Gilbert & Sullivan Archive THE MIKADO OR THE TOWN OF TITIPU A DISCUSSION Compiled by Bill McCann April 1998 The Mikado was first produced at the Savoy on March 14th 1885. It is easily the most popular work in the canon. It had an initial run of 672 performances - which remained the record at the Savoy for a quarter of a century. It was, however, composed at the time of the first serious disagreement between Gilbert and (the newly knighted) Sullivan. It was composed under pressure from D'Oyly Carte who was anxious to replace the failing Princess Ida and the germ of the plot was probably supplied by the hugely popular Japanese Exhibition in London in 1884-5. In order to forestall the usual pirate productions, an English company was smuggled into New York and gave the first American performance, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, on July 20th 1885 with a run of 250 performances. The following discussion is a compilation of the thoughts and opinions of subscribers to the Savoynet Maillist between April 17th and May 17th 1997. It should be noted that, while many of the contributors have performed in, and/or extensively researched, The Mikado, the following opinions reflect the personal views of the individual contributors to which they are attributed. The archivist's comments, which are generally kept to a minimum, are given in italics in order to distinguish them from the main discussion. The original words of the individual contributors have been retained with, in general, only light editing. However, verbosity did rear its head on some occasions and judicious pruning was undertaken where necessary. A total of 273 individual postings were finally selected for inclusion and, in order to allow the readers as much freedom as possible in navigating through these, a comprehensive index has been compiled. Just follow the HTML links to those parts of the discussion that appeal to you. Many Savoynetters are fond of using acronyms for some common (and, occasionally, uncommon) phrases. However, for others in the group these remain a profound mystery and even an irritant. I had originally thought of substituting the complete phrase where these occurred in the discussions but that would be to remove what is a characteristic aspect of Savoynet postings. Instead, I have left them untouched but provided Appendix One where all those that occur in these discussions are translated. INDEX 1. General thoughts about the Opera 1 1.1 Mikado - Aaaargh! 1 1.1.1. Invisible eponymous character 1 1.1.2. The wettest Tenor in the canon 1 1.1.3.A nauseating soprano 2 1.1.4. Inadequately developed promising character 2 1.1.5. A stereotypical fatman 2 1.1.6. Endless encores 3 1.1.7 Subsidiary female ciphers. 3 1.1.8. An unbelievably unbelievable Ko-Ko 3 1.1.9. Katisha introduced too late 3 1.1.10.A ridiculous denouement. 3 1.1.11. A vomit inducing duet. 4 1.1.12.A ridiculous 'list' song. 4 1.1.13.A pile of sentimental tosh 4 1.2. Dubious Plot - Trite Music - BUT 5 1.3 Most Consistently Popular 5 1.4 It's Overrated! 6 1.5 Diminishing Credibility 7 1.6 Plus ca Change 7 1.7 Not Director Proof 7 1.8 Was she amused? 8 1.9 All but perfection 8 2. The Plot 10 2.1 Essentially a Farce 10 2.1.1 A Farce of Deceptions 10 2.1.2 An Opera of Two Capacities 10 2.2 Becomes a Novel 11 2.3 Updates 11 2.3.1 Red Mikado 11 2.3.2 The Corruption element 12 2.3.3 The Tuppenny Mikado 12 2.4 Nanki-Hal? 12 2.5 And for the attentively challenged. 13 2.6 Nanki-Poo Up - Ko-Ko Down 15 3. The Music 18 3.1 General Observations 18 3.2 Act II 19 3.3 Individual songs 20 3.3.1 Tit-Willow 20 3.3.2 Hearts Do Not Break 22 3.3.3 The Sun Whose Rays 22 3.3.4 Here's a Horrid 22 3.3.5 See How the fates 22 3.3.6 Braid the raven hair 25 3.4 Influenced Puccini? 25 3.5 Chorine Tribulations 25 4. The Libretto 28 4.1 One Catalogue too Many? 28 4.2 Yam - A vegetable or Not? 28 4.3 No Minstrel He 28 4.4 Ko-Ko's Promotion 29 4.5 The Kaishaku 29 4.6 A pessimistic little train? 29 5. The characters 31 5.1 Katisha 31 5.2 Nanki-Poo 31 5.3 Yum-Yum 41 5.4 Pitti-Sing 43 5.5 Ko-Ko 44 5.6 Pish-Tush 45 6. Stagecraft 48 6.1 THAT Handshake 48 6.2 Make-up & Costumes 48 6.2.1 Occidental eyes 48 6.2.2 Kabuki makeup 48 6.2.3 Wigs are the key 49 6.2.4 Free of stifling collars and corsets ? 50 6.2.5 A Mikado Memory 50 6.3 What Address? 50 6.4 Rewriting the List 52 6.5 Stock Staging 56 6.6 Cheap Pickets 56 6.7 Differentiating Officers of State 56 6.8 Choral bleating 58 6.9 Katisha's scream? 59 6.10 The heir's airs 59 6.11 Encores 60 6.12 Katisha's entrance 60 6.13 Business old and new 61 6.14 Ko-Ko's toe 61 6.15 Traditional business 62 7. Recordings 63 7.1 Film 63 8. Also Happened in 1885 64 8.1 David Duffey's Patter 64 8.1.1 British politics 64 8.1.2 Irish Nationalists 64 8.1.3 Sexual and fiscal scandal 64 8.1.4 Praying Ladies of the Night 64 9. Mikadiana 65 9.1 Web Sites 65 9.2 Mikado Quotes 65 9.3 Parliamentary Trains? 65 9.4 Train(?) Spotting 65 9.4 A Minstrel's Anecdote 66 10. Appendix 1 67 10.1 Acronyms translated 67 1. General thoughts about the Opera [The role of moderator at the time of the discussion was undertaken by Rica Mendes-Barry who also made some significant contributions to the proceedings.] 1.1 Mikado - Aaaargh! Ian Hollamby, as an up-front Devil's Advocate, wrote: The Mikado! Well, I suppose we had to get to it eventually! Hmmmmm! Why is this work so popular? This is an opera which contains the following:- [All replies to Ian's specific points have been interpolated in his posting to maintain the ongoing threads. Anything leading to a new thread has been moved to the relevant section as noted.] 1.1.1. Invisible eponymous character An eponymous character who doesn't appear until the thing is nearly over. Nick Sales: Agreed. But it doesn't matter a bit. The suspense is well worth it. Plus, it means you can use your best bass voice to bolster the chorus in Act 1. Jeff DeMarco: Is this common practice? If so, does the Mikado sing from offstage, or is he present, like Nanki-Poo, in disguise? Michael J. Rice replied: In productions of The Mikado as well as Pirates that I participated in, I was in the men's chorus for the first act and then donned new makeup and costumes for the second.(I was the Mikado and the Sergeant) It was not only to "bolster" the sound, but because I wanted more to do! Gerry Howe: But don't you think that this works, dramatically? There is this terrific build-up, with the letters and so forth, long before he arrives. IMHO, the most dramatic song is "A more humane Mikado". And what an opportunity for characterization! Audiences in the 1920s, when Darrell Fancourt first took over the part, complained that his performance was nothing like the "suave and oily" Mikado created by Richard Temple. I believe both Donald Adams and Darrell Fancourt used to grumble about this opera because it took them so long to make up. And from the player's point of view it at least works better than King Gama, who appears early on and then spends much of the rest of the show waiting in the green-room for his entrance in Act III! Charles Schlotter: But whose presence looms over the action from the second number ("Our great Mikado, virtuous man") One of Gilbert's greatest "coups de theatre" was to build up this character for an act and half and, when he finally appears, he lives up to his publicity. 1.1.2. The wettest Tenor in the canon A tenor 'hero' who HAS to be the wettest in the canon. Arthur Robinson: He's not the most interesting character, but others are wetter. There is stiff (or limp?) competition for the role of wettest. Jeff DeMarco: I don't understand this term - can anyone elaborate? Nick Sales: Hmmmm...a close one, this; however, on reflection I would probably vote for Hilarion as the slightly more amphibious tenor. Gerry Howe: Oh, I dunno... how about the Duke of Dunstable? Charles Schlotter: Nay. Alexis is surely the wettest, assuming that the vestigial tenor role in Patience doesn't count. Any tenor who can get through a bravura number like "A wandering minstrel, I," which parodies several different musical genres, is immediately established as un-wet, practically he is dry. And if he is dry, why not say so? David Van Arnam asked: What means 'wettest'? (I need to know whether I shall wax as indignantly wroth about this description as at most of your others!) And Sandy Rovner pleaded: One of the first things I learned in journalism was "don't be afraid to ask the dumb question." in light of which: Would someone explain the state of humidity of tenors? What is dry (no vermouth?) or wet--I can only think of Iolanthe and Strephon's first 25 years? Andrew Crowther replied: Is it a purely English expression? "Wet" here means, basically, having all the character and backbone of a damp flannel. As in the expression, "Don't be so bloody wet!" [Andrew went on to develop this - see Section 5.2 below.] Janice Dallas replied: I haven't encountered this expression before in New England. The closest we come might be calling someone a "wet blanket" for depressing people who are enjoying themselves. Thank you for explaining that one. 1.1.3.A nauseating soprano A soprano whose twee self regard is nauseating. Jeff DeMarco: Ditto, as above. Nick Sales: Agreed without question. I'd probably add excruciatingly cringe-worthy. Arthur Robinson: Or funny, depending on how you look at it. (Actually I consider Rose Maybud much funnier.) Charles Schlotter: Nah. She's just another variation on one of Gilbert's favorite targets - the sweet young thing who is really a ruthless egotist. Janice Dallas asked: Now that I know all about the humidity of tenors, how about "twee". At first, I figured it was a typo, but it seems to have something to do with coyness?. Ian Hollamby replied: It was me what used the word Guv! As I use it, it means affectedly dainty, pretty and innocent, in a way that one suspects may be contrived! Hope this helps. Neil Ellenoff added: The American equivalent of twee is cutesey. 1.1.4. Inadequately developed promising character A promising character (Pish-Tush) who is not adequately developed. Arthur Robinson: Agreed. Gerry Howe: Do you feel that he needs to be? Surely he is Pooh-Bah's sidekick, the man who has no real existence except as toad-eater to the Great Man. If I'm right in this, then his character cannot develop! Charles Schlotter: Developed just enough, I should say. He is the smooth bureaucrat who keeps his head down and survives all regimes. WSG characterizes him neatly and economically but doesn't get so carried away with creation as to allow him to overrun his dramatic function. 