Steve Nallon offers a variety of lectures and talks on theatre history, comedy performance, myth and story, and musical theatre. Specifically, Steve’s lectures are by title ‘The Broadway Musical’, ‘The Stand-up Comedian’, ‘Farce Comedy and the Plays of Plautus’, ‘Myth and Story: PETER PAN’, ‘The Musical Theatre of George Gershwin’, ‘The Musical Theatre of Stephen Sondheim’, ‘What Makes Audiences Laugh?’, ‘The British Musical’, and ‘The Restoration Actor’.

The talks that Steve gives are based on his work as a Visiting Lecturer at the Drama Department at the University of Birmingham, his published writings in books and periodicals such as THE ILLUSTRATED ENCYCLOPEDIA OF MUSIC, THE NEW STATESMAN, SCRIPTWRITER, MUSICAL STAGES, as well as various broadcast columns written for BBC Radio Four. In recent years, Steve’s insights into comedy, theatre history, and performance traditions have proved very popular with cultural groups, societies, and festivals. His friendly and relaxed approach makes his lectures highly engaging, and his talks are always accessible to a wide audience.

Steve Nallon’s talk entitled ‘The Broadway Musical’ considers the idea of the American Dream and how it is presented and reflected in the Broadway musical theatre tradition. In the song “The American Dream” from MISS SAIGON, The Engineer is looking forward to a new life in the United States. He reels off a load of goodies that he believes America has to offer, ranging from “cars that have bars” to Fred Astaire, plastic surgery, and a suite in a posh hotel. The number is a utopian list song on the theme of the American Dream, or at least the American Dream as perceived by a pimp in Bangkok. The American Dream is the theme of American musical theatre. It is the essential binding ethos that makes an ‘American Musical’ distinctly ‘American’, even when it is written by a Frenchman (Boublil) and a Hungarian (Schonberg) in the case of MISS SAIGON. But in “The American Dream” we have the by-products of the ethos rather than its substance. To fully understand how and why the philosophy came about, Steve’s lecture goes back to America’s earliest dreamers – namely, the first settlers, Thomas Jefferson, and the founding fathers.

The talk gives a brief synopsis of this period. The first settlers – or the ‘Old Comers’, who were only later known as the ‘Pilgrim Fathers’ – came over on The Mayflower in 1620. These hundred or so colonists brought with them from Europe an essentially Calvinist tradition. At the heart of Calvinist belief is that to labour industriously is one of God’s commands. To these first settlers, thrift, efficiency and hard work were simply signs of an individual’s eternal salvation. To them, and their many descendants, to be prosperous was a mark of God’s favour. This belief in industrious endeavour is nowadays more commonly called the Protestant work ethic. It became, and still is, a guiding principle of the American Dream. The talk then offers Mister Snow from CAROUSEL as the personification of this hard-work-will-reap-rewards philosophy. In “When the Children are Asleep”, Mister Snow sings of the day when he’ll make enough money out of one little boat to put all of his money in another little boat so he can make twice as much out of two boats until he has a fleet, bringing in “more and more and more”. We have, as illustrated here, the first essential ingredient of America’s great dream ethos – in essence, commercial success.

The talk then develops some of the other ideas that gave root and birth to the ‘American Dream’. Over a hundred and fifty years after the first settlers arrived at Plymouth Rock, another early dreamer, Thomas Jefferson, wrote “all men are created equal and independent, [and] ... from that equal creation they derive rights inherent and inalienable, among which are the preservation of life, and liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” The phrase ‘the pursuit of happiness’ from The Declaration of Independence, signed on 4th July 1776, has become part of the American way of life. It is this idea that The Proprietor sings about in “Everybody’s Got the Right” from the Sondheim musical ASSASSINS – and that is “the right to be happy.” Happiness then, the talk argues, is the next essential ingredient of the American Dream. In “Happy Talk” from SOUTH PACIFIC the “talk” is about a boy and about a girl who, since they don’t even have a language in common, are clearly being encouraged to indulge in a more intimate connection than chitchat. As Bloody Mary, a would-be American not unlike The Engineer, repeatedly insists on saying, the boy and girl must “Keep talkin’ happy talk” because “if you don’t have a dream, / How you gonna have a dream come true?” Yet it isn’t as simple as that, for Bloody Mary’s true aim is for her and her daughter to go with the boy, a lieutenant in the US Navy, back to America. That’s the real dream.

Next, Steve’s lecture jumps fifteen years from 1776 to 1791, and the First Congress of the United States, where the first ten amendments to the Constitution (drafted by the Founding Fathers) were ratified and were adopted as a single unit known as The Bill of Rights. The Bill of Rights stresses the rights of the individual, such as free speech, the right of assembly, and protection against unreasonable searches. The famous ‘Fifth’ provides that no person shall be compelled to testify against himself. These points develop the right of all men to be ‘independent’ as set out in The Declaration of Independence. What we have here is an emphasis on the individual – the third main ingredient of the American Dream ethos. It is the stress on the individual rather than the collective that essentially distinguishes a Liberal philosophy from a Socialist philosophy. And the singularity of the ‘individual’ in show after show after show is one of the most distinct hallmarks of the American musical theatre genre.

The talk, having established some of the philosophical ideas, then moves on to examine how they are manifested and explored in American musical theatre. One observation is that the Broadway tradition loves original and strong minded characters – for example, the dominant and sometimes selfish character of Mama Rose in GYPSY, who sings that “Everything’s coming up roses / This time for me! For me! For me! For me! For me! FOR ME!” The lecture suggests that it isn’t so much that the American musical must provide ‘star parts’, but rather that musical theatre must reflect the ethos of an American way of life where the individual is expected to live his or her life to the full. Another example is Albin/Zaza in LA CAGE AUX FOLLES: “I am what I am, I am my own special creation.” A French setting maybe, but it is a distinctively American attitude in its celebration of individuality.

The talk suggests, though, that there is a darker side to this ‘American Dream’ ethos. Rose, in GYPSY, goes for the ‘Dream’, seemingly not for herself, but rather her daughter. On the way, Rose loses Herbie (“I still love you – but all the vows from here to doomsday...they couldn’t make you a wife”). The lecture argues that, in essence, the dramatic conflict of the ‘American Musical’ is the contradiction at the heart of the American Dream, for personal happiness and career success rarely walk hand in hand. What this means is that the dramatic dilemma of many shows becomes simply which of these two seemingly incompatible goals the individual should choose.

The talk then develops this idea with specific references to various shows. The happiness/success choice, for example, is most stark in the back-stage musical. Should it be “Marriage Type Love” (ME AND JULIET) or “You’re going out there a youngster, but you've got to come back a star!” (42ND STREET)? Fanny Brice in FUNNY GIRL and Annie Oakley in ANNIE GET YOUR GUN both must choose between a man and a career. Fanny loses the man, but ironically achieves great success by singing about losing her man in the torch song “My Man” (“All my life is just despair, but I don’t care”). Annie, in a shooting contest with her man, Frank Butler, is reminded by Sitting Bull of her own words: “You can’t get a man with a gun.” She then knowingly misses the four targets (to the underscoring of “You Can’t Get a Man With a Gun”) and concedes the match. But she at least wins her man and the show gains a happy ending. The talk also looks at some of the male leading roles in musical theatre, such as Pal Joey, Mack Sennett, and Phineas Taylor Barnum, where a woman’s affection was never likely to eclipse showbiz ambition. Indeed, it is this drive in PAL JOEY, MACK AND MABEL, and BARNUM that gives these musicals a hard edge, and, at least in the case of MACK AND MABEL, even a tragic dimension.

