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.
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
West Australian born Michael Pearce: actor, dancer, visual artist and designer for dance, drama and opera companies in Australia, New Zealand, Europe and Asia. Initially intending to be an actor, Michael commenced his studies under Wal Cherry in Adelaide. It was around this time that he met the impressive and inspiring Zora Semberova, a Flinders University Faculty member. In 1938 at the world premiere of the ballet Romeo and Juliet—with Sergei Prokofiev's score—she had danced the role of Juliet for a Czechoslovakian ballet company. (It was not until a year later that Galina Ulanova danced that same role, but in Leningrad and with a different choreographer.)
Michael began his professional career in 1972 as resident designer for the State Theatre Company of South Australia under the directorship of George Ogilvie—but not before taking to the stage in the role of a policeman in the Feydeau farce Cat among the Pigeons, directed by Ogilvie, in 1970. Anne Fraser was the designer and Michael became an assistant to her, and to Hugh Colman, the latter introducing him, a little further down the track, to Margaret Lasica's dance classes in Melbourne, having earlier attended Cheryl Stock's ‘Primitive’ series of dance classes in Adelaide. Michael was associated with designers Kristian Fredrikson, Richard Prins and Shaun Gurton, among others.
In 1976 he headed overseas to Europe, the United Kingdom and the United States where he had the good fortune to meet the legendary Marilyn Wood, a founding member of the Merce Cunningham Dance Company who went on to a ground-breaking career as a ‘choreographer of cities’, creating the first-ever site-specific performances.
Since returning home in 1978 to Australia, Michael has designed sets and costumes, dyed and hand-painted costumes, exhibited pastel and charcoal works on paper—in Australia and in Asia—undertaken Asialink Residencies, taught stage design at the Hanoi Academy of Theatre and Cinema, is a regular guest teacher at the Victoria College of Arts and was Artist-in-Residence in Hong Kong and Visiting Fellow at the West Australian Academy of Performing Arts. He was an original member and co-creator of the performance trio ‘Chrome’ which performed at festivals and events throughout Australia, Europe, Canada and the United States.
He has designed for Australian Dance Theatre, Sydney Dance Company, Netherlands Dans Theatre, New Zealand ballet companies, Dance North, The Australian Ballet, Vietnam Opera Ballet Theatre—for the Melbourne Theatre Company, Playbox, Nimrod, Sydney Theatre Company, South Australian Theatre Company, Hong Kong Arts Festival—the list goes on and on! He is the recipient of three Green Room Awards for best Dance Design.
Michael's talk ran in tandem with an exhibition of his pastel works on paper at 45Downstairs, ‘Unfolding’, which many of us were fortunate enough to see—and his talk also coincided with performances of the work ‘Unspoken Dialogues’, part of The Australian Ballet's New York season in May. He has designed nine works for the company and is a frequent collaborator with their resident choreographer Stephen Baynes.
We were delighted to be given the opportunity to view examples of his work—a slide-show, a costume or two, a set model—and once again we felt the hour was simply not long enough to take in all that he had achieved—and was still achieving. To remedy this, in nearby Bombini Buzz a group of us kept ‘Michael Pearce in Conversation’ for at least another hour!
Judy Leech concludes her look at the life and work of Australian scenic artist William Constable, with particular focus on his creations for the ballet stage and his designs for Edouard Borovansky’s company. Click here to read Part 1 of this article»
Nineteen fifty-one was to be an important and momentous year, being both the Centenary of Victoria and the Jubilee of the Commonwealth, and a year of the most extraordinary artistic achievements for William Constable!
In February, as part of these celebrations, the National Theatre Arts Festival Committee held a Theatre Arts Display in the Print Gallery of the then National Gallery in Swanston Street, Melbourne. The artist, teacher and stage designer John Rowell (brother of William and uncle to Kenneth) was appointed convenor and various items, equipment, costumes and designs were lent by the Myer Emporium, J.C. Williamson Ltd, the Ballet Guild and the Victorian and New South Wales Galleries. Puppeteer Don Nicol and Swinburne Art College lecturer Mrs Winter, and her students, created a puppet theatre, complete with performances.
Over one hundred items were exhibited, including those of John Brunton, W.R. Coleman, Phil Goatcher, Ann Church, J. Alan (George) Kenyon, Daryl and Norman Lindsay, John and Kenneth Rowell, Loudon Sainthill, George Upward—to name only a few—and, of course, Bill Constable.
Alan McCulloch (also represented) wrote an excellent and enlightening foreword entitled ‘Designing for Theatre’. ‘The year 1909,’ he wrote, ‘When Serge Diaghilev produced the first Russian ballets in Paris, marked the beginning of a new era in the art of designing for the stage.’1.
The Constable designs displayed were decors for Petrouchka, Aurora's Wedding and Scheherezade. A celebration indeed.
On the 6 April at Sydney's Empire Theatre the ballet Petrouchka was premiered. The choreography was by Borovansky, after Michel Fokine, with the music of Stravinsky, a ballet first presented to the world in 1911, at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris, by Serge Diaghilev's Russian Ballet. Forty years later, William Constable truly did the ballet justice. In the original 1951 programme Thomas Essington Breen wrote: ‘His work is exciting, imaginative and real theatre. While principally confined to the perceptual, Constable's decor is always at one with the dancing, the while commanding separate attention and yet fusing into the whole. When Constable appends a faded and forlorn-looking rose on the heart of Petrouchka, one respects his innovation. Constable says that the rose makes Petrouchka seem most pathetic—and I agree with him. Pursuits may consider this to be sacrilege, but, set in the subtle variations given by Constable to the costume, it is not.’2.
Breen was a journalist (plus a man of many passions and interests) on The Sydney Morning Herald where he covered his long-term loves, the ballet and the theatre. He had married the sculptor Charlotte ‘Bill’ Hart and her clay figurines of Petrouchka and other characters from the ballets were displayed in the foyer of the Empire.
Breen also wrote of Petrouchka that Constable's decor for the opening scene had ‘more theatre feeling’ than Benois' original which preserved the real appearance of a Russian Fair. And, again, of Constable's costume design for Petrouchka: ‘It shows a masterly conception of the character's profound tragedy. If anything, Constable has deepened this aspect of the character.’3.
In 1976 the late-lamented Ballet Victoria (originally Laurel Martyn's Ballet Guild) staged this ballet at the Palais in St Kilda and their sets were based on the original Alexandre Benois designs of 1911. Dennis Law was the Scenic and Property supervisor. Where are these designs now—where indeed are those of Benois? not to mention those of Constable?! But the Petrouchka of 1951 will long remain in the memories of many—the combination of Stravinsky's music, the Fokine based and inspired choreography and Constable's vividly imagined and executed sets (assisted by Michael Biddulph) and frankly, gorgeous costumes.
Opening scene from Petrouchka, 1951.
Australian Performing Arts Collection, Arts Centre Melbourne.
Scene from the one-act ballet La Boutique Fantasque, 1951.
Australian Performing Arts Collection, Arts Centre Melbourne.