1.1.5. A stereotypical fatman A stereotypical fatman/politician (Pooh-Bah). Arthur Robinson: Yes, but stereotypes have been around since ancient comedy, and Pooh-Bah is funnier than most. And Nick Sales: Can't agree here. One of the best characters in the canon. Capable of practically stealing the show if well acted. Gerry Howe: Ah yes - but Pooh-Bah is the epitome of every pompous, asinine, self-important petty official who ever occupied an office. He is the man every Englishman loves to hate. It is tempting to wonder whether Gilbert had anyone in particular in mind when he wrote the part. Charles Schlotter: A killingly funny stereotype with some of the best lines in the piece. Also, numerous as the Pooh-Bah characters have been in subsequent drama, how many precedents are there? The run-of-the- mill bio-copied-from-prior-Xerox-copies-of- prior-bios inevitably cites one prior verse by an earlier writer which touches on the same multiple-jobs joke but with much less wit and polish. Practically, Gilbert created the stereotype. And if he did create the stereotype, why not say so? 1.1.6. Endless encores Endless unnecessary and unwelcome encores. Nick Sales: Not if you're in a David Craven production! Gerry Howe: Only if the MD lets them! Both Isidore Godfrey and Flash Harry were pretty stern about this. Charles Schlotter: That's the fault of the performers. G&S didn't write the encores. 1.1.7 Subsidiary female ciphers. Subsidiary female characters who are mere ciphers. Nick Sales: ..such as irrepressible Pitti? Piffle and poppycock, sir! And besides, it never did Pinafore any harm, did it? Gerry Howe: You ever seen Peggy-Ann Jones as Pitti- Sing? Charles Schlotter: As opposed to the vivid characterization of Lady Saphir? Of Celia, Leila and Fleta? Of Fiametta, Vittoria and Giulia? Actually, Pitti-Sing is one of the largest and most rewarding of the secondary female characters. 1.1.8. An unbelievably unbelievable Ko-Ko Ko-Ko; A character whose unbelievability is unbelievable! Nick Sales: Me not quite equal to intellectual pressure of that last remark! Arthur Robinson: Believability isn't WSG's strong point. It's when he tries to be believable that he fails most badly. Charles Schlotter: Mmm. Not sure what you are getting at, here. No character in G&S fits into a strictly realistic, kitchen-sink drama. Within the infernal machine of a Gilbert plot, Ko-Ko is more consistent than most. 1.1.9. Katisha introduced too late A sole interesting character (Katisha) who is introduced too late. Nick Sales: Not true, similar comments as for Mikado. Charles Schlotter: Nay. If she turned up earlier, there would be no second act. As it is, she threatens to run away with the piece and you might argue that it is strange that she visits Titipu as early as the finale to Act One. Practical question: What do we need to know about her (for dramatic purposes) that we don't get as the piece stands? 1.1.10.A ridiculous denouement. A ridiculous denouement. Arthur Robinson: Yes, I've never been happy with it; I prefer Ruddigore's. Nick Sales: Yes. Agreed. Oh, is there a problem with that? It's GILBERT and Sullivan,remember? Charles Schlotter: Ah, here is where I think that analysis based on naturalistic drama completely misses the point with Gilbert. Bear with me, here. Why is it that appreciation of Gilbert is so great among lawyers and law school graduates (you ask?) Because the ridiculous denouements of his plots are almost always based upon an absurdly literal application of legal principles. Seen from this point of view, the denouement of Mikado is the best of all of Gilbert's equity dodges. Ko-Ko's argument amounts to, "Almost good enough is good enough for government purposes" and it arrives at a decision that pleases all the parties involved (except Ko-Ko himself, to some extent.) Ergo, even for the Mikado, the embodiment of mindless application of The Law, "nothing could possibly be more satisfactory." PLUS: Songs which include: 1.1.11. A vomit inducing duet. A vomit inducing soprano/tenor duet. Arthur Robinson: I find it funny (in concept-it does slow down the action). Nick Sales: If you don't like soprano/tenor (love) duets, I suppose that's your problem; and they're probably all "vomit inducing" to a greater or lesser degree. I do like them; immensely, for what I hope are obvious reasons; that said, it's probably my least favourite one to perform - you do tend to feel a bit of a twit. On the other hand, it does contain one of my most favourite Sullivan bits - the part following the "toco toco toco" bit, and particularly the sweep to top A on "would I kiss you fondly thus"; sublime just about sums that up; I love singing that bit. Charles Schlotter: As I observed in another message, the duet is pure legalism. I never threw up hearing it, even once. Neil Ellenoff quipped: Don't forget the primordial ooze 1.1.12.A ridiculous 'list' song. A ridiculous and contrived 'list' song. Arthur Robinson: No-TWO ridiculous and contrived list songs. Gerry Howe: That one's all right unless somebody mucks up the words! If there is one thing I wish more than anything else, it's that people wouldn't try to make this song 'topical'. It works and it spoils some brilliant and subtle Victorian humour. Nick Sales: Oh. So "modern major general"' isn't ridiculous? hello? HELLO? it's a comic opera; it's supposed to be ridiculous. I don't see that it's any more contrived than any number of other numbers. Colander-type argument, IMHO. Charles Schlotter: A clever and witty list song, I should say. 1.1.13.A pile of sentimental tosh A pile of sentimental tosh about a 'tom-tit'. Nick Sales: Yes, but I think that's intentional. Arthur Robinson: Bless you, it all depends (on your point of view). [This gave rise to the discussion in Section 3.2.1 below.] Gerry Howe: But surely the whole idea is that it sentimental - it is that which causes Katisha to break down and accept Ko- Ko! The cream of the joke is that this tough-as-a-bone harridan is overwhelmed by sentimental tears at this affecting if perhaps rather improbable tale. Charles Schlotter: Ko-Ko is lying his head off and "Tit-willow" is a satire of sentimentality. When sung straight, it is not sentimental tosh, it is a song by a man threatened by imminent death fabricating sentimental tosh to save his own life. Funnier yet, the most ruthless, murderous character in the entire piece falls for it. With all my talk about Gilbert, I almost forgot to mention that Sullivan's score, whether it is his best or not, hits every number right on the button, without a single weak moment. Bruce Miller enthused: Charles Schlotter's is an absolutely first-rate analysis, whether or not it's in response to a devil's advocate. To take Charles's last point about the music a bit further; Sullivan's work in Mikado is perhaps his most satisfactory in the genre. Yeomen may be more virtuostic, Ruddigore more adventurous, Gondoliers more sparkling, and so on -in Mikado he was as one with his collaborator. The result is probably the most evenly balanced as to words and music, whether or not it is Sullivan's absolute peak. (Iolanthe takes a close second if this criterion is applied, IMO). Arthur Robinson observed: In general, I consider The Mikado G&S's masterpiece (not perfect, but great). And Rowan Donoghue wrote: The Mikado cannot be faulted. The music is great and the story holds its humour still today. I just hope that I can convince 80 or so adolescents to hold the same opinion! 1.2. Dubious Plot - Trite Music - BUT Sandy Rovner wrote: I think I've read all the criticisms and analyses of Mikado none of which explain its durability and incredible popularity. Sure the plot is dubious - is Lohengrin or Rigoletto, for examples, any better? I think there are two simple things that make it: An incredibly singable score and a political satire that never needs updating (although it does get updated--I think entirely unnecessarily.) The NYCity Opera did a Mikado here in DC in the middle of Watergate. It could have been (and I'm sure many members of the audience thought it had been) written the day before. Isn't there ALWAYS something going on it could be applied to? The music could seem trite to those of us who've sung it since our cradles, but it IS easy to sing. Ron Orenstein replied: I think we may be dealing with an intangible here - the quality that makes something a "hit". Why do some songs, movies, operas, plays have a huge success while others that might seem far more interesting to connoisseurs do less well? If I knew I'd be rich. As someone once said, if it were so easy to write Mikados everyone would do it, for what could be more profitable? The other side of this, of course, is a natural tendency for we specialists to sneer at the biggest hit G&S wrote precisely because the hoi polloi (a Greek remark) like it without having the sense to prefer Ida, Ruddigore, Iolanthe or whatever. The trick, I think, is to come back to it after a long absence. No, it isn't my favourite G&S - but what a good show it is, and how well it keeps up a consistent level of energy and humour (to me its only longueurs are "Were you not to Ko-Ko plighted" and the glee, and the dialogue crackles from start to finish)! 