Steve’s lecture then looks at other shows which take a different approach. For example, DAMN YANKEES is a Faust story where the Devil turns a middle-aged Washington Senator’s fan Joe Boyd into a young baseball hero, Joe Hardy. But the Faust element has to compete with the love story. Although Joe is willing to sell his soul for the opportunity to be young again, an escape clause allows him to return to his wife, Meg. As the plot develops, ‘Joe Hardy’ returns to his wife as a lodger in what is, or was, his own home. “A Man Doesn’t Know” and “Near to You” both use the dramatic irony of this situation to explore the deep feelings of husband and wife. Joe learns that a man truly doesn’t know what he has until he loses it, and that nearness is not just about proximity but also intimacy and love. In the end, ‘Joe Hardy’ does once again become plain Joe Boyd and no enticement at all can break the renewed bond of love and happiness he has rediscovered with Meg. Other shows take a more cynical approach. HOW TO SUCCEED explores the American Dream ethos in that it promotes the ideal and yet mocks it at the same time. The hero, J. Pierrepoint Finch, climbs the ladder of success only to lose his girl Rosemary on the way up because of his obsession with work and his inattention towards her. Eventually they make up. She says she loves him for what he is and doesn’t care if he “gives away the whole company” – which, ironically, is exactly what Finch decides to do. In a strange plot twist, it seems as if Finch’s original goal of success is being displaced by love, but it is in fact just another ploy used by Finch to make himself even more successful – only this time the scheme goes wrong and Finch is ruined. In order to reverse his situation – and once again succeed – he reverses his own ethos and sings the praises of collectivism in “Brotherhood of Man”. As a result of this ideological somersault, success is gained in the form of Chairman of the Board, a post offered to Finch. However, before he accepts, he must first ask permission of his wife. The lecture suggests that this moment is very ambiguous and perhaps intentionally so. Is this a genuine moment of love coming before ambition or just another ploy to prove his sincere humanity and win favour with the boss? Whatever the case, Rosemary tells Finch she doesn’t care if he works in the mail room or if he’s President of the United States: “I love you,” she says. Finch asks her to say that again. She repeats the ‘I love you’. “No”, says Finch, “before that...” Here we have the ultimate symbol of the American Dream: the White House. As Billy Bigelow says of his “boy Bill”, he might be a “feller [who] sells you glue / Or President of the United States – That’d be all right, too.” Naturally, ‘Bill’ wouldn’t be President unless he desperately wanted to be. No Bill would.

The lecture suggests that the resolution of the American Dream dilemma has two basic categories. First, there is ‘the need-for-success-always-loses-out-to-personal-happiness’ category. Here the pursuit of ambition has its price and the price ranges across madness, death, despair, self-hatred, emptiness, self-delusion, bitterness, and loss. This can be seen in such shows as FOLLIES, SUNSET BOULEVARD, FUNNY GIRL, I CAN GET IT FOR YOU WHOLESALE, BARNUM, PAL JOEY, MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG, and MACK AND MABEL. Second, there is the ‘eventual-triumph-of-personal-values-and-happiness-over-the-push-for-success’ category. Here drive and aspiration give way to love or self-sacrifice. Such shows include ALLEGRO, OKLAHOMA!, GUYS AND DOLLS, THE MUSIC MAN, THE RINK, APPLAUSE, ANNIE GET YOUR GUN, DAMN YANKEES, and HELLO, DOLLY! where being a rich doctor, a cowboy, a gambler, a fraudulent salesman, an owner of a skating rink, an actress, a top shooter, a baseball hero, a millionaire with a cash register (“It’s a little lumpy but it rings”) all give way to love. Other musicals are also discussed in this context, including SHOW BOAT, LOVE LIFE, and A CHORUS LINE. SHOW BOAT traces the pursuit of happiness and of riches of Magnolia and Gaylord from the 1880s to the 1920s. LOVE LIFE, which does something similar to SHOW BOAT, except its time span, from 1791 to 1948, is the story of one couple’s trials and tribulations across the centuries. A CHORUS LINE, although set in one day, follows the lives of dancers in song order, from their early dreams at the ballet to leaving the theatre and dancers kissing their career goodbye. The talk observes that what also links these shows, apart from this trek across a whole life story, is some sort of a metaphor for a story never-ending. In SHOW BOAT, it is the river that keeps on rolling along and in A CHORUS LINE it is the chorus line itself which never stops. In LOVE LIFE, the couple never age, but there’s something else too, and that is the musical is in the form of a vaudeville show – and we all know ‘the show must go on.’

The talk concludes by looking at some contemporary musicals and how the ‘American Dream’ dilemma continues to be explored to this day, notably in RAGTIME, THE GREAT GATSBY, HAMILTON, and HADESTOWN.

Steve Nallon’s talk entitled ‘The Stand-up Comedian’ begins by looking at the characteristics that could be said to typify the stand-up comedy act. The stand-up comedian is usually alone (though, of course, there are also double acts and comedians who use stooges) and the act itself is usually self-contained. The manner of presentation is usually that of something that at least appears to be non-scripted, even if the routine is, in truth, well-rehearsed and repeated exactly word for word every night. The stand-up could be said to come from a storytelling tradition, where the performer directly addresses the audience. One difference here, however, is that the stand-up often has to deal with hecklers and so, on occasion, is expected to be interactive with them. The stand-up act, though usually self-contained, can sometimes become part of a larger performance – for instance, in a panto, or as a character that sometimes breaks ‘the fourth wall’ in comedies such as those by Aristophanes. Comedy double acts sometimes directly address the audience, but such acts are also known to perform sketches that keep the fourth wall. There have also been stand-ups such as Jimmy James, whose act was part patter and part sketch, and who also made use of stooges, thus defying all boundaries. The general point here is that the nature of stand-up is much more varied than might at first be imagined and that its theatrical nature and status is often in constant flux.

Next, the performance spaces of the comedian. Usually, the venue or playing area of the stand-up is a club, small theatre, or festival tent – and more often than not, simply a room above a pub. However, in recent years, very successful comedians have performed shows in large arenas. And because a stand-up must adapt to different performance spaces, Steve’s talk considers how the nature and size of a venue alter the character of a performance. The lecture then moves on to look at the makeup of the audience and how this influences the act itself. Audiences for stand-up can be highly diverse; unlike the audience for an actor in a theatre play, they sometimes consist entirely of a single social group. Examples include stag and hen nights, student gigs, and corporate business events. The point here is that certain types of audiences can give the stand-up a greater sense of freedom to say things and go further than they would with other groups. A basement gay club in London’s Soho offers a very different vibe from, say, an audience of IBM executives at the Savoy. In this context, the talk also considers the role of the end-of-the-pier show in widening the boundaries of what is acceptable in comedy performance. There is also a look at the tradition of Lear’s ‘all licensed fool’.

The lecture then considers the historical development of stand-up comedy, including the farce tradition of the Greek and Roman stage, the ‘front cloth’ patter comedian of the music hall and variety stage, the working men’s club circuit in the north, and, more recently, the ‘alternative cabaret’ format of the 1980s. It also looks at the huge commercial popularity of the stand-up today both on television and in theatres and even arenas. There’s then an examination of the historical place of ‘stand-up comedy’ in Shakespearean theatre, with explorations of the roles of the Fool in KING LEAR and the Jester in Twelfth Night, the difficulties involved in making incomprehensible jokes work in the Porter Scene in MACBETH, and the demands of the very physical comedy routines of the two Gobbos in THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Following on from this, Steve’s talk considers the types of stand-ups, briefly categorising them into those who say funny (the traditional gag man), those who do funny (comic characters and comedy magicians, for example), and those who are just funny by nature – that rare breed who, many would agree, includes Eric Morecambe, Spike Milligan, and Tommy Cooper.