Two weeks later, La Boutique Fantasque premiered in Sydney. The music was by Gioachino Rossini, arranged and orchestrated by Ottorino Respighi, and the choreography was by Leonide Massine, on which Borovansky based his. In fact Borovansky stole the show, time and time again, dancing the role of the bewildered and befuddled shopkeeper. In 1919, in the original Ballet Russe production, this role was played by the legendary Enrico Cecchetti.
This is a ballet that really should be re-staged—it is a delight from start to finish, although one should be prepared, very possibly, to be moved to tears by the sad plight—albeit temporary—of the two ‘can can’ dolls! Many a local ballet school has attempted to reproduce this ballet but what it requires is a fully professional re-creation, and as close to the original 1919 designs of Andre Derain as possible—or to those of Constable in 1951!
On the 4 May 1951, Aurora's Wedding (the final act of the full-length ballet, still in the planning stage, The Sleeping Princess) had its first performance at Sydney's Empire Theatre. Another magnificent backdrop by Constable, and a mere fourteen days later the premiere of The Outlaw, and Boro's second major work on an Australian theme, relating to episodes in the life of Ned Kelly, the country's (in)famous outlaw. Boro commissioned the music and worked closely with the composer Verdon Williams (the following year he was appointed Musical Director of the National Theatre Ballet), Clive Turnbull wrote the Prologue, and after hearing the story and the score, Constable set to work on both the sets and the costumes.
In this same year, on the first of June, there occurred one of the most important events of the season. A new work set to the music of Schumann, his Piano Quintet, Op. 44. The ballet Chiaroscuro was contemporary in all senses of the word. Choreographed by the Australian Dorothy Stevenson, a highly-regarded and stunningly beautiful dancer, for both the abstract decor and the costumes Constable made much use of shades of grey, and of yellow and white. Winding motifs were appliqued on the costumes, setting off the sensitively-lit and extremely striking ‘modern’ decor.
Drop curtain design for The Outlaw, 1951.
Photo by Barrie Avery, from Ballet in Australia by E.H. Pask.
Chiaroscuro in performance, 1951.
Photo by Hal Williamson, from Australia Dances by Brissenden & Glennon.
What with the preparations in 1951 for so many new ballets, the Paint Frame at Sydney's Theatre Royal would have been stretched to its limits, and this just happened to be the year that Paul Kathner commenced work in the painting department, thanks to Bill Constable and to a newly created vacancy, brought about by the departure of a staff member having been diagnosed with a form of colour-blindness. Paul had been working as an office boy at J.C. Williamson's in Sydney and had become curious about the painting of scenery, having avidly followed the ballet, from Kirsova's Company and the Ballet Rambert tour, through to Boro's.
Once again, I am greatly indebted to the words and findings of designer Rosemary Simons.
Paul, at sixteen, was now assistant to Bill—who headed the Scenic Art team—a team consisting of Rupert Browne and Irishman Tommy Moor. Daily, Paul had to arrive before Constable and prepare the paint and equipment, which included setting up the pallet—large movable tables for blending paint—assembling and positioning the required buckets of water, ensuring the glue-size was heated to the right consistency and making sure the primer, made from a combination of whiting, glue-size and water, was mixed and ready. This was an established daily routine for Paul although, generally, Bill was not a highly regimented person, in fact could be quite haphazard in his approach. Nevertheless, he taught Paul the craft of ‘getting a show on stage’.
Constable and Rupert Browne were the two most influential scenic art teachers in Paul's career—the former a graphic artist and serious painter and Browne, who had been formally trained and worked alongside Constable on many of the ballets. Paul spent a lot of time just watching Rupert paint. Bill painted his own designs and his scenic art style was often tailored to the needs of these designs—he invented techniques to suit. In those days it was common practice for designers to execute their own designs. Paul was greatly influenced and impressed by Bill's commitment to designing ballets while listening to the ballet's score, allowing time for the music to sink in. He maintained that a good ballet design was an exercise in ‘painting the music’.
Constable at work painting his own décor for Petrouchka, 1951.
Petrouchka souvenir programme.
The glue formula as discovered on the wall of the Paint Frame at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne.
Photo by Judy Leech.
Still in this same year, 1951, Paul, Rupert and Bill moved to Melbourne, to the King's Theatre, to work on Boro's Sleeping Princess. At this time the theatre, near the corner of Russell and Little Collins Streets, was principally a cinema, however scenic artists could hire the old paint frame located above the stage. Paul remembers it as a ‘lovely paint room’, bigger than either the Princess or Her Majesty's paint rooms, with skylights so large you could paint relying just on natural light.
On the first of December, Melbourne was treated to the premiere of a ballet by Paul Grinwis (Belgian dancer and choreographer who had, that same year, choreographed and created the decor and costumes for his interpretation of L'après-midi d'un faune) entitled Les Amants Éternels —The Eternal Lovers—(a story) telling of Romeo and Juliet united and awake in the after-life. Constable created a surrealistic and very dramatic decor in ochre and grey—shades of Dali and Loudon Sainthill! Set to Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet fantasy overture, this was the only original work that year to be included in further seasons, its final performance occurring in 1960, with a 1954 revision of the work by Grinwis, when the ballet gained in dramatic force and showed more clearly the struggle between Love and Death.
Scene from the one-act ballet Les Amants Eternels (The Eternal Lovers).
Australian Performing Arts Collection, Arts Centre Melbourne.
Scene from Act 1 of The Sleeping Princess, a ballet in three acts and a prologue.
Australian Performing Arts Collection, Arts Centre Melbourne.
Intended as a Christmas attraction, on the 22 December 1951, at Her Majesty's Theatre in Melbourne, the full length ballet The Sleeping Princess was presented and again, Constable was responsible for the designs. The ballet was first produced at the Mariinsky Theatre, St Petersburg, in January 1890, but was not seen by the west until a good thirty years later, when it appeared in London and was presented by Diaghilev's Ballet Russe.
Boro's ballet boasted three intervals and an astonishingly long list of cast members, including students from Madame Borovansky's Ballet School. According to many, the production, set in five scenes (with 300 costumes), was far too colourful and the costumes distractingly lavish, but according to the programme notes it was ‘the first production in Australia of the most spectacular ballet ever produced’.4.
How many assistants, over 1950-1951 would Constable have needed in order to create this staggering line-up of ballets? (It was not until 1960 and long after Bill had left Australia for the UK that Ross Turner—much later to found, along with Paul Kathner, the firm Scenic Studios—joined Williamson's and the staff of scenic artists and designers based at Her Majesty's Theatre's Paint Frame in Melbourne.)
Due to the sudden death of King George VI in 1952 the proposed Royal Visit by Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip was cancelled, which meant the cancellation also of a Royal Command Performance of the Borovansky Ballet. It was not until early 1954 that the company reformed (having been somewhat decimated in late 1952) and once again Constable's work was displayed upon the ballet stage, although in the interim he had been far from idle, producing glorious settings and costumes for four important opera companies, one of which happened to be the début performance of Joan Sutherland!