1.3 Most Consistently Popular Derrick McClure wrote: Since we're looking for the reason for The Mikado's place as the most consistently popular of the series, and we've noted (correctly, as surely most of us will agree) that though both G and S performed magnificently their performances are not THAT much more magnificent than in several other operas in the canon - could we perhaps find the reason in the simplest fact of all - the Japanese setting? Japan is, to Western eyes, both exotic and beautiful - ancient Egypt, say, or pre-conquest Mexico, are exotic but not beautiful; lots of places and times from European history are beautiful but not exotic; but Japan is both (of course, I'm talking of the superficial, stereotypical if you will, impressions that most people have) - and traditionally, productions of The Mikado evoke the cherry-blossom-and-kimono image that stirs the European imagination so delightfully. In support of this, the second most popular G'n'S (to the general public, not necessarily to connoisseurs like us) is The Gondoliers which also combines the two partners at their best with an exotic setting (though much less so than The Mikado). Of course, I'm a Japanophile but does this strike the Net as plausible, or just as too obvious for comment? Bruce Miller replied: My opinion is that you've hit on of the factors which make Mikado posterity's choice. But it goes further than that: the sharpness of the conflicts in the story and the high stakes, with others have mentioned; the sureness of plotting and pacing; and the overall high level reached in the dialogue and the music. It's so beautifully constructed as a theater piece, and flows so well, that we tend to overlook the technique and craft which went into constructing it -- because all that effort is so wonderfully concealed. It is truly an example of art concealing art. Louis Wernick wondered: Or is it that Mikado may be such a favorite with the general public because it requires less "expectation or preparation" for a general or "unschooled" audience to appreciate? This is not the case for Ruddigore, for example. I wonder whether the REAL answer lies in the fact that those G&S operetta which are more easily understood with considerable background are enjoyed by the "specialists" and those like Mikado which make perfect sense on first hearing are enjoyed by the public-at-large, including those who don't often go to other theatrical comedies? Bruce Miller replied to this: The reason Mikado is more successful with the public is that it is, quite simply, a better written work than Ruddigore. It flows more smoothly, dramatically, and has fewer inconsistencies of style. Sullivan (again quite simply put) scores more perfect 10's in Mikado than he does in Ruddigore, and gives us fewer of what we might term "serviceable, if less inspired" musical numbers. Whatever considerable merits Ruddigore possesses, it is not as felicitous a collaboration, when all is said and done, as is Mikado. A less charitable way of explaining the characterization in Ruddigore vs. in Mikado is that, however complex or deep the characters may be, the fact is that they are probably more memorable in Mikado than in Ruddigore. Is there a single character in Ruddigore who has become sui generis, as has Pooh-Bah? Is there a female character in Ruddigore who makes as strong an impression as does Katisha? Is Robin a match for Ko-Ko? While it would be a stretch to call Ruddigore pale in comparison to Mikado, it would be equally misguided to suggest it is superior to Mikado. We who love G & S may find Ruddigore fascinating for any number of reasons, but let's not make the same mistake as the Verdi enthusiasts who are unable to enjoy the towering masterpieces as much as the Luisa Millers. Tom Shepard replied to this: I agree that by any reasonable analysis, Mikado is a highly superior work, and its craftsmanship and originality are virtually unchangeable. But, speaking personally, I would rather listen to Ruddigore. For me it has more musical highs, and a fair amount of extremely attractive and outrageously exaggerated characters. I like it more than I do The Mikado, even as I must admit that Mikado is a superior piece of (unified) work. 1.4 It's Overrated! Mike Nash wrote: OK, time for me to put in my oar. Is it just me, or is The Mikado vastly overrated? Certainly it's , as is all G&S - even when they're at their weakest they're still miles better than the very best efforts of certain other authors/composers (the task of filling in the blanks I'd rather leave to you). But I don't think, even from as objective a standpoint as I can muster, it's much better than Ruddigore, or Ida, or Patience. [Mike later developed his arguments about the Plot - Section 2.1 below- and the Music - Section 3.1 below.] 1.5 Diminishing Credibility Paul McShane replied: I'm inclined to an opposing view to that of Derrick. I had been trying to think of reasons why we of the "inner sanctum" don't rate Mikado up there right at the top of our favourites - although, of course, we value it highly. We ranked it third favourite - well behind Iolanthe, just behind Yeomen, and just ahead of Patience and Gondoliers. [At the time of this discussion, members of Savoynet had recently conducted a survey to rank their favourite operas in order of preference.] I don't believe that you can say that our greater familiarity with Mikado would cause us to like it less, and perhaps there is something in Mike Nash's comment that you get all the opera's beauty after seeing/hearing it a couple of times, whereas operas like (especially) Patience seem to grow on you. (Like Mike, I didn't much like Patience the first few times I made its acquaintance, but it has got better and better.) To get back to Derrick's point, I think the Japanese setting might (I say, might) help the big bang impact on anyone first seeing the performance, but it seems to have a negative effect on my appreciation of the opera in my mellowing years. The reason is that it tends to lessen the credibility of the characterisation, and makes it more difficult for us to empathise with anyone in the cast. I feel the same way about Gondoliers, incidentally. 1.6 Plus ca Change David Duffey wrote: I believe The Mikado to be a very useful literary source for the study of late Victorian history. It certainly provides an insight into the success and acumen of Japanese business: the strategy which made things Japanese longed for and The Mikado topical must be one of the marketing triumphs of all time. Contrast this with the commercial policies of Britain at the time, which, in broad terms, relied on an artificial export market based on the 'civilising' of under- developed cultures and nations. In Pooh-Bah one has glorious evidence that corruption was as endemic in central and local government then as it is now - a fact unacknowledged in most standard text books; but of course it would be, those in power tend to choose the text books. The mores of society are also well reflected. There are men willing to use the body of a women to attain their own ends, and the woman is adept at using that asset to attain the best for herself. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and those with it have no regard for the feelings of others, again well reflected in The Mikado. Ah! A literary source for the 1880s? Not much has changed has it? Perhaps that is why The Mikado is still relevant. 1.7 Not Director Proof David Craven wrote: A while back we were arguing which, if any, of the G&S Operetta's were director proof. Several people have argued that Mikado is the most director proof. The more that I look at it, the more that I realize that while it is not as delicate as say Sorcerer, it is still an opera which can be very easily destroyed by the wrong kind of hand at the wheel. For example, it is VERY important, as noted by Cathlin Davis, [Section 6.2.3 below] to understand that the show is not Japanese, but rather is about English people playing at being Japanese. Trying to be "authentically" Japanese or trying to "parody" the Japanese (ala the "Gentlemen of Japan" with briefcase in hand) simply does not work. It is also a show in which, quite frequently, a poor director will misinterpret the villain of the show. The Mikado is not a villain, and in fact, is not a particularly sinister character. (For example, William Conrad as the Mikado would not at all be effective (even if he were still alive)). Rather, the Mikado is best played as a light comic figure. Further, Nanki-Poo can be misplayed as a clean upstanding hero, when in fact, he is the villain of the piece, unwilling to live up to his legal and contractual obligations and willing to let others pay for his mistakes while he goes off in bliss and joy. In sum, the show has many levels, and if these levels are not properly played, the show will end up coming across as flat. (As an interesting sidenote... I have never seen or been in a bad production of Patience, but I have only seen or been in one acceptable production of Mikado. The rest ranged from not good to horrid. In fact, two of the three worst G&S productions that I have ever seen or been involved with were both Mikados (and the other a Sorcerer.) Bruce Miller replied: I agree with David but only in part. The character of the Mikado, as played by its creator Richard Temple under the author's direction, was much closer to what David describes than the stock villainous character some of the D'OC people turned him into after 1911. But Nanki-Poo is a villain in only in torturously twisted post-feminist thought. We have long discussions about this, but to sum up the non-revisionist side: Nanki-Poo was involuntarily committed to wed Katisha, whether or not there was any legality to it, and a "contract" implies the consent of both parties - assuming, of course, there a contract, of which there is no evidence in the text. To have submitted to this situation without a struggle would have made Nank into a terminal wuss. Katisha, on the other hand, is obsessive, disruptive, clinging, and altogether (in the immortal phrase of Tom Shepard) a pain in the ass. Eventually she is dissuaded from this path, and yes, she is on occasional a pitiable figure, but hers is a longing not shared by the object of her desire. No amount of rationalizing or wishful thinking will change that fact, nor the concurrent fact that she wants to get her way by any means necessary. Surely her behaviour is not admirable, nor should it be condoned. Pitied, perhaps, but not condoned. She deserves what she gets at the end - nothing more, nothing less. 1.8 Was she amused? Eugenia Horne observed: For those interested, this is Queen Victoria's review (reprinted in "Queen Victoria Goes to the Theatre") of The Mikado: "The music is gay, but to my thinking, inferior to "The Gondoliers", and though there are witty remarks and amusing topical allusions, the story is rather silly." Bring back The Gondoliers? 