Next, there’s an analysis of the concept of ‘comic timing’ – looking at comic rhythm and performance skills – and this is followed by a discussion of the importance of ‘comic perspective’ for a comedian. Some comic archetypes are looked at, for example, the innocent fool (Norman Wisdom or Emo Philips) and the precocious child (The Krankies, Jimmy Clitheroe). There is as well an examination of the attributes that are needed for a comic performer, the importance of the individual way of seeing the world and expressing those thoughts in language, the ability to captivate and communicate, the capacity to exist in the moment and be real and credible, even if playing a comic character. The talk then moves on to look at how the theatre often employs comedians as straight actors in plays, the benefits and advantages a comedian brings as well as the drawbacks. From the other perspective, there are the difficulties the straight actor faces performing the role of a stand-up, particularly in dramas recreating the lives of a comedian or those plays such as THE ENTERTAINER, THE SUNSHINE BOYS, COMEDIANS that feature stand-up routines.

Steve Nallon’s talk entitled ‘Greek Theatre’ examines the classical Greek theatre tradition, looking at staging, performance, and presentation. The lecture also considers the continuing influence of Greek theatre on modern drama and the way practitioners have to think creatively about how they would mount or present Greek plays of the classical era on the contemporary stage.

Steve begins his lecture with an examination of the role of theatre in Greek society. The plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes, all from what’s known as the classical period, are then examined, concentrating on dramatic and theatrical technique. Each dramatist had a distinct style, and lumping them all together is as foolish as putting Brecht and Coward in the same category simply because they wrote during the same period. There’s also a brief look at the works of Menander from later in the third-century BC. Theatre presentation in ancient Athens and the whole Attic region is then considered. Despite the accumulation of numerous theories, staging and theatre presentation in Greek drama remain a minefield of academic conjecture. Conflicting evidence is offered as a glimpse into just how much hard digging goes on – literally in the case of archaeology – in trying to understand how Greek theatre operated.

Steve’s talk next considers the role of theatre in the Greek world, or more specifically, Athenian society, as Athens in the classical era was the primary centre of theatre culture. The lecture looks at some of the major sociological issues raised by theatre historians in recent years, including the importance of the writer in developing democracy (the special role of the sophos), the dramatic presentation of women and slaves on the Athenian stage (when they had little or no voice in the rest of Attic society), and the so-called ‘peace plays’ of Aristophanes and the ‘anti-war’ plays of Euripides that were performed at a time when Athens was more or less continually in a state of declared or undeclared war with her neighbours or Persia.

Next, a discussion around the dramatic and theatrical techniques of the Athenian playwrights. Dramatic techniques include the nature of dramatic conflict, the way dramas borrowed from established mythical narratives, the use of irony, the repeated employment of certain story patterns, and so on. The section on theatrical techniques considers the use of silent or still characters on stage, the physical importance of certain properties (for example, the bow in PHILOCTETES), the meta-theatrical nature of Greek theatre, and the role of the chorus. The talk also takes a brief look at Aristotle’s POETICS. This part of Steve’s talk emphasises the way Aristotle puts the would-be dramatist at the centre of the process of ‘tragic making’ (a more literal and contextual translation of the term ‘Poetics’) rather than the ‘blueprint’ perspective that many critics have taken when considering POETICS. The lecture traces the influence of Aristotle’s so-called rules and devices on theatre and also the Christian absorption (or distortion?) of the importance of the Aristotelian concept of hamartia or ‘error’.

The talk concludes with general discussion on the influence of the classical period on theatre since Greek times – for example, how the conventions of the Greek Chorus have been absorbed into dramatic works and theatre presentations and how modern writers have written their own adaptations of classical Greek plays and legends, ranging from T.S. Eliot’s THE FAMILY REUNION to Sarah Kane’s PHAEDRA’S LOVE. Steve’s lecture then asks ‘How can Greek theatre work both in an ancient and modern context?’ The talk suggests that Greek plays can indeed be read as a potentially living pieces of theatre rather than being seen as just old dusty books fit only for a library.

Steve Nallon’s lecture ‘Myth and Story: Peter Pan’ begins by asking the question: “In J.M. Barrie’s play, why does Peter Pan come to the nursery window?” The visit is often well-remembered – it is to find his shadow. Yet that’s not the reason Peter repeatedly visits the Darling nursery. The reason, as he says himself, is “to hear stories.” And the idea of the need for story is one of the main themes of the lecture. The talk, however, makes the point that one of the main purposes of story and its telling seems to be lost on Peter himself; namely, they help us grow up.

Steve’s talk first takes a detailed look at what is meant by ‘myth’. One common concept of myth is the dramatic conflict of humans with the Gods and cosmic forces (the Homeric tradition of the epic saga, the ananke or destiny/fate at the heart of Greek theatre). A second common concept is as a legend or fantasy (the Arthurian myth, for example). Another is as the allegory of a theme (for example, the Frankenstein myth, representing scientific ideas that are out of balance with their moral implications). There are also recurring stories that, simply by their repetition in other forms, are spoken of as myths (Faust, Cinderella, Orpheus). Aside from the concept of myth as a story, the term has also become a byword for ‘an untruth’. The talk suggests that all these different ways of referring to myth make it a difficult term to pin down. For that reason, perhaps, muthos, the Greek word that gave us the term myth, is a better starting point.

Muthos, Steve suggests, could be said to be the collective story of humankind – the recurring Story of Our Life, My life, Her Life, His Life, and, most importantly, Your Life. Myth is simply all our lives told as One Story: The Story of Human Lives. This sense of ‘Oneness in the Many’ is perhaps why Joseph Campbell called his famous book on mythology THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES.

The talk then moves on to examine the idea of change through conflict in muthos. Most religious and civic ceremonies mark rites of passage in a public setting. And here there’s a link to muthos because our word theatre comes from the Greek word theatron, meaning ‘viewing place’. The point is that the medium of theatre offers the witnessing of change – and such transformations are the life-blood of story. The talk, then, suggests that the key to understanding any muthos is to ask, ‘What changes?’ Is the change from powerless to powerful (Faust)? From loss to gain and then from gain to loss (Orpheus)? From innocence to wisdom? (Candide)? From death to life (Frankenstein)? From rags to riches (Cinderella)? Each character goes on some kind of story journey. The drama takes us from the person they were to the person they become – and this is sometimes referred to as the ‘arc of the character’ or ‘the story arc’. Furthermore, these myths are so universal that they have given names to a whole family of stories across theatre, film, and literature. Think here of the Pygmalion Story – EDUCATING RITA, BORN YESTERDAY, A STAR IS BORN, MY FAIR LADY; The Faust Story – LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS, DAMN YANKEES, ANGEL HEART; The Orpheus Story – POINT OF DEPARTURE, BLACK ORPHEUS, VERTIGO; the Candide Story – PIPPIN, SCOOP, FORREST GUMP; the Cinderella Story – THE SOUND OF MUSIC, PRETTY WOMAN, A COUNTRY WIFE; the Romeo and Juliet Story – WEST SIDE STORY, KRAPP’S LAST TAPE, HAROLD AND MAUDE. This underlying myth in story theory is referred to as the ‘mythical infra-narrative’. The jargon is unfortunately clumsy – as jargon often is – but the idea behind it, as it were, is important in understanding the working of myth in drama. Prominent mythical infra-narratives are of interest to dramatists, psychologists, and anthropologists alike because they are the first structures of culture. When a new story uses an old myth as its basis – however disguised or dressed up in modern setting that myth may be – people will have a familiarity with it, and perhaps affinity for it, too.

The talk then returns to J.M. Barrie’s PETER PAN and points out that the subtitle of the play is ‘The Boy who Would Not Grow Up.’ Interestingly, the original title was going to be “The Boy who Could Not Grow Up,” but the altering of ‘could not’ to ‘would not’ – making it a conscious choice – gives the character of Peter Pan a weakness close to the concept of hamartia in tragedy, a concept that comes from archery and means ‘missing the mark’ or ‘falling short’. With Peter Pan, there is a sense that something within him is missing and he is out of joint, which leads him, some would say, to his tragic refusal to grow up and face maturity. Peter says, “No one is going to make me a man. I always want to be a little boy and have fun.” The stage direction of J.M. Barrie at this point is incredibly perceptive and important in truly understanding the character and the play: “So perhaps he thinks, but it is only his greatest pretend.” How exactly the actor reveals and expresses this is challenging.

