A Limited Utopia

TOO MANY judgemental errors mar the Harvard Gilbert and Sullivan Players fall production at the Agassiz Theatre. Their poor choice of opera, lackadaisical musical and dramatic staging, and inconsistent performing spoil the fun for everyone. Even G&S aficionados who ordinarily revel in riproarious productions of favorites like The Mikado and the H.M.S. Pinafore--will have a hard time sitting through this long and uninspired production of Utopia Limited or Flowers of Progress. We watch the operetta wilt before our eyes.

The root of the problem lies with the operetta itself. The Harvard group would have been wise to follow the example of other G&S troupes, which seldom if ever mount this little-known work by the famous duo. As a matter of fact, the story of the colonization of Utopia and its incorporation into Utopia Limited borders on the inane and tedious. Not only do the lyrics and score lack the crisp wit and euphonic melodies that characterize most G&S operettas, but also most of the satire falls flat in front of an American audience. It isn't until late in the first act that we realize that much of the banter mocks an obscure British act of 1862. Not even an English audience would easily recall the law which enabled individuals to call themselves companies when declaring backruptcy. And yet the plot centers on what happens when English mercantilists try to make Utopia into a company limited.

During the course of the evening, we watch the despotic but disorganized King Paramount learn the English version of monarchy. Traipsing around on stage with him are the highly malleable citizens of Utopia, two sycophantic advisors, six stereotypic Englishmen, and three slightly dizzy princesses, the eldest of whom has just returned from finishing school in England. Most of the characters overflow with superfluous emotions that only serve to complicate the already too-intricate plot.

If and when a G&S company does decide to produce Utopia it should do a little cutting beforehand: two-and-a-half hours of this circuitous fluff could put even the most hyperactive of audience members to sleep. Not only is the production hampered by its length, but also most of the staging proves too distracting for the weak company to support. Noticeably lacking are introductory overtures before either of the acts. Ordinarily such music helps the audience enter into a nineteenth-century frame of mind. Instead, after a brief warm-up, the opera begins with a riotous choral entrance.

Although the script calls for a chorus of ignorant, bumbling natives, one doubts either Gilbert or Sullivan had scantily-clad, partying savages in mind. The entire chorus seems a bit disorganized; its members focus too much on their props--assorted alcoholic beverages and pipes--rather than the precision of their movements or the enunciation of lines. This misplaced focus on externals extends to the set designing. Although the set is aesthetically appealing and constructed with a lowering drawbridge, actors spend too much time moving props and pieces of the set around. Usually, one set suffices for an entire act.

MUCH of the fun in G&S stems from the subtlety with which Gilbert carries off naughty innuendos. Yet while the scripts are not excessively prudish, they are firmly rooted in the Victorian age. Too much flesh and physical contact--whether sexual or violent--clashes with the authors' original intentions. Consequently, the interactions between the King's eldest daughter Princess Zara and the English soldier Captain Fitzbattleaxe are overly expressive. Her attempts to undress the captain would have seemed highly inappropriate to a period audience, and are still jarring today. In particular, the violent dispute between Scaphio and Phantis, the king's two advisors, disrupts the delicate balance between external decorum and internal expression.

To make matters worse, few of the performers have strong, audible voices. Consequently, many of the actors deliver their lines expressively but break down when required to sing. For actors like Jeffrey Korn as the King and Rebecca Downs as the Princess Zara, stage presence is no problem. Yet their singing lacks the true clarity and depth needed for this type of music. The actors who play the six imported Englishmen and the two younger princesses also present nice external appearances, but lack vocal strength.

Sometimes the superior performances of a few stars can rescue a production like this one. Alas, in the case of Nan Hughes (as the imported British governess), and John Redd and Peter Miller (as Scaphio and Phantis) stellar performing only reinforces the weakness of the rest of the play, As the two conniving advisors, Miller and Redd combine excellent movements on the stage with resounding voices. As they fight over Princess Zara, plan the overthrow of the British invaders, and manipulate the King, their excellent comic timing shines out.

As the governess, Nan Hughes gives the best performance of the evening. Her clear, beautiful voice and effectively expressed character speak of a matronly yet passionate nature. She doesn't need to use extraneous actions to reveal her character. In one remarkably clever bit of business, the governess narrates a silent film in which her two young charges--the young princesses--meet and repel an undesirable man. With her magnificent voice leading the miming of the other actors behind a screen lit by flashing light, we momentarily forget that anyone else has to sing. Unfortunately, we can't forget for long.