1.9 All but perfection Paul McShane opined: Act I of Mikado is marvellous. It has a great opening chorus, the best tenor song in the canon, two fantastic trios (BTW, have you noticed how may really brilliant trios there are throughout all of G&S? - perhaps we should try to rank them all one day - a difficult job!), great dialogue and lyrics, and a succession of Gilbert's best characterisations (for instance, if you've been able to follow the endless discussion about whether or not N. Poo is a villain or a hero, you'll surely conclude that he is an admirable shade of grey, just like real people - q.v. the discussion of characters in OOTW: Yeomen). Best of all, in Act I the plot keeps moving forward at a good pace. Act II cannot possibly sustain the excellence of Act I, and it doesn't. After a pleasant and unexpected musical interlude, we are launched into the weakest number in the opera. When Leta was bemoaning the dearth of good women's music in Mikado, I suspect she had "Braid the raven hair" in mind. Neither Bruce, Rica nor Dan, who took issue with Leta, [See section 3.5 below] mentioned this number as being good. It seems that Sullivan was unable to fit Gilbert's lyrics properly: "weave the su-uh-uh-uh-upple tre- ess", "her lu-uh-uh-uh-uhve-liness". I know I'll be attacked for this, but I am not a fan of "The sun, whose rays", either. I can admire the counterpoint of the soloist's voice over the droning accompaniment, but I don't like the tune. For me, the song is merely an excuse for the lighting technician to show what can be done with sun and moon backgrounds. Barclay Gordon's posting [See section 3.3.3] echoed my reservations about this number. Then we come to the madrigal. This is OK, I suppose, but there are much better examples or madrigals in the other operas. Around these numbers, the lyrics and dialogue are uninspiring, and the plot completely stagnates. The next song is "Here’s a how-de-do" - vigorous enough, but not up to the standard of the other three trios in the piece. IMHO, its propensity for being encored owes more to the slackening of pace from the start of Act II than to the innate worth of the number. Finally, the Mikado is announced, and we get back to the brilliance of Act I again. With one exception. I do not like, and never have liked, Kasha's song. I think it is boring, unnecessary and incomprehensible to the average audience: what is a theatregoer to make of "the living eye"? The number almost always comes over as the excuse to hear the fat lady sing before the end of the opera. But don't conclude from the foregoing that I am not a fan of The Mikado - I have just highlighted what, to me, are the weaknesses. The rest is great. Robert Jones replied: Paul, you're throwing your spanner in once again, which is always enjoyable. I disagree with most of what you said, but in particular your comments about .. "Here's a how- de-do". This is one of my favourite songs in all G&S. How can I be objective? I was nurtured on it and will continue to regard it fondly. The words are delightful and the music rollicking. So there. Nick Sales had two points to make on this: 1. Wandering Minstrel is almost certainly the most popular with audiences, but speaking as primarily a G&S tenor, I'd place it a long way down my list of favourites to sing. Give me "Is Life A Boon", "A Tenor, all singers above", "Thine Is The Power" etc. any day. 2. The Madrigal, and its surrounding dialogue/plot. - Part agreement here. I find the plot, and more particularly the dialogue hereabouts to be among the worst and most stilted I am ever called upon to utter. The lines "..a week? well, what's a week.." and "....there's a silver lining to every cloud.." I always find very awkward, and IMO, this scene just doesn't work. However, regarding the madrigal, I'm firmly behind Bruce. It's wonderful to sing in, the interplay of the four voices is great, and, given sensitive singers, can be very rewarding indeed to sing. 2. The Plot 2.1 Essentially a Farce 2.1.1 A Farce of Deceptions Andrew Crowther wrote: Sandy Rovner makes some interesting points about The Mikado [Section 1.2 above]. But, it occurs to me part of its charm is that it isn't bound to its own time as much as the other operas are - there is very little real satire in it - just Pooh-Bah and the two topical songs, which are incidental to the main business of the opera. Gilbert's never- never Japan is obviously a fantasy realm, which happens to bear one or two resemblances to England: its most important function is to allow Gilbert to invent some rules for it which will allow a funny plot to develop. One of Gilbert's libretti, Princess Toto, had this note about location in the programme: "TIME: Never - PLACE: Nowhere" - and this seems to apply to The Mikado pretty well. In this opera we're freed from many of the incidentals of the Victorian age - exchanging stiff collars and tight corsets for free-flowing kimonos. (I've a theory that these freeing costumes and the general atmosphere of pantomime encouraged the original performers to ad-lib more than they did in the other operas: maybe this also influenced later hybrids like The Hot Mikado?) Anyway, in this opera the central motives for the actions of the characters are the most basic of all: love, and fear of death. It's Ko-Ko's desire to stay alive that provokes many of the best plot-twists. The love between Nanki- Poo and Yum-Yum seems rather sappy to me, but maybe that's just my cynical nature talking. The point is that Gilbert goes back to the elements, and so ensures that he keeps our attention from start to finish. (I noted in my thesis, still under construction, that it is only with the final spoken words in the opera that the plot is finally resolved and death-threats are lifted.) The Mikado is essentially a farce. In Act 2 Ko-Ko almost gets to the point of shouting, "Oh, my God, the Mikado's coming! Quick, hide in this cupboard!" It's a farce of deceptions, hair's-breadth escapes, spur-of-the-moment inventions, and running about - and all for the very highest of stakes. For this reason I think it's vital we should believe the Mikado is perfectly capable of carrying out his death threats. 2.1.2 An Opera of Two Capacities Mike Nash wrote: Yes, here we have a farce that basically works. The story twists and turns, and although the "happy" ending of Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum ending up together for life comes through as one would predict from the beginning, there are a lot of rebounds off the cushion (to use a snooker/pool phrase) before we get there. Yet each step does follow on logically from the previous one, unlike in some of the earlier operas, where Gilbert tended to pull things out of a hat either to resolve the situation (The well-born babe was Rafe, your captain was the other) or to create a difficult situation (the 29th February thing). The weakest point is Ko-Ko's explanation to The Mikado at the very end, but at least it's still logical, and maybe it's all the funnier for being weak. However, I find a conflict of interests on Gilbert's part. On the one hand, the story is a farce, a manic situation-comedy. On the other, we have characters who are, if anything, too fleshed-out and human. One of the reasons I like Ruddigore so much is precisely because the characters are so starchy and stereotyped (and then they change and act in the exact opposite way to their original type). But we have in The Mikado a "villainess" who is really a sad and lonely woman, well deserving of our sympathy, and in Ko-Ko, a very real ordinary man trying to deal with an increasingly- impossible situation. This is what it is for an opera to have two capacities, and they clash, my lords, they clash! The farcical nature of the plot surely demands characters who are much more stereotyped, like a Japanese marionette. Or else, if you want to bring the human side of the characters to the fore, I find the setting and the jokey character names spoil what could be taken as a "serious" romantic comedy. 2.2 Becomes a Novel Mike Nash wrote: Gilbert re-wrote the story as of The Mikado a children's book in 1911; it was the last thing he wrote before he died. It wasn't published until 1921, however. Arthur Robinson observed: Gilbert did the same with H.M.S. Pinafore - although I'd say it's not so much a novel as a "story." Rica Mendes asked: Is the children's book you refer to a small blue hard cover book with excerpts of the music here and there? I have a children's book that I thought was put together by D'Oyly Carte at home. Are these two different children's adaptations? Andrew Crowther observed: Just to be annoyingly pedantic. WSG wrote The Story of The Mikado in 1909, and he did write one or two things after it, notably The Hooligan (1911). The book's publisher, Daniel O'Connor, wrote a Foreword attributing the delay in publication "mainly to the difficulties which have obstructed the production of books, especially those with coloured illustrations, during the last seven years." But we can see another reason in a letter written by Gilbert in 1910, quoted in Hesketh Pearson's biography of Gilbert. Offended at having not been consulted over illustrations, he concludes by saying "I must decline altogether to associate myself with the publication." (To refer back to O'Connor's Foreword, he says: "Sir William Gilbert accepted the project with even more than his usual geniality, and many talks about it with him will always be remembered by those who had the good fortune to be present." Yes, I'm sure!) The book contains some very funny touches, including the elderly Gilbert's sardonic comments on shortcomings in his original lyrics - split infinitives, lines which don't seem to mean anything, etc. He puzzles a bit over "Oh blind, that seest/No equipoise!" and finally concludes that "when people lapse into poetry you can never be quite sure what they mean." 2.3 Updates 2.3.1 Red Mikado David Craven wrote: At a concert earlier today I met a G&S aficionado who started to tell me all about a set of records that her mother has of a production called the "Red" Mikado which, apparently, was presented by the ILGWU. The records are still in pretty good shape, but she would like to get another copy. Does anyone know anything about this production or whether recordings of it are available... (It sounds quite interesting..... ) Dan Kravetz replied: "The Red Mikado" was a sketch in the revue Pins and Needles, which was produced by the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union in New York, beginning in 1937. Most of the music and lyrics were by Harold Rome. The show was changed periodically during its initial four- year run, and "The Red Mikado" was not a part of it until 1939. Several numbers from the original production, including The Red Mikado were recorded. They were released on LP by JJA records in the 1970's. I don't know of any CD reissue. A 1962 commercial recording of Pins and Needles, featuring Barbra Streisand, is on a Sony CD, but The Red Mikado wasn't one of the selections recorded in 1962. There is another song in Pins and Needles called "Four Little Angels Of Peace Are We," sung by actors portraying Hitler, Mussolini and others. The title (and first line) are certainly inspired by "Three little maids," but the music owes little (if anything) to Sullivan. Perhaps the sketch and the song made the same political point and were not used in the revue at the same time. ("Angels" is on the 1962 recording.) Sandy Rovner wrote: I believe that a song from The Red Mikado (an anti-Communist work, by the way) was used by Harold Rome in his Broadway revue for the Ladies Garment workers- Pins and Needles- before world war II. If my memory serves (I really was a very little kid then) the four little maids were Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin and Hirohito. 