Following on from this, Steve’s talk takes some time to discuss the psychology of Peter Pan. There is a scene in the play, rarely performed in modern versions, especially when presented as a Christmas story, where Wendy says that mothers leave their windows open for the return of their runaway children. Peter then explains that he once did go back to his own mother – but the window had been closed and another boy was sleeping in his bed. He calls it a “kind of pain”. PETER PAN may be a story about children, but, the talk argues, it is not exclusively for children.

The lecture continues by looking at some of the theories around the psychology of story, particularly the work of Bettelheim in USES OF ENCHANTMENT and Joseph Campbell in THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES. The talk discusses how muthos allows children – and indeed adults – to resolve conflicts in the real world through story. This section of Steve’s lecture also discusses the idea of a story or dramatic presentation needing a time for reflection and the importance of later processing the ideas. In dramatic theory, much ink and paper are spent analysing catharsis and the immediate emotional impact that is experienced during a play; however, of equal importance is that part of the play which stays with us and therefore needs processing. The talk also considers, at this point, the need, especially in children, for repeated viewing or telling of stories.

The lecture makes the observation that the enemy of muthos is the imposition of literalness that comes from an overactive rationalist perspective. The talks concludes with the thought that realism may be described as the illusion of truth, but muthos ultimately has the greater power in that myth is a truth discovered through illusion.

Steve Nallon’s talk entitled ‘The British Musical’ begins by pointing out that one of the most British of musicals was based on a play by an Irishman which had its origins in a Greek myth and which was then adapted into a musical by an Austrian composer, an American lyricist, and a German choreographer. The musical is, of course, MY FAIR LADY. Steve’s lecture suggests, then, that when we talk about ‘The British Musical’ the key question we should be asking is: ‘What is it exactly that we mean by “British”?’ A distinction is made, therefore, between a musical that is generically or creatively British – one that happens to be produced in Britain or written by a British writer – and a musical that has its values, conflicts, and character in the nature of British society. The talk considers both, but in the first section concentrates on what gives, as it were, ‘Britishness’ to a musical. And that, in a nutshell, is the British class system.

If MY FAIR LADY does have this ‘Britishness’, how do we go about defining exactly what that is? The word ‘British’ when applied to a musical is, perhaps, misleading because the geographical parameters are stretched far too wide. MY FAIR LADY is in no way Welsh, though Higgins does find the origins of Doolittle’s “natural gift of rhetoric” to be “the Welsh strain in him.” And the only thing that is said of the other two countries that make up the British Isles is that the speech patterns of “the Scotch and the Irish leave you close to tears.” The talk suggests that the Britishness of MY FAIR LADY is really to be found in its Englishness – or more specifically “the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue.” But Shaw’s obsession with the way the English speak, perfectly captured in ‘Why Can't the English?’, is only a means to an end. Higgins properly hits the nail right on the head when he sings “This verbal class distinction by now should be antique.” And it is this class distinction that is at the heart of MY FAIR LADY – and indeed the lifeblood of many British musicals. Think here of ME AND MY GIRL, OLIVER!, CHARLIE GIRL and HALF A SIXPENCE. Curiously, each – including MY FAIR LADY – has the same essential story blueprint, namely the classic ‘Cinderella’ formula. All follow the ‘rags-to-riches’ structure whereby the hero/heroine is removed from a low social status, raised to a higher social status which is then followed by a temporary return to the lower status before the higher status is once more achieved. The twist that makes each of these shows so characteristically British is that the status change in each case is from one social class to another. More importantly, each musical exploits, usually for comic purposes, the resulting incongruities and conflicts, whether they be different social mores or the contrasting political and economic situations of the two classes.

Steve’s talk goes on to argue that this is not what happens when American musicals make use of the ‘Cinderella’ myth. What distinguishes MY FAIR LADY from SWEET CHARITY is that in the British show it is the nature of the British class system that is the main focus of attention, and the central character in the tale represents an entire social class. In SWEET CHARITY, Charity is a prostitute, but she doesn’t represent a class as such in the way Eliza does in MY FAIR LADY. And if class conflict is what singles out the British musical, then in the Broadway musical it is the difficult balance between the pursuit of happiness and the reward of success and status. In short, the conflict that is at the heart of the American Dream – a theme discussed at length in Steve’s lecture on the Broadway musical.

The talk then examines class differences and conflicts as explored in the musical BLOOD BROTHERS and how they differ from those looked at so far. For example, BLOOD BROTHERS is unusual in that it is a musical with a tragic ending and, unlike so many previous British musicals, it is not a ‘Musical Comedy’. The boy doesn’t get the girl, and the role of the narrator owes far more to the German theatrical conventions of Bertolt Brecht than any British theatre tradition. Also, BLOOD BROTHERS has more of a British pop music sound – or more specifically, 1960s Brit pop as the world first experienced it in the distinctive Liverpool sound of The Beatles. ‘Marilyn Monroe’ has the kind of playful lyric that Lennon would have certainly enjoyed, and the tune has that occasional wistful quality you get in the more laid back of McCartney’s melodies. Steve’s talk then moves on to look at shows such as THE GOOD COMPANIONS, CAVALCADE, OH WHAT A LOVELY WAR!, THE BOYFRIEND, and THE HIRED MAN, all in the context of the British class structure.

It wouldn’t be possible to talk about the British musical without spending some time on the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Interestingly, many of Lloyd Webber’s shows have at their centre the psychology of the rejected outsider. Think here of JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT (1968), JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR (1970), EVITA (1976), CATS (1981), THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1986), SUNSET BOULEVARD (1993), WHISTLE DOWN THE WIND (1996), STEPHEN WARD (2013), and CINDERELLA (2021). Steve here considers the idea that the unrecognised outsider in these shows may reflect the personal psychology of Andrew Lloyd Webber himself. One of the wealthiest men in the theatre but with few accolades from the musical establishment.

Steve Nallon’s talk entitled ‘The Musical Theatre of George Gershwin’ begins with the man’s own words: “I want to be myself. My people are America. My time is today.” With nearly all the works of Gershwin – be it ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ or the song ‘Do-Do-Do’ – it is impossible to imagine how they could have been written before the year 1920 and the era of jazz. And the same can be said for his musical theatre shows such as STRIKE UP THE BAND, OH, KAY!, GIRL CRAZY and OF THEE I SING. Furthermore, it’s difficult to hear how any of these could have been written by anyone but an American. The point is the music of Gershwin has its roots in a new and vibrant urban world. Gershwin’s generation – including Kern, Berlin, Rodgers, and Arlen – was the generation that saw the Empire State Building being built floor by floor. Steve’s talk argues that the music of that time, especially that of George Gershwin, helped define and celebrate that emerging urban world.

The lecture gives a brief insight into some of the personal quirks and interests of George Gershwin, the man. He liked cream sodas and scotch highballs. He kept pets, particularly dogs. He read the moderns – Woolf and Hemingway – and collected modern art. He was a contemporary celebrity and appeared on an ad for Lucky Strike cigarettes. Next, Steve’s talk looks at his background. George Gershwin was born to Russian Jewish parents – ‘Gershovitz’ in those days – who left St. Petersburg in the 1890s. The name was changed to ‘Gershwine’ before finally becoming ‘Gershwin’. His father was involved in various businesses, including a bakery, a pool parlour, and a Turkish bath, none of which were that successful. His childhood was pretty normal for a boy growing up on the Lower East Side of New York – with street games and street fights. George was noted for having a competitive instinct and became the champion roller-skater of Seventh Street. His mother, Rose, bought a piano for his brother, Ira, and the family story was that when it arrived at their apartment – hoisted up via a pulley system – it was George who immediately sat down and played it. Secretly, he had been learning to play on a friend’s piano. Whether this actually happened or is apocryphal hardly matters – the point is that George had a natural talent for music.

