within the Studio there are shelves and shelves of music scores, medals and busts, figurines and even a decorative collection of eggs. His Bechstein piano is laden with photographs of family and friends, plus precious souvenirs. Joan loved needlepoint work and the chalet has many examples, on lovely old chairs, cushions and rugs. We are treated to a glimpse of the Napoleonic bed Richard sleeps in - and so very soundly apparently—surrounded by paintings and framed costume designs, books and ornaments.
Next to the Studio is the Yellow Library, bursting with biographies, books on music, scores autographed by their composers, and framed studies of remarkable singers and actors. The Library is a glorious shade of yellow with absolutely not an inch to spare for any application of wall-paper!
Extensions to the chalet include, naturally enough, a Music Room, a Greenhouse and a self-contained Guest Suite. Paintings line the staircase as we head towards the First Floor, Staffordshire figures are displayed in what were once the window embrasures of the original chalet's structure. Framed posters, a bronze statue of Joan, a marble bust of Liszt and shelf after shelf of CDs, vinyl records and operatic scores. Below a portrait of Joan, painted by the Australian June Mendoza, sits a boulle cabinet crammed with more scores, letters and memorabilia, topped off by more figurines and statuettes.
There are pages and pages illustrating and/or describing the Music Room, a very substantial space packed with Bonynge treasures. For decades Richard and Joan spent many long and productive hours on scores, practising, and even recording as the acoustics are ideal. Christmases were celebrated in here, with family and friends, including the Coward household, their next-door neighbours. The Steinway had belonged to Noel, and the blonde wood Erard piano hailed originally from Buckingham Palace. There are more paintings of Joan, by the Australian artists Judy Cassab and Robert Hannaford, and many of the chairs are covered in Joan’s meticulous petit point embroidery. This segment on the Music Room also includes a selection of anecdotes. This room and the little adjoining Greenhouse are a joy to behold.
Richard describes the apartment that came to be known as the Joan Sutherland Apartment, a set of rooms she loved, full of objects personal to her, paintings and photographs, gifts and souvenirs, a glass-topped cabinet displaying her many awards. A lovely light-filled room with views of Lake Geneva and French doors leading to a substantial balcony.
Within these rooms is a Dame Nellie Melba collection—Richard learnt that Melba stayed in Les Avants for two months, back in 1890, when she needed to cure herself of a nodule on her vocal cords. She stayed in the now demolished Hotel de Jaman, a short distance from the site of Chalet Monet. A lovely link indeed!
The chalet’s main guest room has walls of deep green, setting off lithographs and photographs—mostly with an operatic theme—framed with Richard’s beloved birdseye maple, the beds are also of the same beautiful light wood, as is much of the furniture throughout the chalet.
Moving on and upwards, more portraits adorn the walls as we move from first to second floor and to two additional bedrooms. The first displays many mounted set and costume designs, hung above a striking 19th century sofa, a gift from dear friend Barbara Matera, an American costume and clothing designer of English birth. The wallpaper in here is a delightful floral 'confection' that you feel must surely be perfumed. An old Swiss cupboard, wonderfully decorated, has pride of place and contains box after box of jigsaw puzzles. The second bedroom is known as the Spanish Room, for the bed was discovered in, and transported from, Barcelona. Some Bolivian religious paintings, drawings and designs by the Russian-born Eugene Berman, and a wall given over entirely to books. Both Richard and Joan, when not working on scores, would read avidly. The vivid red window curtains frame a section of the forest—most windows in the chalet look out at the lake, the mountains or the little funicular.
A third bedroom was originally the office of Richard's secretary of forty years standing, Chester. Before his tragic paralysis in 2002 he had travelled with and looked after the Bonynges, hung wallpaper, did carpentry and all manner of jobs around their home. His death occurred in 2018.
So—more paintings and more designs, and shelves and shelves of DVDs. There are three other rooms that were in existence before the renovation—bedrooms for the housekeeper, the secretary and the room that was once that of son Adam.