2.3.2 The Corruption element Andrew Crowther wrote: My father was with me at the production of The Mikado I saw this week, and he said he understood the satire more than he did before. (He's seen the opera a number of times.) And that set me thinking about that aspect of things. Really it's set in the same kind of world as The Government Inspector - corrupt local officials, whose worst fear is that someone higher up will come along to check up on them. But Gilbert is really on their side, as Gogol isn't. It occurred to me that if a director was really set on taking The Mikado out of its original setting (and there seems to be no way of stopping directors doing this), it could very easily be transplanted into a Stalinist Soviet setting. The same kind of absolute fear of an arbitrary authority. (I've just been reading Shostakovich's Testimony, which contains a lot of anecdotes of the black absurdities of life in Stalin's Russia, and The Mikado really does fit in perfectly with that kind of setting, except for the frivolity of Gilbert's approach.) 2.3.3 The Tuppenny Mikado [During the course of another Savoynet discussion] Neil Ellenoff wrote: I am not interested on how Brecht would do Pinafore anymore than an exact recreation on how it was done originally (except as an historical exercise). He elicited the following from Andrew Crowther: Oddly enough, I was thinking of cooking something up along these lines myself, in a desperate attempt to amuse. The idea would have been that Brecht would have been urged to come up with a follow-up to the 3PO, and would have turned to another English opera for inspiration - thus The Tuppenny Mikado! A chorus of Nobles explaining in bitter verse the social, political and economic situation which they are exploiting for the subjugation of the proletariat - one can imagine all too well how the Pooh-Bah material could be slanted to Brechtian political ends. Oh, it would have been too dull for words - no wonder I couldn't be bothered to do it. But Neil replied: Actually, it sounds like great fun. 2.4 Nanki-Hal? Ken Krantz wrote: There was a thread some months ago noting parallels between Mikado and Hamlet (the phrase "a thing of shreds and patches" etc.). This got me to thinking about my own preferred Shakespearean parallel for Mikado, and I make bold to note the parallel between Mikado and the Henry IV plays. Nanki- Poo, like Prince Hal, is a fun loving prince who rebels against the constraints placed on him by his moralistic father, leaves the court, and finds adventures among the common people of the realm. I don't claim that Mikado is in any sense a "version" of the Henry plays, and see no point in piling up points of similarity. For one thing, there are far more differences than similarities. The two princes' situations bear a certain resemblance, but Hal goes on a series of larks, with companions who know he is the prince, and from which he routinely returns to the palace. Nanki-Poo, by contrast, has been a fugitive for months, his identity unknown to all around him. There is no Hotspur's rebellion to reconcile father and son. Falstaff (in the text) and Pooh-bah (by tradition) are identified as fat, but what of that? So if I'm not going to play the "Romeo and Juliet-West Side Story" game of listing counterpart characters and plot incidents, why bring the Henry plays up? Only because both make use of the figure of the incognito prince. Gilbert did not steal this device from Shakespeare (I have no reason to believe that he had Hal consciously in mind) any more than Shakespeare invented it--both had a long heritage of fairy tales and legends with such a character from which to draw in their portrayal. The incognito prince, like other heroes on a quest, is intended to win a prize or gain wisdom from his experience. We know that Hal does this because we see the sequel. He becomes a greater king than his father (we moderns may or may not agree, but by the standards of his and Shakespeare's day--the seizing and holding of French real estate--he established clear superiority) and he does so in part because of the common touch he developed pub crawling with Falstaff and the boys. Before Agincourt he inspirits his troops in two ways. Immediately before the battle, in the St. Crispin's Day speech, he acts the part of the literary warrior king as well as it's ever been done. But the night before he goes among the troops (incognito again, as it happens) speaking to small groups, even joking with them. A conventional hero king, trained exclusively in the ways of royalty, might give a rousing battle speech, but the former madcap prince can do more. He can go among his troops, with "a little touch of Harry in the night." We don't get to see the sequel to Mikado. We don't know what kind of emperor Nanki-Poo becomes. But I like to think that, like Henry of Monmouth, he will surpass his father. He has escaped the rarefied air of the palace and lived among the common folk. He has seen the mess that an imperial edict (which seems such a good idea to the Mikado who decrees it) can make when an ordinary town, minding its own business, is forced to implement that edict. He has seen these things, and hopefully learned from them. His spell as a second trombone will, IMHO, be good for him and good for Japan when he succeeds to the throne. 2.5 And for the attentively challenged. Mike Storie proffered this: Following is the "short attention span plot" of The Mikado that appeared in 1994 in the Seattle G&S Society newsletter "Paragraphs.": "THE Mikado" Book by Bill Gilbert, Music by Art Sullivan, "PG- 45" - Mature sense of humor but virtually no adult situations. Sexual innuendoes include a lady "who dresses like a guy," some public kissing, a left shoulder blade, a left elbow, a right heel, and a bare right arm. Implied violence includes knifes, hangman's nooses, an executioner's axe, death by burial alive, a sabre cutting through cervical vertebrae, boiling oil, melted lead, a severed head standing on its neck and bowing to people, tigers, thunderbolts, and a suicidal dickey-bird. Parents - you have been warned! The Mikado has the type of plot that would drive certain members of Congressional Committees right up the wall. If it weren't a classic, you wouldn't let your children watch it on Saturday mornings. It would make a wonderful vehicle for a video game - THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES MEET MADAM BUTTERFLY. For those of you who can't wade through the whole plot by the time they dim the theater lights, here is a quick sketch of what's really going to happen: What's a Japanese kid to do when his old man insists he marry an older woman? (Particularly if she's got a face that would stop a bullet train.) Add to this that father's word is law because he's the Emperor of Japan, that he's politically quite a bit to the right of Ollie North, and he's also into heavy discipline. For example, he has passed some pretty stiff laws to keep young punks straight. You can't even dye your hair puce anymore, or scribble on windowpanes, and don't even think about cheating at billiards. What he's really hung up on though is flirting! All you gotta do is wink at someone and you're immediately beheaded! I mean total bummer! Being fiscally conservative as well, the Emperor has restructured and rightsized the judicial system so that all judges perform their own executions, thus eliminating a lot of middle management fat. The obvious answer, if you are inflicted with such a father, is to join the homeless and find work as a street musician. When the Emperor had his fun new laws executed (if you'll pardon the expression), a bunch of pseudo-intellectual town fathers in a burb called "Titipu" came up with a loophole you could drive a Mitsubishi through. Since the next guy on death row in their town was a wimpy tailor who go caught flirting, they decide to promote him to be Lord High Executioner. The scam was based on the rather thin legal argument that, since he was next in line for beheading, he'd have to cut off his own head before he could cut off anyone else's. This naturally stretched out the already lengthy appeal process. While living as a street person, the Emperors son, with the dubious name of "Nanki-Poo," falls for a local groupie named Yum-Yum. (I thought only certain Congressmen still got away with calling women things like that.) Anyway, their romance doesn't get far because she is engaged to marry her guardian, the above-mentioned wimpy tailor. Now the bad news for the audience at this point is that even though I've laid all these plot details on you, the opera hasn't even started yet! The Emperor's son hears that the tailor has been condemned for flirting, but by the time he gets back to Titipu, the tailor has been promoted to executioner and is about to marry Yum-Yum. At this point we meet the all-time great role model for aspiring public servants, a bureaucrat's bureaucrat named Pooh-Bah. Pooh-Bah