January 1954 saw Constable's fabulous designs for the ballet Symphonie Fantastique, with choreography by Kiril Vassilkovsky based on that of Leonide Massine. Vassilkovsky had danced here in the original Ballets Russes production in 1939-1940. Two months later Fokine's Prince Igor was presented, and in April the ballet Candide. In one of the company's 1954 programmes, Constable wrote ‘ballet is a blending of three arts ... a meeting of the poetry of movement, music and painting—a poem distilled of three arts and beyond the need of the spoken word’.5.
Set to Hector Berlioz's powerful and haunting score, for Symphonie Fantastique Constable produced surreal and strikingly macabre decors for the ballet's five scenes. They follow the drugged Musician's wandering mind where he imagines his Beloved, the woman whose image haunts him, has been transformed into the leader of a Witches' Sabbath. Constable presents a ballroom, a peaceful rural place, a landscape with spinning-top-like shapes and a further two settings. The Age reviewer wrote that the ballet ‘has many memorable moments. Among them are the vermilion and white ballroom scene with its swirling choreography; the idyllic pastoral scene and the leering, grotesque March to the Gallows, with its Daumier-like costumes and attitudes’.6. And the Melbourne Sun's reviewer: ‘Here is a company of more than 50 dancers of world standard, a symphony orchestra, and a lavish artistry of costume and decor which would receive acclaim in any country.’7. It was a hugely successful ballet according to many, but to others, not, it is reported, a completely satisfying production. It would really be something to see it reproduced, with reference to either these designs of Constable, or those of the original designer, Christian Bèrnard.
The Polovtsian Dances from the opera Prince Igor, by all accounts extremely colourful and energetically danced, was a ballet that actually brought about the reinstating of the male dancer. The wild barbarity of these dances (Fokine's choreography, reproduced by Vassilie Trunoff, another of the Ballets Russes dancers) had been enthusiastically welcomed, back in 1909, when Diaghilev's company first presented them. The ballet is an excerpt from the second act of the opera, by Aleksandr Borodin. The original backdrop, by Nicholas Roerich, and of which there are many records, revealed an empty, desolate landscape, in which were pitched the beehive tents of the Polovtsi, with the smoke from their camp-fires trailing across the sky. We can only imagine that Constable produced something similar and that Roerich's wonderfully textured and patterned costumes also inspired him.
Symphonie Fantastique: Constable’s design for the Second Movement, the ballroom, 1954.
Image from Australia Dances by Brissenden & Glennon.
A scene from the one-act ballet Prince Igor, featuring Eve King and Vassilie Trunoff, 1954.
Photo by Argus. Australian Performing Arts Collection, Arts Centre Melbourne.
For Candide—a ‘Farcical Ballet in One Act—A Parody by Kiril Vassilkovsky’—Constable made use of a screen for the Lovers and others to hide behind, a lovely light Rococo-inspired setting. The music, chosen from Rossini overtures, thoroughly matched the choreography and the telling of the tale, an adaptation from Voltaire, with a cast of characters that included Candide, Cunegonde, Paquette, Pangloss and The Baron. Bill designed the scenery, Jean Miotte the costumes. Miotte (1926-2016), was a French abstract painter, in the style known as l'abstraction lyrique. Born in Paris, he was greatly influenced and inspired by the Ballets Russes. Unfortunately, the ballet Candide was only moderately successful and did not remain long in the repertoire.
Now we come to 1955 and Les Presages—or, Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. In Paris in 1933 this ballet, choreographed by Leonide Massine, sparked a controversy worthy of the old Diaghilev Ballets Russes days, purely because it was danced to a symphony. Shock! Horror! Critics, musicians and angry balletomanes proclaimed that the use of a symphony for a theatrical dance work was sacrilegious. Simply—not on. Later, in London, leading British music critic Ernest Newman was overwhelmingly in favour ‘... the inner life of the work, as an organic piece of musical thinking, is not diminished but actually enhanced’.8.
In the Borovansky production, choreographed by Warsaw-born Yurek Shabelewski, the 1955 programme states: ‘The choreographic design of Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony is inspired by the composer's notes to his score which reflect his fatalistic nature and his fear of the inadequacy of man in the face of Fate.’9. The ballet is in four movements—Action, Love-Passion-Fate, Volatility and Conquest.
In Australia Dances, Michael Brissenden (with Keith Glennon) wrote: ‘The most effective feature of the production was William Constable's scenic design.’10. Edward Pask wrote that the ballet ‘was designed in splendid style by William Constable’.11.
Candide: page from Borovansky Ballet programme, Her Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne, April 1954.
Scene from Les Presages, featuring Kathleen Gorham, Jocelyn Vollmar & Royes Fernandez,1955.
Photo by Herald Sun. Jean Stewart Collection.
In November 1955 the ballet, Francesca da Rimini, by David Lichine and Henry Clifford, and choreographed by the former, was presented at Sydney's Empire Theatre. With music by Tchaikovsky this ballet was first performed by Colonel de Basil's company in 1937 at Covent Garden and was now restaged by Lichine for Boro, with all new sets and costumes by Constable. The ballet was in two scenes, and featured a huge castle doorway at the rear of the stage, to the left a throne on a dais, and to the right a row of pillared casements. The richly coloured costumes created an atmosphere of Renaissance luxury and decadence. The story is taken from the Fifth Canto of Dante's Inferno. Boro had created the role of the chief spy, Girolamo, in the original 1937 production. In 1955, Frank Salter danced this role—he went on to write Borovansky: the man who made Australian ballet, a biography published in 1980 by the Wildcat Press.
Also in 1954 Bill was involved, in a major capacity, in the production of the film Long John Silver (and later the TV series The Adventures of Long John Silver) at Pagewood Studios in Sydney. He was appointed Production Designer on what was to be the first Cinemascope film to be shot in Australia. For more on this period in his career please refer to Bob Hill and his article ‘The Strange and Wondrous Tale of Bill Constable and the Cinemascope Pirates of Pagewood’.
On the 17 February 1956, David Lichine presented the world premiere of Corrida, a Spanish ballet set to music of Scarlatti—a dramatic and violent tale of a great matador who is driven mad over a love obsession that goes horribly wrong. This remarkable setting, with strikingly colourful costumes, was Constable's—I have counted up to two dozen!—last design for the Borovansky Company.
Design for the two-scene ballet Francesca da Rimini, 1955.
National Gallery of Australia, © Estate of William Constable, NGA 73.625.
Design by Constable for the Spanish ballet Corrida, 1956.
Photo by Barrie Avery, from Ballet in Australia by E.H. Pask.