At this particular point in the book we are treated to fabulous views from the chalet’s windows and images of the garden, over the four seasons. Spring is Richard's favourite, when flowers bloom and new leaves emerge, and when every conceivable shade of green is in evidence. Then Summer, with its wonderful sunsets, the sound of distant cowbells, plus the fact that the house with its solid brick walls ensures a perfect temperature within. The garden is ablaze with colour and many varieties of flowers, which are gloriously photographed here for us to enjoy. And then of course Autumn, and what a change there is to the general palette—with the leaves of the trees turning yellow, through to shades of orange, red and purple. Winter brings, not only snow, but deer, foxes, moles and every species of bird, noisily singing and demanding to be fed. Then, the snowbound chalet resembles something even more suggestive of a fairy-story, although the reality can be far from that when driveways and roads need to be cleared—with the exception of the road to the chalet, which doubles as a sled run with driving permitted only at certain hours. What a joy it is to sit in the warmth of the chalet and admire the snowy scenes presented outside!
Richard expands on his collections at this point, beginning with his passion for, and extensive knowledge of, the ballet. He mentions Helene Kirsova and her short-lived company based in Sydney, first encountered when he was ten, followed by memories regarding the Borovansky Company, the Ballets Russes seasons, the dancer Tamara Tchinarova, and later Margot Fonteyn, followed by the founding of the current Australian Ballet and its first artistic director Peggy van Praagh. In 1950 when Richard first arrived in London he was fortunate enough to be in at the very formation of the Festival Ballet and the two head company members, Alicia Markova and Anton Dolin, became his great mentors, teaching him so much in regards to both the style and tempi of ballet music and the recording of the same.
Joan and Richard saw all the great ballet companies of the world, all the ballet stars of the day—the English, French, Danish, Italian and American and later on, the Russian. Richard conducted in both Moscow and St Petersburg, not only for the opera, but also for the ballet. Galina Ulanova, Carla Fracci, the English dancers, ‘our own’ Robert Helpmann, and naturally, Rudolf Nureyev. Richard shares many anecdotes with us, including one which tells of his attachment to a set of Meissen porcelain figures, based on the original designs by Leon Bakst, for the 1910 ballet Carnaval. He also recounts his meeting with the superlative Cuban ballerina Alicia Alonso, and the revival of a long-forgotten ballet La Flauta Magica with a score by the 19th century Riccardo Drigo, which Richard just happened to possess within his Anna Pavlova collection of music. Earlier this century he got to conduct this score for the Cuban Ballet Company, in Alicia's own production. Sadly, at nearly 99 and only a year ago, Alicia Alonso died—to Richard she was indeed a goddess. And here he admits that while enjoying both, these days he would rather go to the ballet than to the opera!
Richard writes of his love of collecting, the hows and whys and wherefores—he claims to be something of a magpie, well known for collecting objects, storing them in his nest and then enjoying them, in all their rich and colourful variety and splendour!
We now move on to pages of costume designs, prints and paintings dating from the 18th to the 20th centuries, more figurines with balletic, musical and theatrical themes—there is room at this point in the book for only a small sample. Rare theatre posters follow, and caricatures of Dame Joan by their dear, recently departed friend Michael Stennet.
As I write, and as Act IV begins—‘L'Opera’—I find it is, most appropriately, World Opera Day (which will be followed almost immediately by World Ballet Day). In early 1959 Joan Sutherland’s international career began in a production of Lucia di Lammermoor directed by that prince of theatrical directors and designers, Franco Zeffirelli. Richard writes of their many years of combined successes and their long friendship and collaboration. Zeffirelli died only last year at the age of 97, after a life filled with beauty and creativity.
Now we encounter pages and pages of photographs and special moments—Richard mentions those that have a special significance for him, but there are many, many more that could easily fill another volume. Family and friends, actors, singers, dancers, politicians, royalty, writers, directors, designers—the list is seemingly endless. Gala concerts where he conducted, Joan's Gala farewells in Sydney and London—what memories!
Richard and Joan had a wonderful working relationship with the record company Decca—they spent over fifty years with them, a most understanding company—the ‘Decca sound’ was considered to be the purest and the most natural. Over those years the Bonynges produced almost 240 commercial recordings and Richard goes on to list this collection, over the page we can see for ourselves almost one hundred record covers, and following these, the covers of many magazines featuring one or both of them. We read of the many awards and honours that they both received, there are acknowledgements relating to the production of this superb book, more names, and for many of the foregoing photographs, additional descriptions. There are brief biographies of both Joan and Richard and the book’s very passionate and artistic photographer, Dominique Bersier. Richard writes of his extended family and all the wonderful folk who worked for the two of them, personal assistants, cooks, gardeners and housekeepers, and wonders what the family would have done without them. He reflects that, all in all, what an amazing and truly lucky life it has been for both himself and Joan but also, how hard it is to believe that she has been gone for ten years—and how incredible that he should now be ninety!