will do or say anything for an appropriate stipend - sort of like some Arkansas Troopers. He introduces Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner (nee tailor) who, it turns out, is now a man with a social agenda. For example, if you've got flabby hands and peppermint breath, you better hold on to your hat! (And anything you keep in it!) Ko-Ko, it would also seem, is one of those guys with a strong interest in young girls, all of whom seem to be suffering from terminal giggles. They really get excited when they learn that Nanki-Poo is back in town. By the time they straighten out what's happening, however, Nanki-Poo is back in the depths of depression. As part of his wedding preparations, Ko-Ko is busy bribing all of the city officials (namely Pooh-Bah) so that he can get his wedding paid for. During all this, a letter arrives from the Emperor, pointing out that there have been no executions in Titipu for some time and they'd better get cracking. Suddenly, Ko-Ko is faced with the somewhat unpleasant and technically complicated task of cutting off his own head! His only way out is to quickly find a substitute. Naturally, at this point, in walks poor depressed Nanki-Poo with a rope in his hand. They quickly strike a simple bargain - Nanki-Poo can marry Yum-Yum tomorrow on the condition that he allow Ko-Ko to behead him at the end of the month. Then, as a widow, Yum-Yum would be free to marry Ko-Ko. This scheme pleases the townspeople and they launch into a celebration, when what to their wondering eyes should appear, but Katisha, the aforementioned ugly older woman! Although Katisha scares everyone half to death, they ignore her attempts to rat on Nanki-Poo so she storms back to Tokyo to fetch the Emperor and while she's gone, the audience can finally take a break When we rejoin the action, Yum-Yum is getting ready for her wedding and having to endure only a few cute jokes from her girl friends about having her wedding plans "cut short" at the end of the month. Unfortunately, Ko-Ko wanders in at this point having just learned from his lawyer (Pooh-Bah - again) that the fine print in the Emperor's law says that if a married man is beheaded for flirting, his wife must be buried alive! This news, in general, dampens the spirits of the wedding party somewhat. Yum-Yum says, "let's call the whole thing off," and Nanki-Poo goes despondent on us again. Meantime, Katisha has fetched the Emperor and they are just coming into town. Ko-Ko, assuming that the Emperor has arrived to see if an execution has taken place, decides he had better come up with one. Nanki-Poo volunteers but Ko-Ko still hasn't quite mastered his axe swinging bit yet. Suddenly he comes up with the bright idea of bribing all the city officials (Yep - Heeeer's Pooh-Bah!) into claiming that he had beheaded Nanki- Poo. In order for this fabrication to hold up, they have to get Nanki-Poo out of town fast. So the Archbishop of Titipu (name of Pooh-Bah) marries him to Yum-Yum and sends them both packing. Since the Emperor is a great fan of the efficacy of punishment, the detailed description of the decapitation is well received up to the point where Katisha notices the name "Nanki-Poo" on the death certificate. This of course, means that the Emperor must conjure up a suitable punishment for person or persons who inadvertently kill the heir to the throne of Japan. He decides that something lingering, involving boiling oil and melted lead will suffice. While they are heating the cauldrons, the Emperor does lunch. Since Ko-Ko, Pitti-Sing and Pooh-Bah aren't particularly hungry, they find Nanki-Poo and try to convince him to come back to life. Nanki-Poo refuses since if Katisha discovers him still alive, she will insist on his an Yum-Yum's death. They finally decide that the only possible way out of the problem is for Ko-Ko to woo, win and marry Katisha during lunch! Thus follows a whirlwind romance, a relieved Emperor (he finds that not only is his son still alive but he won't have to put up with Katisha as a daughter-in-law), and everyone dances off into the sunset in their inimitable Japanese way. 2.6 Nanki-Poo Up - Ko-Ko Down Ken Krantz offered this analysis: The Mikado tells the story of the rising fortune of Nanki-Poo and the concurrent falling fortune of Ko-Ko. There is a tide in the affairs of men and in the beginning one man's is at the ebb and the other at the flood. Before the curtain Ko-Ko has gone from condemned prisoner to high public official while Nanki-Poo has gone from crown prince to vagabond fugitive. When he enters he at least has the hope of marrying Yum-Yum but he loses even that with the information Pish-Tush and Pooh-bah give him. When Ko-Ko enters his fate is as high, and Nanki-Poo's as low, as either will ever be again. The rest of the opera works out the process of the reversal of fortune between the two men. By the end there is complete symmetry. The choice Nanki-Poo faced at his father's court--death or marriage to Katisha--is forced on Ko-Ko. Consider this simplified chronology of the two men's situations as the story unfolds after their first meeting: NANKI-POO KO-KO Planning suicide Enjoying high office, about to marry Yum-Yum Gets to marry YY for a month, then die Faced with Mikado's decree, must give up YY for a month Gets to marry YY permanently Must give up YY forever and fake the execution to keep his job Married to YY, free and clear. Katisha Condemned for killing the heir apparent, can only and his father think he's dead, so no risk escape death by marrying Katisha of further pursuit Married to YY and restored to his Married to Katisha, barely able to save his skin by flimsy position. legal argument to Mikado For me the single line that crystallizes this reversal of fortune is Nanki-Poo's "Very well then, behead me." This is the moment at which Ko-Ko, if he were other than as he is, could at one stroke (literally) have both Yum-Yum and his job. But being who he is, a man who can't kill anyone or anything, he lets the moment pass and, by deciding to fake the death certificate, sets in motion his eventual fate. From that line, and Ko-Ko's response to it, Nanki- Poo's success and Ko-Ko's failure follow. The line is conventionally viewed as standard behaviour for a sappy romantic lead, and it is certainly consistent with his suicidal posturing in Act I. However, I interpret it differently. For one thing, Nanki-Poo throughout shows a cleverness and resolve unlike the stereotypical sappy romantic lead. Can one imagine Frederic or Strephon manoeuvring as adroitly as Nanki-Poo does throughout the show? Ralph and Nanki- Poo both plan suicide late in Act I, but Ralph, once he has decided on that course, just stands there looking silly, singing with the pistol to his head, plodding on towards the death that would have come but for Josephine's intervention. Nanki-Poo, by contrast, seizes the opportunity to turn Ko-Ko's problem to his advantage by working out the marriage- for-a-month deal. I don't doubt that in his initial despair over losing Yum-Yum Nanki-Poo sincerely planned to kill himself. But by his second apparently suicidal moment ("very well then, behead me") he has gotten to know Ko-Ko, and to size him up. He has the chance to understand Ko-Ko's character, and particularly his unfitness for the job of executioner. After "Here's a how-de-do" temporarily puts Ko-Ko back in the one-up position (Yum-Yum is unwilling to be buried alive, so she backs out of the marriage to Nanki-Poo) Nanki- Poo again threatens suicide. He knows from Act I how his suicide will upset Ko-Ko's plans. He may still be sincerely willing to kill himself, but he has to realize that he has to some extent restored the status quo before the Act I finale. As on the earlier occasion, he has a bargaining position because he has something (his life) that Ko- Ko needs. As he and Ko-Ko argue the point Pooh-bah arrives with the news that the Mikado is almost here. This adds the press of time to Ko-Ko's problems. This is the moment at which a shrewd judge of character might realize that Ko-Ko, with a little more pressure, could collapse entirely. Nanki-Poo is willing to risk all on a single throw of the dice. When he says "behead me" there is a chance that Ko-Ko will take him up on it (in which case he will be no worse off than if he had hung himself back in Act I), but there is also a chance--and a good chance, given Ko- Ko's observed character--that this final bit of pressure will force Ko-Ko into complete capitulation, as it does. This is the crisis of the story of their interconnected fates and proceeds as it does because of the character of each man. The situation is set up by Nanki-Poo's willingness to risk his life and resolved by Ko-Ko's unwillingness to take that life. Now, as to the practical business of presenting this in performance. I freely admit that everything I have written above may be lit crit theorizing that can't be made to work on stage. Still, I'd like to see it tried. I have generally seen Nanki- Poo's line delivered with a Dudley Do-right ingenuousness very much at odds with my interpretation. After Ko-Ko's speech about being under contract to die at the hands of the public executioner I would like to see something like this: NP: [very deliberately, while staring straight at him] Very well then. Behead me KK: [looking away, flustered] What, now? NP: [still staring, still deliberately] Certainly [staring even harder] At once. Then Pooh-Bah chimes in with the comic relief of "Chop it off, chop it off." and their exchange leads to Ko-Ko's long speech about guinea pigs and blue bottles. By the end of that speech Ko- Ko is weeping that he can't kill anybody. It is clear that the pressure is working. NP: [more jocularly] Come, my poor fellow {Note the patronizing tone. He realizes he is in control now}, we all have unpleasant duties to discharge at times; after all, what is it? If I don't mind, why should you? Remember [resuming the forceful, deliberate delivery] sooner or later it must be done. KK: Must it? I'm not so sure about that? With that Ko-Ko's fate, and Nanki-Poo's victory, are sealed. Nanki-Poo's next line "What do you mean?" can be taken literally- - he doesn't know what specific plan Ko-Ko has in mind--but he has offered his life, and Ko-Ko has refused it. By the