But by the end of 1955, and at the conclusion of his work in Sydney with the film and television studios, and the ballet, with Sophie his second wife, and their very young daughter Deirdre (Dee), Constable had left their Castlecrag home in Sydney and set off back to London. Over the next sixteen years old acquaintances and connections were renewed, much film work ensued—he worked on at least a dozen productions, including The Trials of Oscar Wilde, Dr Who & the Daleks and Lord Jim—and in 1959 the London Festival Ballet, now the English National Ballet, commissioned him to design sets and costumes for the ballet London Morning. The music and libretto were by Noel Coward and the choreography by Jack Carter. According to The Sphere, a London illustrated newspaper, ‘Coward was commissioned to write the work (performed at London's Festival Hall) which brings to the stage a number of London characters and types in what some purists regard more as dance revue than true ballet’.12.
The choreographer Jack Carter was to create, five years later, the ballet Agrionia, in which Joyce Graeme dominated. She had directed the National Theatre Ballet Company here in Melbourne from 1948 to 1951, having stayed on after the Ballet Rambert's tours in the 1940s. Clement Crisp wrote of her ‘a superb dance artist—her Myrtha (in the ballet Giselle) with Ballet Rambert still remains the best I ever expect to see’.13.
Back in Australia that year, 1959, two days after delivering his usual opening-night speech in Sydney at the first performance of a revival of The Sleeping Princess, Borovansky suffered a heart attack. Less than a week later in hospital, he died, shortly after suffering a second attack. On the 18 December his death was announced to the audience, after the company—both shocked and stricken with grief—had somehow managed to perform, to ‘carry on’. When Constable had met up with him in London the year before, he had found him aged, exhausted, and in a futile search for a new assistant, an ‘artistic controller’, having very recently lost his long-time personal assistant/stage manager Colleen Gough. He felt that he had been abandoned—by everyone. Their farewell was intensely distressing to Bill, and he realised that it really was, this time, goodbye.
Rough sketch for the ballet London Morning, Act 3, Buckingham Palace, 1959.
National Gallery of Australia, © Estate of William Constable, NGA 87.50.
Commemorative plaque for Edouard Borovansky.
Australian Ballet Centre, Melbourne.
In 1966 Constable was back in Australia, briefly, to design the sets and costumes for the Australian Opera's (now Opera Australia) Boris Goudonov. Sadly his sets were replaced three years later as they were thought to be ‘over-saturated with colour’.14.
But in 1973 Constable returned permanently to Australia. He worked briefly for J.C. Williamson and was asked to design the house curtain for Her Majesty's Theatre in Sydney, which, happily, was recently discovered in Adelaide and now hangs in the Queensland University of Technology Gardens Theatre. The original 1973 design depicts the muse of the theatre, instead of the rather obvious phoenix, rising from the ashes, flanked by candy-striped banners symbolising light entertainment and sombre ones symbolising opera and tragedy. This theatre had first burnt down in 1902 (having been built in 1887) and then again in 1970. Two other major works of Constable's, during the 1970s, were lost to fire or demolition.
A digression I feel must be made, in view of several recent articles dealing here with theatre design and ballet: very understandably, through J.C. Williamson's, Constable had become acquainted with Sir Frank and Lady Tait and their three daughters, Isla, Ann and Sally. Over the 1950s and later, when he had returned to Australia in the early 1970s (and after Frank Tait's death in 1965), Bill had become a real friend of the family. Ann, an artist (illustrator and doll-maker) in her own right, and because of their shared interests and passions, was most probably the one closest to him.
Principally Constable was now concentrating on painting, exhibiting extensively artwork and prints of Central Australia and the Great Barrier Reef. So many paintings, illustrations, set and costume designs for theatre, ballet, opera and film—his list of achievements is staggeringly long. In late 1987, and into 1988, the Performing Arts Museum (now Australian Performing Arts Collection) mounted an exhibition and celebrated his life and work as ‘one of Australia's most noted stage, film and television designers: a lifetime of achievement presented against an exciting insight into the development of the performing arts since the 1930s’.15.
When William Constable died, on the 22 August 1989, in Melbourne, you may be sure his easel, paints and brushes were not so very far from his side. His establishment of the stage designer as a profession is one of his many important legacies to us, and most particularly, as I hope I have somehow managed to convey here, to the world of ballet.
Alan Brissenden & Keith Glennon, Australia Dances: creating Australian dance 1945-1965, Wakefield Press, Kent Town, SA, 2010
Valerie Lawson, ‘The Birth of Symphonic Ballet’, 2007, https://dancelines.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Pages-from-Destiny-2007.pdf
Edward H. Pask, Ballet in Australia: the second act, 1940-1980, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1981
Frank Salter, Borovansky, the man who made Australian ballet, Wildcat Press, Sydney, 1980
Theatre Arts Display, National Theatre Arts Festival, Melbourne, Feb 1951, p. 2.
Frank Van Straten, ‘William Constable 1906-1989’, 2007, Live Performance Australia (website), https://www.liveperformance.com.au/halloffame/williamconstable1.html
Again, I am most indebted to the following:
Australian Performing Arts Collection, AusStage, Alan Brissenden, Deirdre Constable, Mimi Colligan, Claudia Funder, (the late) Keith Glennon, Bob Hill, Barry Kitcher, Joan Kerr, Elisabeth Kumm, Paul Kathner, (the late) Edward H. Pask, Michelle Potter, Simon Piening, Frank Salter, Olga Sedneva, Viola Ann Seddon, (the late) Jean Stewart, Rosemary Simons, Ross Turner, Frank Van Straten, and Pamela J. Zeplin Waite
William Constable’s career as a scenic artist spanned some sixty years, working for leading companies in Australia and Britain, but as Judy Leech explains, it was through his close association with Edouard Borovansky from 1940-1956, that he honed his craft.
What would the Reverend Archibald Henry Constable, rector of Bendigo's St John's Church of England, make of the fact that one of his housemaids, on her day off, had taken his four year-old son, William, to a performance of a play! The reverend gentleman deplored the theatre and he had forbidden his three sons to ever attend.
The young William recalled, not the play nor the actors, but the colours, the painted walls and doors of the settings—his first experience, or exposure to, scenic design. The year was 1910.
In his teens William received some training or guidance in water-colour painting from the artist Meta Townsend, wife of Reginald Sturgess. These two had both been students at the National Gallery Art School of Victoria from 1909 to 1914. It was not until 1926, at the age of twenty, when William's apprenticeship at the Jolimont Workshops was terminated, that he could commence full-time study at the National Gallery, which was followed by a move to the UK and a period spent at St Martin's School of Art in London. He found work as a graphic designer and became involved in experimental theatre: at theatres such as the Embassy, in Swiss Cottage, now home to the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. He was influenced by the modern school of stage design first introduced by the English designer Gordon Craig and the Swiss architect and theorist of stage lighting and design, Adolphe Appia. These experiences set his passion for life.
Returning to Australia in the early 1930s William Constable was engaged by Gregan McMahon to contribute his design expertise to the inaugural production of James Bridie's Jonah and the Whale at the newly opened Garrick Theatre in Melbourne.
Thus began a long and astonishingly varied career in scenic design, for the theatre a long, long list of plays and operas in Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Brisbane, New Zealand and the UK, for film and television both here and during the years he spent in London from 1955 to 1972. He illustrated books, produced paintings, prints and murals, his work was exhibited across Australia and England.