The lecture then asks the general but important question, ‘Why was this second generation of American Jewish immigrants who gave us the Golden Age of American musical theatre?’ One theory sometimes put forward is that the cantor tradition of Jewish music – with its strong emphasis on melody – is an important factor, though that by itself does not explain its distinctive American feel. Another is that that generation of young composers absorbed the blues from the emerging jazz scene. Whatever the case, it’s important to note that Gershwin and his contemporaries didn’t hark back to the European operetta tradition, but instead embraced the sound of a new and confident urban America. The talk observes that like many teenagers George was drawn to music that annoyed his parents and which they didn’t understand. He liked Scott Joplin, Bessie Smith, jazz, the blues, and ragtime. Perhaps, though, the simple truth was that he had the gift, and as he said himself, “No one expected me to compose music. I just did it.” He had, as has been said, little training. “I’ve always had a sort of instinctive feel for tone combinations, and many chords that sound so modern in my orchestral compositions were set down without any particular attention to their theoretical structure.” It is the orchestral compositions that make Gershwin a unique figure, in that Kern, Rodgers, and Porter did not write for the concert stage. In this area, Gershwin was eager to learn theory but those whom he sought to teach him were sometimes worried that theory would dampen his natural talents.

The lecture next takes the opportunity to consider the early stages of his life, particularly his time on what became known as ‘Tin Pan Alley’. Writer Monroe H. Rosenfeld said that Twenty-Eighth Street, with its piano pluggers hammering away on sometimes untuned instruments, sounded like a lot of ‘striking pans’. Gershwin’s time working on Tin Pan Alley was a way to meet people in the industry. He became a rehearsal pianist, and then began to make song contributions to shows. He met and at one time wanted to work for Irving Berlin, who would create wonderful melodies on the piano but could not actually write music. Berlin, though, offered him the best advice and told George to “stick to writing your own songs, kid.” One such song was “Swanee”, which, when heard by Al Jolson, led to Gershwin writing songs for the famous GEORGE WHITE SCANDALS (it was said the difference between Ziegfeld and White was that Ziegfeld gloried the American girl whereas George White undressed her). Aside from the creative process, Gershwin’s time on Tin Pan Alley taught him about the business side of showbiz, the mechanics of putting on a show, and the need for constant revising and rewriting, all of which would come in handy in later years. During this time, though, one thing continued to puzzle his colleagues and that was his regular visits to recitals and concerts. But Gershwin was a man who loved the music of Debussy as much as that of Kern.

The lecture, having set up some of the background to Gershwin’s life, then looks in more detail at certain key works. The first is ‘Rhapsody in Blue’. Gershwin said he wanted to “experiment in modern music” at a time when American composers were not well represented on the concert stage. “In ‘Rhapsody’,” he said, “I tried to express our manner of living, the tempo of our modern life with its speed and chaos and vitality. I didn’t try to paint a definite descriptive picture in sound. Its assimilation of feeling rather than presenting specific scenes of American life in music.” Several versions and extracts are played in the lecture on the piece, but the 1927 recording is known for its playfulness, its rawness and, most notably, its speed and pace! In 1920 many people could indeed play ‘hot piano’, but, the talk suggests, only Gershwin could write ‘hot piano’ as part of a music score.

The lecture next moves on to look at George’s work with his brother Ira. Jazz musicians are said to often think of the lyrics as they play their instruments, and it is impossible in some ways to separate the music of George Gershwin from the lyrics of Ira Gershwin. Ira was a very different personality from his brother’s. He was a modest and unassuming man, but also one known for his meticulous attention to detail. Ira was well read – especially light verse and newspaper columns – and his lyrics are always noteworthy for their wryness and wistful whimsy. There’s no sense of bitterness or loneliness (compare Ira’s lyrics to those of his contemporary Lorenz Hart, whose songs expressed a sense of bitter regret and rejection). Ira’s style was simple, playful, and, as often as not, borrowed from a colloquial expression born of real life. In fact, he often found lyrics in the everyday, even in overheard conversations, as in the song ‘Nice Work If You Can Get It’. Nor were his lyrics written in perfect English. ‘I got rhythm’ is not exactly grammatically correct, but it’s certainly more fun and more effective than if it had been written and sung as ‘I have rhythm.’ Ira’s lyrics could, though, be witty in a subtle way. For example, he could write song lyrics that used the action of singing itself to make a point, as he does in ‘They Can’t Take that Away from Me’ where the song goes: “The way your smile just beams / The way you sing off key” – a phrase that is often sung intentionally off key. Ira was sometimes suggestive (“Do-Do-Do”) but never smutty – not for him the double entendres of Cole Porter. As George took his music from the sound of the city, in some ways Ira took his lyrics from the new emerging world and language around him. Ira was different, though, in that he was a planner who took days to come up with his lyrics, whereas George was far more instinctive. In their work together, it was George who always had the final say.

The talk next moves on to explore some of the characteristic aspects of George Gershwin’s music, such as the repeated notes, giving the music an urban and demanding active drive (‘Embraceable You’ – “come to papa, come to papa, do...”) and 2/4 rhythms (‘Of Thee I Sing’, ‘Strike Up the Band’). On a general note, there is a contrast to be made here with the music of Victor Herbert or Sigmund Romberg, and even Jerome Kern, in that, when they wrote a ballad, it more often than not stayed as written. However, Gershwin’s music was taken up by dance bands across the country and so became democratised in that his tunes were constantly played in different ways. It is interesting to note that, as has been said, George was interested in modern art (he was himself a talented painter) and he thought about his music in a similar manner. George said that for him, “Music was design, melody was line; harmony, colour.” And tonal colours are a key aspect of the Gershwin sound.

The talk next looks at some of the Broadway shows such as STRIKE UP THE BAND, OF THEE I SING and LET ’EM EAT CAKE. The lecture notes that there are fewer ‘standards’ in these shows than one might expect, but points out that the songs had to fit the plot (usually satirical and often bizarre). Many songs were written as short verses, sometimes without a chorus, and many were expositional in character. However, this is not the case with arguably Gershwin’s greatest theatrical masterpiece, PORGY AND BESS, which the lecture discusses in some detail, looking specifically at the origins and making of this twentieth century classic. The lecture then briefly looks at Gershwin’s experience in Hollywood – as it was famously put, “When you get there – there isn’t there.” The talk concludes with some general remarks on Gershwin’s legacy and his place in American music both on Broadway and on the concert stage.

Steve Nallon’s lecture ‘Farce Comedy and the Plays of Plautus’ looks at the essential elements of comic farce. The many plays of Plautus are discussed, but so too are other farce traditions and structures, both historical and contemporary

The talk briefly outlines some of the many theories of laughter – for example, surprise, abdication of moral responsibility, and incongruity – and the various components of comedy – for example, exaggeration, failure, and targets. Following on from this, the lecture specifically considers various aspects of comedy technique often used in farce, such as anticipation and expectations reversed. The examination of the way anticipation is built into a play’s structure looks at how farce comedy not only sets up certain moments that are then enjoyed in their pay-off and completion, but also how the genre often interrupts, transforms, and replaces those audience expectations in ways that result in surprise laughter. Following on from that, the talk spends some time looking at other farce techniques, such as identity substitutions, misuse of objects, intrigues and subterfuge, cruelty, humiliation and pain, juxtaposition of opposites, and character archetypes. The lecture stresses the importance of an ‘upside-down way of thinking’ when experiencing the world of farce, especially in those works of satirical writers, such as Joe Orton and Dario Fo. The talk goes on to illustrate the importance of planning in the building of a farce, and reflects, too, on the genre’s perceived heartlessness. In this context, there’s a discussion of the concept of ‘tragicomedy’, which is arguably the dominant form of comedy in contemporary theatre. However, the talk suggests that caring and sympathy are alien to farce, for it needs its sheer heartlessness to make it work – and it’s this aspect of farce which ultimately singles it out as the purest of all comic forms in drama.