successful outcome of this gamble he has regained, this time permanently, the one-up position. For purposes of this discussion I take no position in the controversy over whether Nanki-Poo is a hero or a villain, and whether or not his flight from Katisha is justified. Whether for good or ill, Nanki-Poo is unusually intelligent and forceful for a G&S tenor, capable of taking shrewd action in his own interest and of manipulating a character like Ko-Ko. Clive Woods pointed out: But surely if he really behead Nanki- Poo, Katisha would still have found out from the death certificate that he had beheaded the heir to the throne. Ko-Ko's fate is sealed much earlier, at the instant he chooses Nanki-Poo as substitute. Presumably there were many others on death row (or not) and he could have chosen any one of them with impunity, forged his death certificate, satisfied the Mikado, and Katisha would have been none the wiser. Nanki-Poo would have committed suicide and Ko-Ko would have Yum-Yum. Katisha would have been distraught at arriving in Titipu about 10 minutes too late to marry Nanki-Poo. 3. The Music 3.1 General Observations Mike Nash wrote: Start with the good points:- The music has a very high proportion of catchy tunes - if the show were premiering in 1997, these would no doubt be released as singles. This is why I think the show has remained popular - many people like a catchy pop song. Tunes, like phrases, go into a nation's or civilization's consciousness, and people quote them even when they don't know who wrote them. (Example: "Tit Willow" being spoofed as "Portillo" on The Rory Bremner show - FTBONUKN, Rory Bremner is an impressionist who specialises in political satire, and Michael Portillo is one of the more right-wing members of the Conservative party, who always makes me think of one of the characters out of "The Godfather"). The orchestration is lovely too; underneath the aforementioned catchy tunes, there is a lot going on. Sullivan used a lot of variety in his instrumentation, which give the piece a lot of colour which it loses when it's hammered out on a piano, or when it's butchered as "The Hot Mikado" or something. (Though I have a hard-rock arrangement of "So Please You Sir We Much Regret" floating around my poor mad brain...) All in all, it makes Mikado one of my favourite operas to - I like to put on the CD, collapse on my bed and mellow out to "The Sun Whose Rays". And the Bad bits:- Having said that the music for The Mikado is one of the easiest to pick up, I find that having picked it up, it didn't continue to grow on me the way that many of the others did. For instance, the first time I heard a tape of Patience I wasn't struck by it at all, but after a few listens (and learning the bass line) I discovered lots to enjoy. I don't find much in the music of The Mikado that's under the surface, so to speak, apart from the aforementioned subtleties in orchestration. That's OK in a stage show, where your audience are only going to hear it once, and won't even want to analyse it even if they had the chance. But I do feel that the score of The Mikado is more like the score of a modern musical than of an opera - a series of catchy pop songs strung together. Again, maybe that's why many people like it; after all, in terms of box- office at the very least, musicals outsell opera (at least in the UK). The only "extended" musical passage is Finale Act 1, and even that is really a series of songs ("With Aspect Stern", "The Threatened Cloud" etc.) Compare that with the "Hark, What Was That, Sir" scene from "Yeomen", which always strikes me as being more "operatic". Sam Clapp replied: I think that The Mikado being more like the score of a modern musical has as much to do with the success of the opera as anything. Three of my top favorites are Mikado, Patience, and Yeomen, and one finds, on close inspection, that all of these operas contain no musical "scenes" (i.e., with a bunch of song strung together) except at their act endings! Bruce Miller opined: In the discussion of music for Mikado, Ron mentioned "Were you not to Ko-Ko plighted" and the glee "See how the fates their gifts allot" as its two least memorable numbers. If these are indeed the weakest in that opera (many of us would agree) then the score's overall strength is once again demonstrated. Neither of these two movements is less than serviceable, although Sullivan did write better examples in both forms; both are amusing (those who vomit are no doubt in a small minority); and neither is anything near a failure due to a dearth of inspiration - whereas in the latter category one can point to various examples scattered throughout the canon. Against this are: The most brilliantly successful trio in G & S (Three little maids from school, or The flowers that bloom in the spring, {Nick Sales asked: Wearing my pedant's hat at a particularly rakish angle; isn't' that a quintet?}or Here's a how d'ye do, or I am so proud - take your pick). Possibly the most brilliant and thrilling opening chorus (If you want to know who we are). Arguably the finest Act I finale in G & S, rivalled perhaps by those in Iolanthe and Yeomen but not surpassed. To dismiss it as a "succession of songs" is to miss the brilliance (there's that word again) of Sullivan's (and Gilbert's) sense of dramatic sweep and contrast which distinguishes it. The finest single aria in the entire canon "A wand'ring minstrel I". The strength of musical characterization given to each individual role, as typified by the solo writing allotted to them in solos and ensembles. The striking aptness of such movements as "There is beauty in the bellow of the blast", "So please you sir", "My object all sublime", "Behold the Lord High Executioner" and many others. Compare these strengths to the other operas. It's an impressive list. You'll find examples of the above in most of them, but not necessarily on so consistently high a level or as numerous, and a main reason for Mikado's high ranking in the eyes of posterity. Neil Ellenoff replied: I agree. I think we all have grown up with The Mikado and tend to take it for granted. I know I do. And then I listen to it and realize how great a work it is. Otherwise we have to characterize the opposing opinions in terms of A is Happy, B is Not. And Tom Shepard: And don't forget the terrific melodic rhythms which Sullivan invents for Gilbert's words. For melodic rhythmic variety, there is no other Savoy opera to surpass The Mikado. Nick Sales commented: Bruce's comment about "A Wand'ring Minstrel interests me, not because I necessarily disagree (though if I thought about it long enough, I'm sure I would), but I would like some justification/explanation, if you please, Bruce. 3.2 Act II Prompted by Paul McShane's dismissal of much of the music in Act II [See section 1.9 above.] Bruce Miller wrote: The Mikado - Act II - Musical excellence continued: Braid the raven hair - While I've found it surprisingly difficult to make work in performance, it is easily an above average women's chorus; certainly it ranks far above Utopia's Act I opening, and is more effective from the strictly musical aspect than Ida's 2nd or 3rd Act openings. No, it's not quite as inspired as some of the other choruses in Mikado, but for its place in the opera it works quite nicely, thank you. As to the mellisma on "supple" (of "supple tress"), that is a particularly felicitous example of Sullivan's tone painting. The long, flowing second melody "Art and nature thus allied") is gorgeous and in beautiful contrast to the opening tune. Coupled with inspired staging, costumes and lighting, this number can be stunning if well carried out. The sun whose rays are all ablaze - this solo is one of the few in the canon which has been successfully sung on the concert stage apart from its context. For me, anyway, it's one of the very best musical numbers in Mikado and, again, it works quite well in the location it finally was placed - much better dramatically than its original location in Act I. I'd rank it as just less than absolutely superb. Brightly dawns our wedding day - If not Sullivan's very finest madrigal, certainly one of his finest. Maybe people get tired of it with over- familiarity, but I find it has just the right blend of rejoicing mingled with the sadness and regret to come. However one ranks this quartet, it is far from being a loser. Here's a how-d'ye-do - The first absolutely brilliant number in Act II, having been preceded by three winners. It's extremely amusing, admirably advances the plot, beautifully compact and quite original. It recalls the can-can while spoofing in a pseudo-Japanese manner, and highlights Sullivan's wit as well as (and perhaps more than) Gilbert's. Singers tend to dislike it because it's difficult to sing well, because the movement directors often require tends to be inconvenient. Entrance of Mikado and Katisha/My object all sublime. The former is acknowledged by Paul to equal the best of Act I. The verdict of posterity seems to echo the chorus of the original production, which implored Gilbert to put it back after he had cut it at a rehearsal. The Glee (See how the fates) - To repeat an earlier post - it's fun, and while not an overwhelming success, certainly at least adequate, and far from being a failure. The flowers that bloom in the spring (which I earlier erroneously called a trio) - Another brilliant number which must be ranked among the very finest ensembles in the canon. Alone! And yet alive - Another number which is difficult to bring off in performance. it requires a first rate singing- actress playing Katisha, who can play this scene straight. I have seen it work superbly, with the audience really showing great sympathy for her. Although Katisha has brought this on herself, her pain is real and there shouldn't be any hint of satire here. Musically this is a strong movement, but it only works given the right actress (and orchestra). Tit-willow - A masterpiece, purely and simply. There is beauty in the bellow of the blast - Ditto. Act II finale - How could they lose when reprising those two numbers? Rica Mendes admitted: I must agree with Bruce. I love Brightly Dawns. The lines weave so nicely together, the text's sarcasm sweetly sneaks up on you, and it is the first madrigal that includes fa-la-la's that I don't detest listening to and singing. Even the ding-doings are excusable. I do, also, have to admit that I think "Here's a Howdy Do" is a really annoying song, especially the dippy "Here's a pretty howdy-doooooooooo!" 