But the principal subject or aim of this article is to be Constable's design for the ballet, most notably for one particular ballet company here in Australia.
Constable acknowledged his formative experience with the McMahon company and later, his indebtedness to the three tours of the de Basil and Ballets Russes companies, from 1936 to 1941, visits that had an extraordinary impact upon designers for the stage, local artists, dancers and choreographers. At the conclusion of these tours, or a dancer's contract with a company, a number—around one dozen—preferred to remain in Australia, and for an understandable variety of reasons, given the current state of the world. A few endeavoured to set up schools or companies, others were to join forces with these new ventures. Edouard and Xenia Borovansky opened an Academy of Dance/Russian Ballet in Roma House in Elizabeth Street, Melbourne (Czechoslovakian born Edouard —originally Eduard Skrecek—met his future wife Xenia Smirnova when they were both members of Anna Pavlova's company), others, including Valentin Zeglovsky, were to join the soon-to-be-formed Borovansky Ballet Company.
Roma House, oil-painting by Daryl Lindsay.
Image from Borovansky Ballet in Australia and New Zealand by Norman MacGeorge
John Rowell's portrait of Edouard Borovansky.
Australian Ballet Collection
Constable met Borovansky through the photographer Eric Rowell when they both attended the 1939 opening of the Roma House Studio. This was the start of a creative partnership and friendship to last until Boro's untimely death in 1959.
Constable's early designs, Vltava, Pas Classique and Autumn Leaves in 1940 were for the Roma Studio's recitals to help raise money for war charity benefits, from 1939 through to 1943. His first professional dance commission was for En Saga in 1941, a ballet choreographed by Laurel Martyn (who had danced with Sadler’s Wells and Borovansky and was later to form Victoria's Ballet Guild) and performed at a Red Cross Gala in Melbourne University's Union Theatre. The ballet was, essentially, an expression of hatred and rebellion against war. With a Finnish poem as a basis, and with the music of Jean Sibelius—chosen from one of his Tone Poems—Constable created costumes inspired by the folk-dress of Finland against a bleak, windswept backcloth. The whole production was greatly admired—the principal dancers, the choreography, and most importantly, the design.
The following year, 1942, the newly-formed company presented Les Sylphides at the Princess Theatre—designs by Constable, no doubt following the usual romantic woodland-glade tradition. That same year, Harry Tatlock Miller, journalist, art critic and expert in paintings and antiques, assembled an exhibition of Australian art for ballet and theatre, which included work by Constable, Loudon Sainthill, Amie Kingston, Elaine Haxton, William Dobell, Daryl Lindsay—among others. Many of these artists had contributed designs for another ballet company, albeit a short-lived one, formed by the Sydney-based Hélène Kirsova, another one of the dancers who had ‘stayed behind’.
Ribbon Dancer from The Red Poppy ballet, never realised, c.1942.
Image from Present Day Art in Australia, edited by Sydney Ure Smith
Act 1, the ballet Giselle, 1943. Photo by Jean Stewart.
Image from Three Centuries of Ballet by Cornelius Conyn
In the early 1940s the dancer Valentin Zeglovsky, who had also chosen to remain in Australia, set up a school in a studio in the house in which he lived in Potts Point. He submitted patent applications to the relevant authorities for four ballets, one of which was The Red Poppy, a ballet first created for the Bolshoi in 1927 and the first Soviet ballet with a modern revolutionary theme. Who knows exactly what Zeglovsky had in mind—the original version had over sixty separate segments or divertissements! The most famous, and remembered, being the Russian Sailors' Dance. The music was by Reinhold Glière, the original choreography by Lev Laschiline and Vasily Tikhomirov.
There is no evidence of Zeglovsky's version, apart from Constable's beautifully rendered costume designs, shown here. A tragic waste! From Zeglovsky's autobiography, his Ballet Crusade, we know he danced in the original ballet with the Riga State Opera Company in 1929.
Design for Constable's Façade, 1942.
National Gallery of Australia, © Estate of William Constable, NGA 87.1940
Façade in performance, 1943. Photo by Jean Stewart.
National Library of Australia, PIC P348/BB/299 LOC Album 810/9
In 1943 the ballet Façade was to be presented by the Borovansky Ballet and with these designs Constable decided not to attempt to follow the lead of the London production at Sadler's Wells. When he began to prepare his designs, he had no knowledge of the score—he knew only the outline of the crazy plot. Once he had heard the music he scrapped all his designs and started over again. His keen musical sense dictated his designs—'you paint the music’ he was often quoted as saying. He considered the English costumes and decor far too literal and conventional for William Walton's marvellously ‘mad’ music.
The original Façade was first produced in July 1940 in London with sets and costumes by John Armstrong. The one-act ballet was freely adapted from poems by Edith Sitwell, but Walton's orchestral suite Façade was first used for a ballet by the German choreographer Gunter Hess, who created a series of six divertissements for his German Chamber Dance Theatre. First performed at the International Musical Festival in Siena in 1929 the Hess production inspired the Camargo Society (later to be known as Vic Wells, Sadler's Wells, and ultimately the Royal Ballet) to commission the English choreographer Frederick Ashton to create their own version.
George Upward, a scenic artist featured in previous THA articles, executed Façade’s scenery. He was well established as a designer and scenic artist with Kathleen Robinson and Alec Coppel's Minerva Theatre at Potts Point in Sydney when Constable, in 1941, was given his first commission for the play Mr Smart Guy. (Hélène Kirsova's 40-member ballet company had a six-week season at the Minerva Theatre in the same year, before relocating to His Majesty's Theatre in Melbourne.) Constable went on to create the designs, over the years, for at least two dozen productions at this theatre. Obviously, and as Scenic Director, he was under some form of contract with them as the scenery and costume designs for Façade were by courtesy of Robinson and Coppel's Whitehall Theatrical Productions. He would have used the company's paint-rooms and workshops at the Minerva Theatre, as Whitehall had held the lease since 1941, only vacating the premises in early 1950 when Metro Goldwyn Mayer purchased the building.
But for the most part, sets for Boro were constructed and cloths painted in Melbourne, in the dedicated areas behind His Majesty's Theatre in Cohen Place, once Brown's Lane.1. Constable, and Upward, called on the talents and expertise of scenic artists such as J. Alan (George) Kenyon and his son John, Rupert Browne, Cecil Newman and many, sadly un-named, assistants. Ballet programmes now, invariably, inform us where sets have been built, scenery painted, costumes created, and so on. Very few, back in the 40s and 50s, were so enlightening.
Constable and scale model of the Minerva Theatre stage, 1943/44.
Image from PIX Magazine, November 1944
The ballet Vltava, 1943.
Photo by Theon N. Mirfield.
In 1943 Constable created the designs for Vltava, a ballet he had first worked on during the studio recitals period. The music was written by Bedrich Smetana as part of a cycle of compositions entitled My Country (or Má Vlast). The ballet expresses the River Moldau, as it flows from its source to the sea, and old Bohemia with its legends, its castles, forests and plains.