Next, Steve’s lecture examines the history of farce. Its early roots can be found in the comedies of the Greek writer Aristophanes, yet there is, as well, a British tradition that comes from the knockabout comedy of certain scenes in Medieval Mystery plays. The talk considers, too, the more intellectual expression of the farce that’s inherent in some of the works of Oscar Wilde and Tom Stoppard, plus, from both the European and British tradition, The Theatre of the Absurd, including the plays of Ionesco, Genet, and N.F. Simpson.

Steve Nallon’s lecture entitled ‘The Musical Theatre of Stephen Sondheim’ concentrates on the theatrical presentation of his work. Specifically, the lecture looks in detail at the story structure traditions Sondheim works with and within which illustrate his command of the musical theatre form. In essence, what we’re talking about here is Sondheim’s ability to understand when, how, and where to place the right type of song at the right moment in a story that’s in the right style for that character. For example, Sondheim’s most famous song is a moment of self-revelation by a mature actress who suddenly finds love, yet the situation is impossible both for herself and her lover. The lyrics and tone of ‘Send in the Clowns’ are pitched perfectly for that individual character at that specific dramatic moment in the story. Musical theatre is, of course, a collaborative form, and when working with directors such as Hal Prince, choreographers like Michael Bennett, and especially the book writers – notably James Lapine, Arthur Laurents, Bert Shevelove, and Larry Gelbart – Sondheim was always at pains to stress the collaborative nature of his work and never forgot to give credit where credit was due.

Steve then makes some general remarks about story structures and traditions. Most dramas are told in the Aristotelian model of the linear narrative – that is, one that has a linear action with a discernible beginning, middle, and end. But there are other traditions. The Homeric tradition, for example, is more complex and geometric in shape, with a web of narrative lines and actions. Another point is that many stories are told as if there were some sort of design in life, a perceivable axis taking individuals in a particular direction, be it good or bad. Rarer are those stories which deny or take away that axis. Linked to this is the psychological philosophy a story relies upon. Most are Freudian in that they generally focus on a single cause at the heart of a psychological problem, with a parallel single action that solves the issue. A neat and simple approach. A more complex psychological philosophy is the Jungian perspective where there’s a myriad of competing elements that cause a problem and where there is no neat single ‘silver bullet’ solution. Another aspect of a story is whether it comes from the perspective of a ‘shame culture’ or a ‘guilt culture’. In a shame culture, what drives a character’s actions are the external values of a society, notably what other people think of them, whereas with a guilt culture, the emphasis is on inner belief, where it is the values one imposes on oneself that matter most. With these basic points established, the lecture then moves on to examine how they apply to the work of Stephen Sondheim.

The first show that is examined is GYPSY (lyrics by Sondheim, music by Jule Styne). GYPSY is a classic linear story with a single driving action. For example, in ‘Some People’ (the ‘I want song’ of the show), Mama Rose makes a declaration of her intent, and this happens early in the show. In classic Aristotelian terms, the action that is intended – making her daughter a star and controlling her career – results in the opposite, as her daughter eventually runs away from Rose and her obsessive behaviour. But Rose isn’t one to be defeated, and so transfers her action to her less talented second daughter, Louise. Louise, ironically, does become famous but for the wrong reason (stripping) – and when she does have success, she bars her mother from her dressing room. This conflict is followed by a classic moment of self-revelation from Mama Rose in the song ‘Rose’s Turn’, where she acknowledges everything she did was for herself: “For me! For me! For me! For ME!” The talk then compares the structure of GYPSY with that of COMPANY, a show that is far more geometric in shape as it was based on a play written as a series of short self-contained scenes. The linking character is Bobby, who seems almost passive with little drive and no perceivable intentional action in dramatic terms. In this type of story shape, Sondheim accomplishes something never before done in musical theatre and places the ‘I want song’, ‘Being Alive’, right at the end of the show, which in its way makes sense of the various scenes that preceded it.

GYPSY, too, could be said to be in the Freudian model of storytelling in that it is dealing with single drives, single causes, and single effects, where Rose’s actions directly lead to the counter action of her daughters. MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG is also a ‘cause and effect’ show, except that with this musical, because the show is told backwards, the audience experience it as ‘effect to cause’. The talk here notes that there is one Sondheim show (with book by James Lapine) that denies the cause-effect philosophy of life at all – and that is INTO THE WOODS. There is even a song about the inter-connectedness of cause, consequence, and fault in ‘Your Fault’. The talk also points out that INTO THE WOODS – a multi-narrative set of fairy stories using a Narrator – kills off the Narrator character thereby removing any overarching sense of a structure to the lives of the characters. The talk then develops the area of ‘shame’ and ‘guilt’ cultures and finds a recurring theme in Sondheim – especially in SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE and PASSION – and that is the predominance of the ‘guilt culture’ ethos.

Steve’s talk then moves on to take a look at another area of story presentation, namely the ‘realism-fantasy’ balance. Although musicals with people constantly bursting into song are clearly ‘unreal’, they are still purporting to be founded in the world of realism. The grit, the dirt, and the pain in LES MISERABLES, for example, tries to be as ‘real’ as it can. It’s true there are dream sequences in musicals (for example, OKLAHOMA!), but oddly enough, with some notable exceptions, there are few pure fantasy musicals, or indeed shows that depart too far from the ‘realist’ tradition. The talk then looks at several Sondheim shows in this context, particularly FOLLIES, ASSASSINS, and PACIFIC OVERTURES, where conceptual ideas are presented in non-realistic theatrical forms.

The lecture next presents the case made against Stephen Sondheim. Certain critics, for example, have argued that the musical is unable to sustain the sort of demands Sondheim makes upon it, both in terms ofthe expansion and stretching of the form and the choice of subject matter (assassinating United States Presidents or murdering people to put them into meat pies, for example). The lecture though argues that Sondheim doesn’t take the ‘musical form’ and impose content on it, but rather he takes the subject matter or the conceptual idea and then decides the form in which it should be presented. Here, the talk notes Sondheim’s often-repeated mantra that “Content dictates form.” The lecture concludes by observing that if the form didn’t exist, then Sondheim and his collaborators simply had no option but to invent it. And that is his, and their, great contribution to musical theatre.

In his talk ‘What Makes Audiences Laugh?’, Steve Nallon takes on one of the least addressed subjects in theatrical study, namely what is it that actually makes people laugh? Comedy is a dramatic and theatrical form that is endlessly analysed, but what comedy sets out to do – make people laugh – is rarely discussed. Indeed, the lecture suggests, there seems to be a pervading attitude of “never analyse funny”, as if seeking answers to “what makes audiences laugh” would in some way break the spell, suddenly make you unfunny and unable to get laughs. The talk discusses this attitude from the point of view of the comedy practitioner, be they performer or writer, and the theatre academic.

Steve’s lecture next spends some time looking at when, why, and where we first experienced laughter. The talk, for example, considers the experience of a baby learning to laugh as they play ‘Peek-a-boo!’. What becomes apparent is that the game contains some of the key aspects of laughter, namely surprise and relief, both of which are important in the comic form. The talk then moves on to look at our psychological experiences with laughter as toddlers, especially that moment when the toddler falls over and is encouraged to laugh rather than cry. The lecture discusses the importance of laughter to human bonding and the way the parent encourages the toddler to use laughter as a way of coping with pain, disappointment, and failure. Again, connections are made between the toddler experience and that in later life of the adult. Following on from that, Steve makes a distinction between laughing at someone and laughing with them. The next development addressed is the type of laughter that arises when a person sees one object in terms of another – the cloud in the sky that looks like a rabbit, for example. Again the child will laugh, and, again, a connection is made between this kind of laughter and that sophisticated and developed laughter that comes from recognising a concurrence or co-existence of ideas. Here, the lecture emphasises the cerebral nature of laughter, in that what generates the laughter are ideas being presented to the mind.