Where did the time go? Richard asks himself.
BOOK REVIEW: Kristian Fredrikson, Designer by Michelle Potter, Melbourne Books, 2020
In her foreword to KRISTIAN FREDRIKSON—Designer by Michelle Potter, Maina Gielgud AO, The Australian Ballet’s artistic director from 1983 to 1996, speaks of the attention Kristian gave to the tiniest detail, and how his research into every project, and every character, was so obvious from the results: not only did you ‘look good’, you got right inside whatever role you were to portray. Dr. Potter travelled far and wide in her investigations into this book, she recorded the oral histories of Kristian’s many collaborators, from, not only the world of ballet, but opera, the dramatic stage, film and television. She also presents us with some writings of his that have never yet been seen.
To quote Maina, ‘Kristian was an exceptional designer, perhaps we might even call him a genius in his field. This book tells you why’.
‘I'm the original Peter Pan: I never wanted to grow up’ heads Chapter One—Frederick John Sams, an only child, was born in 1940 in Wellington, New Zealand. He later came to be known as Kristian Fredrikson (and we learn how the change of name came about)—and he began his career while still in his teens as cadet journalist, copy-holder, reporter, and finally theatre and music critic. Earlier, for two years from the age of fourteen, he had attended a Catholic School that had appeared to trigger his interest in religion, it was for its ‘spectacle aspect’ rather than its religious one.
His very first commission—now calling himself Kristian Fredrikson—was to design somewhere between seventy and one hundred costumes for an operetta by Johann Strauss, A Night in Venice, which premiered in October 1962 in Wellington. It was then that he met, in a professional capacity, its director Harry Baker, a commercial artist who had taught the design night class that Kristian had attended the preceding year. The young Kristian designed the costumes, Alan Lees, an established designer, the sets. These early costume designs were strikingly bold and without the incredible detailing that his later work displayed, but the finished results were described as ‘fantastic head-dresses and masks cut in strange shapes and brilliantly painted and sequined’—later he stated that he felt these designs were ‘horrifyingly bad’ but his reviewers disagreed.
Dr. Potter gives us a mysteriously romantic but also revealing glimpse of Kristian’s family history. He was determined to create a persona quite independent, and not reflective, of his early family life.
But then, as is appropriate for Peter Pan, he flew. Kristian left New Zealand in September 1963, headed for Sydney, but almost immediately he was back home to design his very first ballet, Arthur Turnbull's The Winter Garden, ‘a comedy of manners in high society’. Here his style can be seen developing, experiments with different drawing and painting techniques, always a great sense of colour, and what became more and more evident as time went on, a fascination with detail; he researched and sourced fabrics, created head-dresses, devised props and designed sets and back-drops.
Back to Sydney, and shortly after a move to Melbourne, where the work began to pour in—plays of Shakespeare for the Adelaide Festival of Arts, plus a new production of Aurora's Wedding for the Australian Ballet, also scheduled for the Festival. Peggy van Praagh, first artistic director of the ballet company—1962-1974—entered Kristian's life, along with Bill Akers, stage manager and later director of productions. Kristian collaborated with painter and stage designer Warwick Armstrong, and further along, Anna French, Richard Prins (set designer for the University Theatre Repertory Company, later to be known as Melbourne Theatre Company) and the legendary Marjorie Head, milliner extraordinaire. Kristian received commissions for ballets for television as well as the stage—for ABC Channel 2, at least two ballets choreographed by Rex Reid and directed by Brian Faull. And from 1965 he was involved in play after play, mostly with the MTC’s John Sumner and George Ogilvie (whose death occurred only this year), and other productions all across Australia. His preference was to be both set and costume designer, but there were many collaborations with other designers throughout his career.