Giselle, with very traditional decor and costumes by Constable, followed in 1944, and another exhibition of designs and drawings, created in connection with the company, was displayed in the foyers of the J.C. Williamson theatres. Constable again, along with Alan McCulloch, John Rowell, Daryl Lindsay, William Dargie and Len Annois. Also in 1944, Act 2 of Swan Lake was staged—designed by Constable.
The following year, 1945, would appear to be a year devoted to a formidable string of dramatic and comedic productions, predominantly in NSW for the Minerva, Independent and New Theatres, and for the Tivoli circuit.
Bill working on Terra Australis, 1946.
National Library of Australia, PIC P348/BB/251 LOC Drawer R6
The ballet Terra Australis, 1946.
National Gallery of Australia, © Estate of William Constable, NGA 87.1943
For the ballet Terra Australis, in 1946, Constable designed the decor for the Sydney version only. Eve Harris was responsible for the original Melbourne one and her design was criticised for its lack of depth. In the 1947 season Constable produced a new backdrop using a row of totem poles of diminishing height to create an illusion of greater depth. Terra Australis premiered in May 1946 and, as Boro's first work on an Australian theme, was considered his most important original creation. Based on a story by Tom Rothfield, the ballet was set to a score by Esther Rofe and told of the struggle between the white man, the Explorer as danced by Martin Rubinstein, and the Aboriginal (Vassilie Trunoff, late of the Ballets Russes), for the possession of Australia, represented by a young girl, as portrayed by Peggy Sager. Helen Ffrance created the role of the Earth.
The original costume designs by Leon Bakst for Diaghilev's 1910 production of Scheherazade in Paris had a considerable impact on fashion, French in particular, popularizing loose and flowing oriental-style garments. Obviously Constable used these designs, in 1946, as an inspiration—Edward H. Pask in his Ballet in Australia: the second act—claimed that ‘those of William Constable and Leon Bakst evoked a great deal more of the supposed sultry, mysterious and perfume-laden atmosphere than any subsequent production’. The photographs recording Boro's 1946 Scheherazade illustrate just how exotically dramatic and sumptuous the ballet was—if only there existed some film footage in colour!
Set design for the ballet Scheherazade, 1946.
National Gallery of Australia, © Estate of William Constable, NGA 87.1941
Scheherazade in performance, 1946. Photo by Jean Stewart.
Image in Three Centuries of Ballet by Cornelius Conyn
In this same year Constable was responsible for the designs for Coppélia and, thanks to Boro's wonderful characterisation as Dr Coppelius, and Edna Busse as Swanhilda, this ballet became a firm favourite of the company's repertoire. (In 1960 Kenneth Rowell was commissioned to create new designs for the ballet and in 1979 it was Kristian Fredrikson's opportunity.)
For the next two or three years Constable produced many designs for a variety of theatre companies, principally, again, in NSW. As financial assistance had been withdrawn from JCW, the ballet company had disbanded, but in August 1949 Boro's Educational Ballet Club was formed and programs were again presented at Roma House, even though a number of the dancers had headed for Europe or sought employment elsewhere in Australia.
The Black Swan, the second of Boro's Australiana ballets, was premiered at Roma House in September 1949 (but was fully and theatrically presented at the Empire Theatre in Sydney in June 1951). The story, set in three acts to the music of Jean Sibelius, tells of the 17th century visit to Western Australia by the explorer Captain Brandt of the Dutch East India Company. Of the decor and costumes the Age critic wrote: ‘William Constable's sets are superb: his design for the Black Swan's costume produced something ethereal and beautiful … However, more effective lighting on a larger stage would improve it [the set], but as it was presented last night the melancholy loneliness and wonder of an undiscovered land were not suggested’. No doubt with the re-staging of the ballet two years later these faults were rectified!
A newly re-formed Ballet Company assembled in late 1950, to commence rehearsals for a new season.
The ballet Coppélia, 1946.
Image from Australian Notes on the Ballet by Jean Garling
The ballet Black Swan, 1949.
Image in Three Centuries of Ballet by Cornelius Conyn
But earlier, in July 1950, Sydney was treated to the premiere of Rex Reid's Corroboree, choreographed for Melbourne's National Theatre Ballet Company, and to the world-acclaimed music of John Antill. It was built up from snatches of tunes of the indigenous people at La Perouse that Antill had heard and which had then taken him eight years to compose and complete as a score. The Sydney Morning Herald critic wrote, following the ballet's premiere on the 3 July 1950—‘Constable's decor, a rocky desert outcrop rising to a garish sky, is a masterpiece of theatre design’. And much later Olga Sedneva, writes: ‘… [he used] bold organic shapes, strong details, variation in textures and contrasting colours in set designs …’.2. He created a minimalistic composition that accurately translated to the desert of Central Australia to contrast with the night sky’.3. The ballet travelled to Perth and then to Melbourne in early 1951.
And, leaping ahead, in Sydney on 6 February 1954, a reworked version of Constable's set for Corroboree was the highlight of a royal gala for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. Beth Dean (originally from Denver, Colorado and a lecturer, choreographer, writer and critic) was commissioned to completely re-choreograph the ballet. Dean and her husband Victor Carell had made an extensive study of the music, legends and dance of the Australian Aborigines. A more authentic production of Corroboree was created as a consequence.
Original study for Corroboree, c.1950.
Image from Australian Notes on the Ballet by Jean Garling
The ballet Corroboree in performance, 1950.
Photo by Hal Williamson.
And how interesting it is to observe the progress and development of Constable's style, or styles, from those first designs for the studio through to those of Terra Australis, Scheherazade and Corroboree. The early ballet decors, somewhat two-dimensional, simply replicated what had gone before, with other companies, but soon the versatile and creative Constable was illuminating our stages by demonstrating his true artistic prowess!
Nineteen fifty-one was to be an important and momentous year, being both the Centenary of Victoria and the Jubilee of the Commonwealth, and a year of the most extraordinary artistic achievements for William Constable!
Cornelius Conyn, Three Centuries of Ballet, Elsevier Press, Houston, 1953
Jean Garling, Australian Notes on the Ballet, Legend Press, Sydney, 195-
Norman MacGeorge, Borovansky Ballet in Australia and New Zealand, F.W. Cheshire, Melbourne, 1946, available online, https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-498778442
Edward H. Pask, Ballet in Australia: the second act, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1982
PIX Magazine, vol. 14, no. 19, November 1944, available online, https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-449744968/view?sectionId=nla.obj-478973642&partId=nla.obj-449934804#page/n17/mode/1up
Sydney Ure Smith (editor), Present Day Art in Australia, Ure Smith, Sydney, 1943 & 1945
Valentin Zeglovsky, Ballet Crusade, Reed & Harris, Melbourne, 1943
I am indebted to:
Australian Performing Arts Collection, AusStage, Tom Breen, Alan Brissenden, Cornelius Conyn, Frederick W.L. Esch, Jean Garling, Bob Hill, John Hood, Joan Kerr, Barry Kitcher, Norman MacGeorge, Edward H. Pask, Michelle Potter, Frank Salter, Olga Sedneva, Jean Stewart, Frank Van Straten, Pamela J. Zeplin Waite, Kenneth Wilkinson, and Valentin Zeglovsky
Frank Van Straten’s new book, Her Majesty's Theatre, Melbourne: The Shows, The Stars, The Stories was launched in style at The Maj on Monday, the 26th of November 2018 as Judy Leech explains.
