Cinders, Theatre Royal, 21st December 2023; Aganeza Scrooge, Tron, 22nd December 2023; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Kings, 23rd December 2023
Christmas shows are usually the first theatrical experience a child in Scotland, and the UK, will have. Mostly based on fairy tales, these melodramatic burlesques, fill tiny, growing, minds with wonder.
The audience participation elements in a pantomime, give them the confidence to be loud and speak out of turn, and the misrule thrill of adults finding it funny; it’s behind you, oh, yes it is, booooooooo, yaaaaaay, hahahaha, hissssss.
While the less popular ballet is frequented by petits enfants in sparkling outfits who dream en pointe.
There is a danger, around about the age of twelve, when the pantomime’s ancient patter begins to bore, and the terror of executing a wobbly arabesque makes the ballet a site of horror, that tweenagers give up on theatre and return as parents, misty eyed nostalgists, or not at all.
Scottish Ballet’s, Cinders, is unlikely to inspire disillusion, despite the intense bad taste of calling someone Cinders after their immediate family has died in a fire.
Artistic director, Christopher Hampson, has set his version of Cinderella at the turn of the last century, in a shop that burns down, and is taken over by new owners who mistreat Cinders, after she (and at alternating performances, he) becomes their employee. Why they insist on working with a woman who has gutted their old home and tears up their invitation to a Royal Ball (where they will meet their Prince or Princess) is left to the imagination, though it scarce matters.
This is a Christmas show with all the trimmings. Romance, jokes, beautiful music, dancing (by definition) and a finale with a giant Christmas tree, the patter of tiny feet, and a glut of glitter. As the audience cheerfully cantered out into the pissing rain, from the gleam in their eyes, it was fairly certain that most, if not all, could envisage, in that magical murk, the realistic prospect of a career as a principal dancer.
In contrast to the glut of glitter, The Tron, makes up for its tiny budget with wit and style. This year’s panto is an adaptation of A Christmas Carol, by their regular writer, the legendary, Johnny McKnight. His scathing, compassionate scripts delivering all the undercutting of pomposity and uplifting of community that should be at the heart of any festive entertainment.
Director and last minute understudy, Sally Reid, brings a delightlfully, casual, weary, polite insolence to the story. As if the actors were all press ganged, and have to make the best of it. Lousie McCarthy, is hilarious as the titular Aganeza Scrooge, BAH humbugging until the three ghosts put her right.
In almost any other panto, the radiant, Jamie Marie Leary, would be one of the romantic leads, but, in a welcome break from all that mush, there’s no romance in this one, and she shines as the Ghost of Christmas Future, charming laughs out of social commentary that – thanks to the toruous fights on Twitter (now X) – goes out of date once an hour.
Kyle Gardiner, manages to be pitful, and odious as Tiny Tim, both adorable, and ferrety. A couple of line tweaks and he could be the villain, or an Undercover Prince spying on how his subjects are mistreated.
Star Penders, as Hope/Understudy/Company, doesn’t have enough to do, but what she does, is as stellar as her name. While, Tron trooper, Julie Wilson Nimmo, unsually, plays three humans, Cratchit, the Ghost of Panto Past, and Nurse1, with her usual gusto.
I wasn’t in the mood for Christmas this year, but left as happy as a puppy playing in a mountain of tinsel.
So, much so, I decided to book a lone ticket in the dress circle at the Kings, sandwiched between two huge families with tiny yappy children, and I didn’t regret it.
It’s not that I don’t have issues with the big, commercial pantomimes. The sets and costumes are garish and generic. The lights and sound have a naff 1980s quiz show vibe, that’s only partially a good thing. The dwarfs in, this, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, had nothing to do. They came on, they burbled in ways that failed to advance the plot, and they left.
Partly it was to give more plot and lines to the big stars of the show, Elaine C. Smith, as Nurse Bella, and Johnny Mac, as Muddles.
It so happened that Elaine’s grandson had been born the night before, so her usual high energy performance, was just low enough to notice how bad the book was. Huge chunks of it had no real laughs at all, and functioned as info dumps, punctuated by Johnny randomly saying his catchphrase, ‘I’m enjoying myself’, or less randomly saying, ‘HIYA PALS’, so the mites could yell back, ‘HIYA MUDDLES’.
The mites, of course, loved it. It was tweenagers who were bewildered about why they had been dragged to something so vulgar. ‘The jokes are filth’ said one, light having newly dawned on the ‘silly’ double entendres. At that age you need something smarter, and Crossroads, the production company, could have a little more ambition without losing broad appeal.
However, that blandness is a threat for the long-term survival of the form, it’s not fatal, yet. There’s an atmosphere of pure joy, and pleasingly familiar peril, that keeps it vital. We would be a duller country without this blast of old theatrical magic.
Kay Marquis 