Now in the 1970s where an amazing depth of research was invariably evident, giving a clear indication of the familiarity with and nature of each character and every aspect of the production. Kristian worked with other directors, in particular Tyrone Guthrie who was most specific, and dauntingly so, about the designs for his production of All’s Well that Ends Well in 1970. The West Australian Ballet Company, under the directorship of Rex Reid, presented in 1971 a season of two programs, mostly divertissements. Gloriously elaborate costumes were created, as distinct from the austere but perfect simplicity of, for example, the MTC’s production of The Three Sisters, back in 1968. In fact George Ogilvie claimed that this was the finest work he had ever done, and with Fredrikson, something that Kristian was also very proud of. Design for opera followed—more collaborations with Ogilvie, Richard Bonynge, Joan Sutherland (in the role of Lucrezia Borgia in the opera of that name) and artistic administrator Moffatt Oxenbould. His costumes for opera were heavy and highly finished and multi-layered, but always, fabulously right.
Towards the end of the 70s Kristian was fortunate enough to be awarded the opportunity to design the costumes for the ‘romantic play’ The Day after the Fair. Based on a short story by Thomas Hardy, with script by Frank Harvey, the director was the Londoner, and original director, Frith Banbury. All in all, over the decade, Kristian designed costumes and/or sets for well over a score of dramas and comedies, in Sydney, Adelaide, Perth and Melbourne.
More ballet followed—for both the Australian Ballet and the Royal New Zealand Ballet Companies: Cinderella (over the course of his career Kristian designed three versions) and an utterly perfect Coppelia, directed by George Ogilvie and still in the Australian Ballet’s repertoire today. The MTC production of The Revenger’s Tragedy, premiering in 1975 at St. Martin’s Theatre in Melbourne, was an important and momentous one for Kristian. The words ‘opulent, decadent, nightmarish and obsessive’ spring to mind and years later, he stated that his set design for this production was his ‘most memorable’.
It was at this point that Kristian first met the choreographer and ex-dancer, soon to be director of the newly formed Sydney Dance Company, Graeme Murphy, and a collaboration began that flourished for almost thirty years. Although they had initially met through The Revenger’s Tragedy (where Graeme's choreography was thrown out by the director imported from the UK, Australian-born David Myles), it was not long before Graeme was offering Kristian a commission to work on a new ballet, Sheherazade, set to a score by Maurice Ravel.
Design-wise, how very different were the costume sketches and drawings for Tragedy and those for this ballet! How very different the influences and the inspirations. Michelle Potter writes marvellously of this ballet and the collaboration and we are treated to some entrancing images. There does exist, I believe, a record of this Sheherazade on film or video. Kristian and Graeme worked so well together, and between them, over the years, they created at least seventeen works, for a range of ballet and opera companies. To quote Kristian—'Graeme is like some magic thing that happened to me in my career’. If Kristian was Peter Pan (even though he had somewhat ‘grown up’) Graeme was Puck—'He's pure, brilliantly creative [with a] risk-taking ego’. In fact, back in 1969, Murphy was Puck in the Australian Ballet’s production of Frederick Ashton’s ballet The Dream and he absolutely was Puck—I swear he flew across that stage, summoned by an imperious Oberon.
And then, importantly and leaping ahead, The Nutcracker: The Story of Clara, a ballet created for the Australian Ballet one hundred years after the original Nutcracker back in 1892 in St. Petersburg. Once again we learn how the whole concept came about, how choreographer and designer, commissioned by the then artistic director, Maina Gielgud, eventually arrived at a complex and significant narrative, moving through several eras and ages, and involving three separate performers as Clara, plus some extremely demanding choreography. As Miranda Coney, the dancer who created the role of Clara the Ballerina, wrote ‘... to make costumes that made you feel beautiful through all that was a difficult feat. It was a real collaboration between designer, choreographer and dancer’.
And almost another ten years on we have Murphy’s Tivoli Ballet, choreographed on the dancers of both the AB and the SDC—a celebration of the vaudeville shows presented by the Tivoli circuit of theatres.