Having tripped lightly and fantastically along the obligatory red carpet, we proceeded into Her Majesty's foyer and upwards – to the accompaniment of Mr. Norman Camm on piano, surely a most fitting way to take the stairs to an already packed and effervescent Melba Foyer.
Fortified and invigorated by
"This French champagne,
So good for the brain",
we found many familiar faces to acknowledge; much mingling and networking ensued.
But then – let the show begin!
To start, a brief description of the order of events. Enter, stage left, Mr. Mike Walsh, "the man who saved The Maj", then Miss Nancye Hayes, joined later by the young Beau Woodbridge and Miss Donna Lee, and finally, and most importantly, the author himself Mr. Frank Van Straten. We saw projected images of the shows, we watched the stars, we heard the stories ...
Nancye spoke of Frank's magnificent new book (designed by Miss Jenny Zimmer) as a "treasure of a tome" and she regaled us with tales of the many productions she, and others such as Toni Lamond and Jill Perryman, had performed in, from My Fair Lady, and onwards – shows "that were the fabric of my early and extremely formative years" – How to Succeed in Business, Camelot, Hello Dolly, Pajama Game, Sweet Charity – to name just a few.
"But that was yesterday," Nancye said, "and this theatre is very much of today and the future." Beau Woodbridge then took the stage – "the young man who on the opening night of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was seen in the role of Jeremy". Beau spoke of this experience and also gave us "Waving through a window" (a song by Ben Platt, from the Broadway production Dear Evan Hansen), accompanied by Mr. Andrew Patterson on keyboard.
Interspersed throughout the presentation (produced by Mr. Peter A. Adams) were video clips and slides, and the recorded and illustrated words of Frank Van Straten.
Following Beau's segment Nancye spoke of "A powerhouse of a performer, Gloria Dawn was cast in the role of Mama Rose in Gypsy and what a performance as the stage mother from hell! Also in the cast was her very own daughter", Donna Lee, who gave us a delightful and energetic rendition of "Some People", a song first sung by Ethel Merman in 1959 – the lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, the music by Jule Styne.
With an inspiring speech Nancye Hayes launched Frank's stunningly impressive book –
"This book is important. It is more than a collection of people and stories and this wonderful building – it is, more importantly, about us – the way we were. The importance of history is that it allows us to take a good look at ourselves and is a permanent record of what made us laugh and cry and, as such, is a social history of us all. When Mike took over the theatre it had seen better days but thanks to his determination and generosity Her Majesty's Theatre Melbourne will continue well into the next century. Bravo Mr. Walsh!"
Donna and Beau treated us to one of Jule Styne's most memorable songs from Gypsy, "Wherever we go". Then, to the strains of Irving Berlin's "Let's go on with the show", it was time for the cast – Nancye, Mike, Frank, Donna, Beau and Andrew - to take their well-earned bows.
But, quite literally, this spectacular book must have the last word:
"It's great – ah it's great,
So grand! So grand!"
Indeed yes – and what a swell party it was!
With apologies to Cole Porter – and probably quite a few others …
Picture this: a structure sixteen metres high, sixteen metres long and four metres wide. Inside, and halfway up its height, a floor secured at each short end but with a gap along each long side. Into these two gaps are slotted wooden frames, with a system of pulleys, weights and winches, on which an expanse of canvas (and in earlier times, lengths of stitched-together Irish linen) would have been attached.
This basically is what a small group of us were privileged to inspect one Wednesday in July, led by Matthew Peckham, Manager, Production and Capital Works at Her Majesty's Theatre, and a recent and very welcome addition to the Theatre Heritage Australia committee.
The paint frame, in Cohen Place (once Brown’s Lane), the lane behind the theatre: how often we had read about this, speculated about it, had longed to be admitted to explore it for ourselves. And we had heard so much - and so very recently - about the paint frame from Paul Kathner and Ross Turner (at the launch of the Scene Books in May), both of whom worked here back in the 1960s and 1970s, right up until the demise of the J.C. Williamson conglomerate.
After the refurbishment by William Pitt and the re-opening and re-naming of the theatre in 1900 - from the 1886 Alexandra Theatre (architect Nahum Barnet) to Her Majesty’s Theatre - three new buildings were added to the rear of the theatre. In 1902 a scene dock, and in 1904 a three-storey dressing room, followed, in that same year, by the paint frame.
Over the years there has been much activity in this particular part of the city - Melbourne's "theatre land". Close by, what is now the Chinese Museum once housed storage facilities and workshops for set and props building, across the way a costume hire business operated (J.C. Williamson's) and upstairs a vast studio - the Sunroom - was used for daily ballet classes and as a rehearsal space for visiting companies. Where the statue of Dr Sun Yat Sen, founder of modern China, stands (note his two left feet!) an art gallery, the Munster Arms, once existed, along with several other shop-fronted dwellings.
A roller-door opened straight onto the downstairs, or bottom half, area. What immediately impressed was the height of the ceiling (eight metres) compared to the narrowness of the actual workroom, and the paint-stained, encrusted, dribbled and spattered walls, framed and criss-crossed with wooden beams and braces. (We were pleased to see much evidence of current usage - work-benches and tools, aluminium ladders, electrical equipment and what has obviously quite recently been installed, light fittings and wooden-beamed ceiling - this last placed at the halfway point of the sixteen metre wall.)
Around the walls, old shelves, benches and cupboards, all thickly caked with the paint, size and grime of "ages past". To our left three flights of steps led us to the top half of the "frame". This is where the gaps on either side could be viewed - a strange sensation as they had the effect of drawing you to them. In addition, the floor felt "sprung", although not in the 21st century sense of the term - and not advisable to put it to the test! Huge windows at either end of the space, the ones backing onto the rear of the theatre were blacked over, the others, facing west, were clear to the sky.
Across from the doorway to the stairs, a few steps led up to a series of small rooms - a "tea-room" that overlooks the Chinese Square. Stuck to the walls could be seen scraps of newsprint or scribbled names or numbers. On one surface there were curled and brown clippings from papers with the names of some of the artists who had worked within the building. These were headlines cut from various papers of the day.