The talk then moves on to ask when we first laughed, from a historical and anthropological point of view. Here, the lecture suggests that this was probably linked to the sound early man made when it was established that danger from a threat was over, or wasn’t really a threat at all. Here, Steve offers a somewhat conjectural story of a caveman who first made a laugh-like noise following a close escape on an animal hunt. This type of laughter is known as the ‘False Alarm’. What’s also discussed in this section of the talk is the importance of a target for laughter. Included here are both the importance of social bonding and the hierarchical structures that allow certain status groups to laugh at those of a different status. It is also pointed out that in a Darwinian sense laughter has an evolutionary purpose and several theories are offered in this area.

Steve’s lecture next looks at some of the psychological theories of laughter, noting that it probably wasn’t until human beings started wearing clothes that people began to make jokes about nudists. A more general point is made here and it’s that what is hidden away is often that which comedy and laughter seeks to uncover. Freudian theory is also discussed, as is taboo humour and the laughter which results from the removal or abdication of moral responsibility.

Another reason why we laugh is the intellectual process the mind experiences in ‘getting the joke’. This area of the lecture considers particularly the importance of configuration and the effects that laughter can have on the mind when one is presented and challenged with alternate realities. The talk also analyses the concept of the ‘comic gap’, that is, the difference between what should be and what actually is. There is, as well, a look at the importance of laughter being involuntary. Here, the talk considers a medical case study of laughter and suggests that the very mechanism needed to create genuine laughter probably does not live in the part of the brain that controls conscious movement. Laughter, as with the startle reflex (the so-called ‘jump scare’), the orgasm, and the sneeze, is essentially an involuntary act. The lecture briefly considers here the types of laughter that are generated without comic stimulus, such as tickling and excitement from hyperventilation.

The lecture moves on to consider the comic performer and their relationship with the audience. The concept of comic timing is looked at, as is rhythm, pace, and dynamics. The session also addresses the performance space, audience size, and the physical connectedness of the crowd. The talk then reflects on the creative mind of the comic writer and comedian, alongside the practical skills and techniques of the storyteller.

“Analyzing humour is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it… The innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind. It won’t with stand much poking. It has a certain fragility, an evasiveness which one had best respect.” So wrote E.B. White, author of STUART LITTLE and CHARLOTTE’S WEB, in ‘The Saturday Review of Literature’ in 1941. The comedian and writer Barry Cryer put the idea more succinctly – “Analysing comedy is like dissecting a frog. Nobody laughs and the frog dies.” Anyway, despite this old adage that one should never try to deconstruct what is funny, Steve encourages the ongoing search into the nature of laughter and why we human beings make that strange noise... Ha! Ha! Ha!

Steve Nallon’s lecture entitled ‘The Restoration Actor’ begins with a look at Thomas Shadwell’s 1676 comedy THE VIRTUOSO and specifically the character of Sir Nicholas Gimcrack. In Restoration Comedy, names offer a key guide for the actor. ‘Gimcrack’ is a word that dates back to the fourteenth century and referred once to ornamental or inlaid work on wooden furniture, but by the seventeeth century had come to mean a showy kind of person. Anyway, before Sir Nicholas is revealed to the audience, Lady Gimcrack observes that “he has a frog in a bowl of water, tied with a pack-thread by the loins, which pack-thread Sir Nicholas holds in his teeth, upon lying upon his belly on a table – and as the frog strikes, he strikes and his swimming master stands by to tell him when he does well or ill”. A bizarre mental image. However, this is a typical technique of the genre in that, before we encounter a character, the audience is offered a detailed description of their physical nature, as well as how they speak and how they move – and in the case of Sir Nicholas Gimcrack it is as a frog. Not surprisingly, then, it is often a difficult task for the actor to match up to the audience’s expectations. And what makes this problem even harder is that the character’s physical disposition is usually revealed in an instant, for the entrances and discoveries are essential components of the theatricality of Restoration performance. In THE VIRTUOSO, Sir Nicholas is found dry swimming in the air. It should be explained here that Restoration theatre had side-wings in grooves and these could be quickly drawn to the side to create a sudden reveal. The challenges in this reveal for the actor playing Sir Nicholas are manifold. There’s the physicality of the swimming, and making it comic, while at the same time matching up to the showy nature of Gimcrack that his name suggests.

The talk goes on to explain that THE VIRTUOSO was a satire on The Royal Society, and its inventions and gadgets. Oddly enough, the the plays anticipates such as recorded sound and amplification, with references to a “speaking trumpet” and a “sten-to-phonical tube”. However, the main focus of the lecture is on the actor and the challenges faced. And here, the talk suggests that the swimming scene offers a sort of metaphorical warning to actors and the Restoration acting style. You see, the pay-off joke in the scene is that Sir Nicholas hates the water and is only interested in the “speculative part of swimming”. With this in mind, Steve argues that if contemporary actors think all they have to do is learn a series of arm movements and archaic gestures, many of which you can find in theatre history books, then they will totally miss the point of Restoration theatre. The actor who waves their arms about like a windmill, or, more importantly, puts on social manners without connecting themselves to their character’s sexual and emotional depths, will create a persona as empty and as pointless as a man who swims in the air. Be they gestures or manners of behaviour, the key point is that both are born out of a very real social world. And it’s following on from this observation that the talk introduces the idea of ‘Comedy of Manners’ theatre.

Comedy of manners is the theatre of social presentation. In comedy of manners theatre, it is how characters behave and interact in a social setting – especially when the conflicts involve sex and money – which is the essential focus of the drama. The point is real concerns hide behind the artifice of manners. and so the key to this theatre style in performance is, for the actor, to play the social codes in earnest but at the same time reveal the true concerns behind such manners. Social masks as revelation, if you will.

The two key requirements of the comedy of manners style for actors are first, to make real the artificial – meaning that the manners themselves must become integral to their characters in their social exchanges; and second, to make the artificial real – meaning that genuine concerns and wants, especially sexual needs, can be perceived behind that social behaviour. Manners may be a social artifice, but they must never appear unnatural to the characters, be presented as blatantly false, ‘put on’, and certain not ‘sent up’. In the works of certain writers, the social behaviour is theatrically heightened – for example, in THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST. Even so, the artifice must be real to the actor playing the character. The point is that, if an actor is not able to make the manners a natural part of his or her character or cannot reveal the reality of thought or sexual desire that lies behind such manners, then that actor will never be one suitable for comedy of manners performance.

Steve’s talk goes on to observe that comedy of manners, as a genre, has had various manifestations over the years. Restoration comedy of manners can arguably trace its origins back to Shakespeare’s MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, where how Beatrice and Benedick behave towards each other is the driving force of the comedy. However, seeing elements of comedy of manners in MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING highlights a central problem when looking at comedy of manners – which is that not all the play can be classified as ‘comedy of manners’ in style or form. The drama also features knockabout comedy and verbal repartee and, of course, a serious underlying threat of death, all of which make classification difficult. What can be fairly said is that the actors playing Beatrice and Benedick need to have an understanding of the comedy of manners acting style in order to make their scenes work. And historically, that’s a playing style which anticipates the Restoration stage.

Steve’s talk then moves on to look at the layout of the playing space of the Restoration period – which became known as the Playhouse – and how that playing space required particular performance techniques from the actor.