The chapter on Kristian’s work in film and television, now reverting to the 1980s, is truly an eye-opener—who would have thought that he could have created such settings and designs for such diverse productions as The Shiralee, Short Changed, The Dirtwater Dynasty, Vietnam, Sky Pirates and Undercover? This last-mentioned, in 1982, for instance, dealt with the story behind the Berlei undergarment business, and was set in the 1920s, utilizing locations such as Sydney’s Queen Victoria Building and George Street’s Regent Theatre. He undertook an immense amount of research—he drew on the catalogues and magazines of the era, the journal that the Burley family produced, and any related records of displays, parades and musical events. Towards the finale of Undercover Kristian really ‘went to town’ with his designs for a theatrical extravaganza, drawing on the Berlei Review for September 1926, with the garlanded tunics of the review’s Dance of the Sprites.
In 1983 the film The Magic Telescope—an extraordinarily innovative and imaginative body of work—but sadly these were drawings and models that never saw the light of day—let alone the light of a studio! But, mercifully, we do see some examples within this chapter entitled On Screen. The following year he was involved in a 13-part mini-series for television called The Maestro’s Company, aimed at introducing children to opera. In 1986 he was the designer for Vietnam, a film for Kennedy Miller Productions and Network Ten Australia. In fact the 1980s kept Kristian extremely busy, what with more than a dozen productions for ballet, nine plays and/or musicals, five operas and at least half a dozen film or television ventures—and no doubt many of these commissions overlapped, adding to an already weighty workload.
Also in the 80s Kristian was back designing for the Royal New Zealand Ballet Company: Titania Wakes, Orpheus, The Firebird Suite, Tell Me a Tale, A Servant of Two Masters, and for the company in 1985 his beloved Swan Lake. Particularly for the latter can one see the style of drawing that comes closest to showing every tiny costume detail, pearl and sequin, scrap of lace, trim and layer of fabric—designs executed initially in pencil and so delicately, so accurately. Little wonder that I find myself constantly searching for superlatives! We are regaled by Dr. Potter with many anecdotes, with memories and with insights.
The 1990s saw Kristian continuing with the Royal New Zealand Ballet Company and the Wellington City Opera, working with such professionals as Australian-born Harry Haythorne, New Zealanders Gray Veredon and Russell Kerr, and Jack Carter from the UK. Other productions elsewhere—George Ogilvie and English director Ian Judge—plus the ballets with Murphy and Australian-born Stanton Welch and the Houston Ballet.
Kristian and Gray Veredon, a choreographer who had trained at the Royal Ballet and whose sense of design absolutely accorded with that of Kristian’s, established a very strong collaborative bond. A Servant of Two Masters was one of the RNZB’s most successful and extensively toured productions. Within this particular chapter, New Zealand Impressions, there are pages and pages of photographs, costume designs and fabric samples.
Fredrikson and Veredon worked together on two operas, Faust and The Magic Flute, Gray both directed and choreographed the two productions and Kristian created, for the latter, some gorgeous, orientally-inspired designs. For Faust his creations were, as always, extremely original and highly dramatic.
Then, into the 1990s and a further four ballets for the New Zealand company. In addition, he was responsible for the costumes for the Opening Ceremony of the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. In 2001, the ballet A Christmas Carol, once again with the RNZB, and again with an entirely new take on The Nutcracker. This, in 2005, was to be his last NZ commission, but also within those last few years, he created designs for several plays, presented by Sydney companies, five ballets and in 2004 another opera, Norma, with Opera Australia, working with Ogilvie for what would prove to be their last project together.
With this final Nutcracker, Clara's tale was set in a hospital ward where she is suffering from concussion. Tragically, this ballet premiered just a few weeks before Fredrikson's death in November 2005. It was obvious throughout the whole design process he was experiencing much pain and that he did not have the strength to present the usual perfection, and ironic that his last ballet, or the last ballet of his that he would see, should be set within a hospital. There is no question, Kristian had lived his life entirely for his art.
Michelle Potter includes a chapter on ‘the design aesthetic’. She lists the influences and inspirations in Kristian's work, the designers—English, French and Italian, the books and a variety of publications. An astonishing amount of research, very often historical, went into every aspect of every production: he knew how costumes were constructed and what would work to transport every actor, singer or dancer into the character they were to inhabit. And before anything, he would make sure that he had incorporated the correct poses, the right movements, into his finished designs.