Ross (Turner), Paul (Kathner), Hayden (Spencer), Bill (Constable), Peter (Pettit) - to name a few. A steep series of steps, ladder-like, led down to a little room below. None of us ventured to explore, though greatly tempted! Mysteriously, the floors of these various rooms no way corresponded to the floor of the upstairs work level …
No evidence now, of course, of any canvas, let alone one actually being worked on. Matthew told us how several artists painted at various levels at the same time, depending on the expertise one would be concerned with detail work such as foliage or architecture, others with skies, sea- or land-scapes. Paint at the top may well drip down onto those below: ideally sequences could be timed, for example a washy sky or background could be executed first up. The old brick walls also boast the odd diagram, a small sketch or trial of an effect or pattern - the walls are mesmerizing, you could examine them inch by inch and create story after story.
The following has been generously provided by designer Rosemary Simons, who takes up the story. Towards the end of the 1950s, Ross Turner, later to found, along with Paul Kathner, Melbourne's Scenic Studios, was taken by Jack Coleman, a member of the famous theatrical Coleman family, to visit the paint frame at Her Majesty's Theatre. At the time, both Jack and Ross were working at GTV Channel 9. It was on this visit to this historic building that Ross met the scenic artist Cecil Newman.
When Cecil Newman died, not very long after this visit, a vacancy was created in the JCW scenic art department. Jack Coleman was a close personal friend of George Kenyon, and the head scenic artist. William R. Coleman (1863-1932) had trained George Kenyon along with Dresford Hardingham and George Upward. In this way scenic art techniques had been passed down for many generations. Not only were these people scenic artists, they were also stage designers. At the start of the 20th century this became less the case in other parts of the world: however Australia did not follow suit until the period between the two world wars. That is the time when many scenic artists' design activities lessened and they instead became the interpreters of specialist stage designers' ideas.
George Kenyon, aka John Alan Kenyon (his birth name), was born in London in 1898 and arrived in Australia after the First World War. A stylish dresser and an ex-Navy man, he took great pride in his formal scenic art training, inclining him to be somewhat dismissive of those who had not been similarly trained. In Ross Turner's view, George's designs might not have been artistically brilliant but were technically so. Kenneth Rowell's designs, on the other hand, might not have been technically brilliant but were artistically so/ were the reverse. This transition from the old school to the new, in stage design and scenic art, was an important period in theatre: George typified the old school and Ross, later joined by Paul Kathner, represented the new.
Paul was working in Sydney under and for William (Bill) Constable and the avant-guard designers and directors at the independent theatres. JCW, meanwhile, imported a lot of their designs (but nevertheless took a huge gamble in commissioning John Truscott to design sets and costumes for the production Camelot).
Rupert Browne worked mainly as a freelance scenic artist but had been resident scenic artist at the Palais Theatre in St. Kilda, around the 1930s. Dresford Hardingham was similarly placed at the Princess. By the 1960s, Rupert (freelancing still) and Dres did not have constant commitments to productions and they were both often free to work at Her Majesty's paint frame - when extra "hands" were required. Both being close to retirement, they were keen to pass their knowledge on - first to Ross and subsequently to Paul.
The scenic artists before Ross and Paul's generation were so competitive: they had portions of the backdrop to paint, as if there was an invisible line between each artist's section. The master painter had to come in and link all the sections together at the end. Even if they all had similar training, they each had their own theories and styles. When Ross and Paul were painting and Dres and Rupert came and gave advice, they often contradicted each other. At times the pressure was such that, if, for instance, Dres was approaching to examine your work, you made sure you painted along the lines of their respective styles.
When Ross Turner joined JCW in Melbourne the painting staff at Her Majesty's consisted of George Kenyon, his son John, and the "splodger" (scenic artist assistant or labourer) Wilson Browne who, according to Ross, was "a diligent old Scotsman who took upon himself the task to be in charge of every teaspoon of material within the paint frame".
The paint department worked out of the paint frame, which was specially constructed in the English tradition. It was very tall, twice the height of a backcloth, but not very wide, owing to real-estate constraints. Roughly, the room had the scaled-down proportions of an English cathedral. Traditionally it would have had skylights with canvas blinds to block out direct light, however these had been removed in the re-roofing of the building.
Down the centre of the room were two long pallets sitting back to back, large movable tables for blending paint before applying it with brushes to the backcloth. At one end of the pallets was a large box for brushes, and at the opposite end, a working table. At the end closest to the door were the gas jets for heating up the glue size. The whole room smelt of that glue. There were rows of shelves containing ceramic chamber pots, individually marked with hand-written labels and each containing a pre-mixed colour pigment. Collectively they represented the traditional range of scenic art pigments.
On the landing at the top of the stairs, there was an old lead-lined sink. On the walls of the staircase climbing up to the painting level, hung hundreds of stencils of wallpaper patterns, architectural details and frieze decorations. The stencils were painstakingly drawn and cut out of heavy oiled brown paper. They were cut between shows, when the paint room was quiet, then added to the stock. Also stored were old square kerosene tins of dried pigment, each carrying a rather flamboyant handwritten label, and ceramic demijohns - which was how the pigments arrived, when imported during the years prior to the First World War.
The hand winches for the paint frame, looking like remnants from old sailing ships, were used for raising and lowering backcloths which had been attached. When you needed a new cloth to be attached, you called in the head mechanist and he arrived with a team to load the frame with this new one. Not that long before Ross Turner started at the paint frame, arrangements were so formal that paint staff were ushered into the office and the door closed, to make sure the painters were kept separate from the backstage labourers. In the theatre hierarchy of that time, the paint room staff were considered superior to the back-stage crew, in fact the head scenic artist was the most highly paid person on the theatre staff - possibly earning more than some of the performers.
Paint frame smells were quite distinctive and they struck you as soon as you entered the space. The main smell was from the glue, which was made from rabbit skins. This same aroma wafted out over the audience on opening night as the curtain rose, but slightly reduced in intensity over time. The toilet, a fixture dating from the time when Melbourne was first sewered, was beneath the staircase. This tiny closed room was shared with the gas meter, creating quite a cocktail of odours.
In Melbourne's cold winter weather, the paint frame was very drafty and utterly impossible to heat. At the height of summer, due to the high ceiling, it was far more bearable. The floor was mopped regularly - three or four times a week. The pallets were washed every day. Every morning, each pot on the pallet was given a good stir. If a new colour was needed, it had to be mixed up from the dry pigments.
Despite this cleaning regime, the paint frame was less than ideal as a work-space, but appealing, since it was so very steeped in tradition. Work clothes varied: Ross worked in a white boiler-suit, a legacy of his Channel 9 days, others wore a mixture of old garments, but when they left the paint room, they were encouraged to wear collar and tie. To work in, George Kenyon favoured a smock over his suit - he often wore a bow-tie.
But to return to the present, or to be more precise, early July 2018. Something I found later, on viewing the photographs taken: over and over again the rooms' painted walls gave an effect of ghostliness as if all those layers of paint, glue and the years of dust had built up a sort of ethereal presence. See for yourselves! I was seeing shadows where there should have been none …
Matthew gave us so much expert information and technical details that all of us left, eventually, bent on researching and reading up on as much as we could find on this grand old lady, Her Majesty's Theatre, and in particular, her beguiling paint frame and those who worked within its high and intriguing walls.
Claudia Funder, APAC
National Film & Sound Archive