During the eighteen-year period of Cromwell’s Puritan regime (the Interregnum), soldiers pretty much got rid of every public theatre building. The closure of theatres began in 1642 with an Act of Parliament, and even stricter legislation was brought in by 1647. The Globe theatre, for example, was demolished in 1644 to make space for houses. However, theatre and public performance returned to England when King Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660. The problem was where to perform contemporary plays? One option was to adapt Tudor tennis courts, which were roofed and had upper galleries. The elevated side and rear galleries were adapted into boxes for the aristocracy, and the upper galleries were maintained for cheaper general seating. A sloping (or raked) stage was constructed in the old tennis courts, with a flat area left in front with benches for the audience. Such intimate theatre spaces could seat around four hundred.

Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre – also known as Duke’s Theatre – was a former tennis court on Portugal Street. It was the first public theatre to have moveable painted scenery, and this was achieved by a mechanical sliding wing and groove system. This innovation replaced static backdrops with layered sets that could change a location in a matter of seconds. Parallel wooden tracks were permanently attached to both the stage floor and the overhead framework. This meant that the ‘wings’ – what we today would call ‘flats’ – could slide back and forth extremely quickly. Multiple wings nested directly behind one another in these parallel grooves. To change a scene, the stage manager would give a signal (often a whistle) and the stagehands would pull the visible front panels out into the offstage area, instantly exposing a fresh set of pre-positioned painted panels directly behind, thus seamlessly shifting the audience from one scene to another. Settings in Restoration comedy were limited and were mainly the coffee house, the drawing room, the park, and, of course, the bedchamber. Stage furniture was minimal. The scene changes themselves were in full view of the audience, which gave Restoration plays in performance a sense of theatricality. There was also what was known as the ‘discovery area’, which was a recessed space upstage, behind the moveable painted shutters, that when pulled back revealed hidden tableaus. This allowed companies to stage ‘discovery scenes’, surprising the audience with a new setting and sometimes large props (the scene in THE VIRTUOSO where Sir Nicholas is found dry swimming in the air is a textbook example of a ‘discovery scene’). If the scene required, the actors downstage would then step into this area and join the performers who were revealed.

The Restoration playhouse also had the innovation of a proscenium arch and some proscenium arches had doors that led immediately onto the stage. The actor playing Horner in THE COUNTRY WIFE would have had the double task of reciting the prologue and then quickly exiting through the door and immediately re-entering as his character Horner. Actors also had the option of moving forward to the apron or forestage, the section of the theatre stage that extends beyond the proscenium arch. There are, in fact, numerous stage directions in Restoration plays such as ‘advance’ and ‘come forward’.

Lighting in the Restoration theatre was by daylight or tallow candles and oil lamps. Performances in the playhouses typically began at around 3:30pm or 4:00pm and extended into dusk, but they were not true late-night shows. As in the daylight performances of Shakespeare’s time, when a scene was set at night, candles would be brought on to establish the lateness of the hour. Darkness, or rather a dramatic setting of darkness, was useful for Restoration comedy, especially with its mistaken identities and intrigues. Indeed, part of the comedy came from the audience being able to see that which the characters could not. The other side of that equation was that the actors could see the whole audience.

What we have here, then, by the size, layout, structure, and mechanics of the theatre space itself, are actors in close proximity to their audience. Intimate, almost. Crucial for the actor, too, is an awareness of the ‘play acting’ involved in the performance. The actor would be complicit in accepting and indeed creating a sense of theatrical intimacy and connection with their audience. And it’s this aspect of the Restoration performance style that is so alien to actors in contemporary theatre, where audiences sit passively in the dark.

Steve’s talk then moves on to discuss the makeup of the late seventeenth-century audience. It is often imagined that Restoration audiences consisted mainly of aristocrats – be they princes, dukes or earls – plus a few buxom, voluptuous young ladies selling oranges. Well, that is the popular received image, anyway. Aristocrats, whores, and oranges may have been in good and continuous supply, but the truth is that there was a wide social audience for Restoration theatre. Certainly the Restoration audience would include nobility, but also professionals such as lawyers and doctors, gentlemen of leisure, as well as quite respectable women who went to the playhouse unaccompanied by men. The upper gallery would have been primarily for the servants, the middle gallery for the tradesmen, and the boxes for the royals and aristocrats. On the ground level was the Pit, where there would likely have been a cosmopolitan mixture of judges, wits, and whores. There was, it should be noted, a lack of decorum in the Restoration playhouse, with many going to the theatre to pick up prostitutes and leaving the play early to take advantage of such pleasures. It was not unknown for audiences to shout out, hiss, or boo, and even join the actors on stage. The implication of all this for Restoration actors was a theatre of constant movement and noise.

A point worth noting is that the social group who attended Restoration theatre was made up of what we might call today the ‘in crowd’. Many in the audience would have known those around them and quite possibly the actors on stage. If a line in the play was appropriate, it could be half addressed to that member of the audience for whom it was best suited. An apposite phrase could also be directed to a particular area of the theatre – for example, the boxes where royalty sat. The implications of all this are that the actor must not only know how to perform and act on the theatre stage, he or she must also know how to ‘work’ the whole theatre space and crowd. Restoration theatre was a very collective experience for both actor and playgoer. The talk points out that perhaps the downside of an appreciative audience was that it did not always lead to good acting. In FEMALE WITS, there is a scene with the authoress coaching her actors: “Dear Mrs Knight, in this speech, stamp as Queen Statira does, that always gets a clap – and when you have ended, run off, thus, as fast as you can!” In this anonymous 1696 Restoration satire, this is spoken by the playwright character Marsilia (a biting caricature of real-life author Mary de la Riviere Manley). The advice essentially parodies the rehearsal methods of the era, where actors are instructed on how to win audience approval using exaggerated, mechanical techniques.

The next section of the talk considers Restoration theatre costume. For the actor, the costume of course should never be a costume but an outfit worn by the character. Yet in Restoration times, clothes and the wearing of clothes were an essential part of a person’s presentation of himself or herself to the world. In this sense, the outfit is a conscious part of the character’s knowing outer presentation. A similar point is made about props. For the male actor, there was the sword, the hat, the mirror, and for the fop, there was the handkerchief. And each movement of these accessories or props became an external indication and manifestation of his state of mind. The actress had the fan, and the golden rule was that the one thing you should never do with your fan was use it simply to fan herself. As with the fop’s handkerchief, the fan would be used as an indication of mood. As Mirabell says of Millamant, “Here she comes, i’faith, full sail, with her fan spread and streamers out.” Millamant here is compared to a grand, majestic ship moving under full sail, capturing her dramatic, fashionable, and confident arrival. The fan, then, in Restoration theatre was used as a means of flirting, concealment, or displeasure – anything but the purpose for which it was made!

The talk then looks at some of the practical issues of Restoration theatre. During this period, there was no director. Perhaps, as there was minimal stage blocking, a director was not considered necessary. There was a degree of specialisation by actors, and writers were known to write specific roles for actors who had particular talents. The writing was in prose, though verse was used for the prologues. The prose was elongated, with complicated similes that are not always easy for the modern actor to make understood. And the style of the language is very specific. The actress Dame Edith Evans likened the rhythm of Restoration comedy to that of “a ball game with players tossing the ball back and forth – if a player muffed his catch or dropped it, the rhythm was shattered”. The acting style is not naturalistic. The Restoration style requires – and for the actor today still does require – vocal virtuosity and dexterity in pitch, tone, and range – and perhaps more so than any other form of theatre. There are other issues too. The stage aside in Restoration theatre is often misunderstood. The actor is not talking to himself, nor to the audience. It is rather that his spoken thoughts are for himself and happen to be heard by the audience. The difference is subtle but essential. The actors know they are performing, but that is not the same as knowing they are in a play. Restoration theatre was not what we’d call nowadays ‘meta-theatre’.

Steve concludes by saying that the Restoration acting style is one that, when it works well, is a hugely enjoyable theatrical experience for both actor and audience. The heightened awareness of its presentation can make Restoration theatre a unique and invigorating theatrical event.