For Kristian, the 'ultimate ballet' had always been Swan Lake. For him this ballet encapsulated ‘some of my most important dreams’. For many, many years he regarded it as ‘not only one of the greatest ballets but also a designer’s pinnacle’. Over more than four decades he was involved, in a major design capacity, with five differing versions, with the AB and the RNZB, and finally the Houston Ballet's production, which premiered three months after Kristian's death. And, evident as always, outstanding designs and total involvement in all phases of the production—designs that obviously had been finalized months before.
KRISTIAN FREDRIKSON—Designer by Michelle Potter concludes with most comprehensive notes, lists of works, bibliography and index, and truly this book, lavishly illustrated and beautifully produced, is the most fitting tribute to an extraordinary individual, a designer non-pareil, a man who could transform mere silk and cotton, leather and linen, into the stuff of dreams, of nightmares, or indeed something way, way beyond both.
Kristian Fredrikson, Designer may be obtained from Melbourne Books, hardcopy, $59.95, https://www.melbournebooks.com.au/products/kristian-fredrikson or from all good book stores.
On Saturday, the 16th of November at The Channel, we had the opportunity to meet Vicki Fairfax, author of A Place Across the River, and to hear from the inside all about Arts Centre Melbourne (originally Victorian Arts Centre) and its development from an early 1940s vision to the opening, firstly, in November 1982 of the Concert Hall—Premier John Cain stepped aside to allow Rupert Hamer to officially open what is now known as Hamer Hall—and then two years later by that of the Arts Centre's Theatres Building by John Cain, Ken Myer (Chairman of the Arts Centre Trust) and Race Mathews (Minister for the Arts).
Vicki's late husband George was a founding father of the Centre, the Trust's General Manager and had been involved with the Arts Centre in many different capacities for well over a decade. The Arts Centre story tells of trials and tribulations, a reminder that the site could so easily have been turned over to less ambitious, more commercial enterprises.
So many people were involved—Keith Murdoch, composer Margaret Sutherland, Henry Bolte and Kenneth Myer, Rupert Hamer wearing three hats - those of Premier, Treasurer and Minister for the Arts—also John Cain, both father and son. Later more names—Eric Westbrook, Nugget Coombs, Roy Grounds, Martin Carlson, Frank Van Straten, and many, many more, too numerous to mention.
And on the design side, an absolutely top-notch team headed by theatre designer and art director extraordinaire, John Truscott. “What interiors you gave us,” so wrote The Age's John Lahey in 1984 at the launch of the Theatres Buildings. “Did you ever stop working on these magnificent buildings? Remember when you couldn't get enough money out of the Trust or the Government or somebody, and you looked at the paltry amount available and went ahead anyway, cutting your cloth to suit your purse, but cutting it in a way that nobody else could have done? I remember once you told me you were thinking of the future generations who would use these buildings. They will applaud.”
Vicki told us of the many problems confronting the architects, builders, engineers—for example the fact that beneath the proposed site of the Arts Centre the old course of the Yarra had run, rendering the ground extremely fluid and of inferior quality. This meant it was necessary to build the Concert Hall quite separately and not part of the Theatres Building. Vicki's wonderful book, published by Macmillan Art in 2002, is gloriously illustrated and is an absolute must for any library or collection, be it/they public or private. There is no way this short report can come anywhere near doing justice to Vicki and her utter triumph of a book.
In Saturday's audience at The Channel we were honoured to find Michael Hipkins, the Arts Centre's original Project Manager, and delighted that he could join us later and regale us with more tales and anecdotes relating to the Centre's creation.
The Director of ‘Reimagining Arts Centre Melbourne’, Chris King, followed Vicki. He spoke of major operations, changes, what is to come, what is expected, particularly since the development of Southbank, now home to 20,000 residents. Better access to the buildings—for starters—and those buildings upgraded, revitalized, additional gardens and a park, pedestrian spaces to link galleries, theatres and other arts organizations. A new entry pavilion is envisaged, along with greatly improved accessibility. The National Gallery Victoria will have a contemporary addition (what was once the Opera Australia building) and at 1 City Road the Australian Performing Arts Collection, finally, will have a home, although currently no funding exists for the project.
Respecting the heritage of the Arts Centre, recognizing the culture of the past—talks are being conducted with the original designers and architects; for instance Daryl McFall, the project architect who inherited Roy Ground's cloak. It was Daryl who solved so many problems that sometimes seemed insuperable.
Chris stressed that any images he was showing us were pure speculation only—as yet no design team has been appointed. “Imagine what John would have done!” could or should be the cry!
Questions for both speakers followed, regarding environmental impact, what, if any, changes to the spire, regrets were voiced over the loss of much of Sidney Nolan's Paradise Gardens, Truscott's beautifully appointed Vic Restaurant and the Treble Clef, Chris was asked how is it all to be done, and how long will it take? Ten years, bit by bit, was the answer to this last query, and beginning next October, the State Theatre will close for six months.
I think it is appropriate to add the line Vicki wrote at the conclusion of A Place Across the River, “The Victorian Arts Centre is poised and ready, as it always has been, to face yet another new beginning.”
Thanks to both Vicki and Chris for such an enlightening and inspiring afternoon.
With a beautifully presented selection of images, Dr. Caitlyn Lehmann—a cultural historian who specialises in ballet history, with particular expertise in the events of the 18th and 19th centuries—treated us to an inspiring and illuminating talk on ballet and balleticised performance at Astley's Circus.
Philip Astley (1742-1814) was an English equestrian, soldier and circus owner, and is regarded as the father of the modern circus. The circus industry traces its heritage to Astley's Amphitheatre, originally a riding school founded by Philip in London in 1768, where he and his wife Patty gave their trick-riding displays alongside other animal acts, acrobatics, and clowning.
Over the next forty years, the Astleys continuously expanded and improved their establishment, as well as rebuilding again and again after successive fires. The venue went through a variety of name changes from Astley’s Royal Grove to Astley's Amphitheatre of Arts. The Astleys went on to establish other permanent bases throughout the British Isles and Europe.
In the early 1780s, as Caitlyn has written, the success of ballets by Jean-George Noverre and the celebrity of the Vestris (father Gaetano and son Auguste) at London’s opera house inspired a wave of spoofs, satires and loving send-ups among the city’s theatrical establishments. Astley's Amphitheatre played its part by announcing an ‘astonishing’ new spectacle of dancing on horseback by John Astley, Philip and Patty's young son. John’s horseback dancing, comprising both ‘comic and serious dances’, was originally meant to lampoon the ballet, but instead became the mainstay of the Astley’s entertainments during the ensuing years, with John fusing physical athleticism to refinement, and introducing elegance into the motley milieu of circus. Over time, ballet itself also became a significant component of the circus’s offerings.
Fast-forwarding to the 1850s and Melbourne, Australia: in September 1854, London-born G. B. W. Lewis (1818-1906) opened his antipodean version of the famed Astley's Amphitheatre on the corner of Spring and Little Bourke Streets. The venue, owned by his business partner Thomas Mooney, was attached to the Mazeppa Hotel (named after the famous poem by Lord Byron) which encompassed shops and boasted ‘stablings for ten horses’ (The Argus, 22 September 1855). Lewis had left his home in Deal, Kent, and headed to Australia, like many performers, attracted by Victoria's Gold Rush and the thought of the inevitable audiences.
Although possessed of management, riding and gymnastic skills, Lewis was beset by ill luck and Melbourne’s Astley's Amphitheatre closed less than a year after opening. In 1855, George Selth Coppin (1819-1906), actor-manager and entrepreneur, leased the building as the Royal Amphitheatre, which, finally, became the Princess's Theatre two years later. Almost three decades later, the New Princess's, built in the fashionable French Renaissance style, replaced the original building.
Just last year—2018—there was a variety of events celebrating the 250th anniversary of Astley's first shows. These took place in London, Monte Carlo and around the United Kingdom with new plaques unveiled, monuments created, plays performed.
Caitlyn Lehmann has given papers at Oxford's New College, at Melbourne University, in Castlemaine and Dunedin; has written articles for London's Dancing Times, Dance Australia, and the Australian Ballet's magazines and programmes; contributed to a BBC documentary, curated exhibitions—the list goes on and on. To learn more about her please refer to her utterly intriguing website, www.vintagepointe.org.
Once again, it was very hard to tear ourselves away from the post-talk gathering conducted below The Channel in one of the Arts Centre's many cafe bars!
Grateful thanks are due to Dr. Caitlyn Lehmann, to Dr. Mimi Colligan and to Joshua Cowie and the Arts Centre staff.
Held at The Channel on Saturday, 15 June 2019