3.3 Individual songs 3.3.1 Tit-Willow Arthur Robinson noted: I find this song funny (though I have a weird sense of humor), for instance: "Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried, "Or a rather tough worm on your little inside?" Actors may play this for sentiment (and even do so successfully), but I don't think that's what Gilbert intended. It seems to me a clear satire of sentimental tosh. To which Paul McShane replied: This is a good point, Arthur. When I did Ko-Ko, I played it completely for sentiment in the first couple of verses, the rationale being that I had to knuckle down to do some hard convincing to Katisha, and needed to get carried away by my own words. There's a very nice gesture that you can incorporate - that of reaching out a finger to an imaginary branch for the bird to hop onto so you can address most of the first verse to him at eye level, then release him back to the branch on the last line of the verse. I believe that the best time to start reverting to humour is from the end of second verse, after eyeing off Katisha, and noticing that she has become affected. And Tit-willow, when sung completely seriously, is a much better number than Katisha's preceding solo. Nick Sales observed; I don't really see this as a fair comparison. Either song, out of context, or without the other, doesn't really work. Given two good actor/singers, the scene from "Alone, and yet alive" through to "There is beauty in the bellow" can be among the funniest, yet most moving from the entire canon. The pathos evoked by Katisha's recit/aria can be awe-inspiring, and it is the mark of genius on the part of S & G that it is immediately followed by one of the funniest scenes ever committed to a stage; the mere thought of a large, irate Katisha terrorising a pathetic, cowering Ko-Ko makes me chuckle. Follow this scene with a clever, sensitive rendering of "tit- willow", allowing us to see Katisha melting and I should say that just about sums it up. Oh, and I've just remembered my favourite line in the show - the "teeny weeny bit bloodthirsty" line; most Katishas I've seen have had one of Ko-Ko's cheeks in each hand at this point are shaking his head gently from side to side. Ah well-a-day! Mark Beckwith exclaimed: Heavens, what am I missing? Tit-Willow doesn't really work out of context? I don't agree. I sing this a lot as a get-up-and-sing-something-for-the- old-folks type number, and it is always highly successful. It is also a money-in-the-bank choice for auditions if you want to get across your aptitude for 'authentic style' (that is, if you're going for Ko-Ko). So I repeat, I must have missed something. Bruce Miller wrote: With regard to whether to play "tit-willow" as funny or straight; It seems to me the key is Sullivan's orchestration, and tempo. If done in "Andante" 6/8 time, this implies a fairly fast pace - for the pulse is in 2 beats per each bar (not 6). Two beats in a walking tempo, moving at a metronome beat of ca. 75-80 for each dotted quarter note, has the signature "tit-willow" motive chirping rather briskly. This sounds and feels very differently from the standard, one might say lugubrious, pace affected by those adherents of the Martyn Green pathetic/sad school of interpretation. If one accepts that Gilbert was parodying a specific, serious model (as Leslie Bailey seems to demonstrate), then this is yet another example of Sullivan entering fully into the spirit of Gilbert's fun; and the faster pace seems more in keeping with Sullivan's characterization of Ko-Ko in other movements. This first came to my attention when I heard Peter Pratt's version in the first stereo Mikado. The music sounded so different, and his delivery far more deadpan than Green's. I don't believe Pratt really was the best exponent of Ko-Ko, judging from his records (he seems to have missed the "espressivo" part of Sullivan's "Andante espressivo"), but I also believe Green's interpretation of Tit- willow, however effective it may have been taken in isolation, was a real misreading of the song and its function. Ko-Ko is not Jack Point. Neil Ellenoff commented: I wish you all would realize that not even Jack Point is Jack Point. David Duffey replied: On stage, however, Peter Pratt's Ko-Ko was outstanding. Described as "like a hopeful mole", he was bewildered by the elevation to LHE, surprised but delighted by his power and riches and totally bemused by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The was a comic inevitability about all that he did, but with the real timid Ko-Ko looking on from inside himself and becoming ever more confused. PP was always on the lookout for a topicality, which he usually slipped into one or other of the trio encores (and I have seen eight taken) Usually this took the form of a small item of costume, or headgear or a prop to suggest a person currently in the news. Also, I think the effect of Green's "Tit-willow" was the contrast with the hammy and forced business used by Lytton. The thing which amazes me about it is his (Green's) description in his autobiography of the occasion he first sang the song straight. From memory it was something along the lines of:- 'between acts I sent for Godfrey, our musical director and told him to have the strings muted', implying that it was done without rehearsal or consultation, surely something no professional would ever do. 3.3.2 Hearts Do Not Break Mark Beckwith wrote: "Hearts do not Break" is easily one of my favorite moments in The Mikado. I am used to hearing it sung very well and very effectively. It makes me feel like a boob to have to sneak in and say "Katisha!" 3.3.3 The Sun Whose Rays Barclay Gordon wrote: My only quibble with The Mikado, and it's a small one, centers on Yum-Yum's solo "The sun whose rays..." To my ear, it is an attractive melody, the pace is unhurried, and it seems to be placed comfortably for the soprano voice. Yet even accomplished sopranos seem to have trouble putting the song across effectively. The audience is either waiting for the topsy- turveydom to begin again, or they don't have a clue as to what Yum-Yum is singing about-or why. I wonder if the fault is Gilbert's? Is the lyric a little tangled (what with a few well- chosen words from the Sun himself mingled in with Yum-Yum's?) Or is the song inadequately introduced in the dialogue that precedes it? What's wrong here? One last point: Yum-Yum, I know, is the most equal among equals, but nothing in her character before this song prepares me for the assertiveness of "I mean to rule the earth...etc." What am I missing? Nick Sales replied: I agree that it does seem to "be comfortably placed for the soprano voice", but I would contend that it is much harder to sing than it sounds. It seems to me to be almost in a category of its own amongst Sullivan's soprano arias; (or it may be that I've just forgotten some); it demands an immense amount of control from the singer, and the vocal line is of course, much exposed; in short, it has always struck me as "awkward" to sing; (of course, I've never sung it in public, not being a soprano, you know; my singing it in the bath falsetto is but the merest gossip). 3.3.4 Here's a Horrid Mike Nash opined: I think "Here's A How-De-Do" is the worst song G&S ever wrote together. Nick Sales replied: It's good fun to sing if you're Nanki, and I have to admit that I've always enjoyed it; I have been told by a couple of Yum-Yums that they don't enjoy singing it, and Ko-Ko's do occasionally seem to struggle, but that could be due to the carefully choreographed- and-laid-down-in-stone dance moves for each of the verses/encores! (;o) 3.3.5 See How the fates Aaron Hunt observed: Mikado fell rather low on my list of "favorites" because of my uncomfortableness while playing at Ko- Ko, but Mikado is one of my favorite pieces in regard to Sullivan's music, which is, IMHO, pure charm mixed with bushels of technique. I will not attempt to cover this subject, for which we have the esteemed Mr. Miller, much more qualified to the task than I. I will mention, however, that "See How the Fates" is one of my favorite numbers in the canon, and I hate to see it cut as much as enjoy singing it. During this discussion, I have heard this favorite of mine criticized, and I believe that this thought process harkens back to a previous discussion about musical numbers that do not "further the plot". I love the piece in question because it suspends our moment of "gleeful" terror, so that we may roll it around for a while like a Cabernet. Jeff DeMarco concurred: This is one of my favorites too! I think the contrasts are wonderful - the trio vs. the duo, each side kind of playing devil's advocate and the genuine glee of the Mikado over the irony of the whole thing. It has a bit of the feel of the Paradox trio about it. Plotwise, I think it firmly establishes that Ko-Ko et al. are done for, despite a tantalising ray of hope that maybe, using logic, the unfortunate trio can persuade the Lucius Junius Brutus of his race not to execute them. Moreover, I find it to be a catchy tune! Musically it does some neat things. I especially like the sonorities in the full quintet, dropping to a unison line for all, then splitting back into harmony at the end. Really striking effect, a bit like the opening of the English Madrigal "Amo, amas, I loved a lass." (No, not alas, above my station!) And Bill Snyder purred Very glad to hear my opinion backed by a competent authority! The very first complete G&S I sang chorus in was a Mikado and the Glee was very warmly received. "Odd, I thought. Green says this quintet sucks" Then, some years later I directed Mikado and took a completely different tack on staging it. It worked yet again! I've seen Mikado twice since then and both times I watched the audience around me squirm in delight, then erupt into applause at the end. I could go on and on about what I like about the ensemble (mostly the brilliant simplicity of the writing and that the mezzo gets the melody), but basically I have found that one of the great strengths of Mikado is similar to the great strengths of Mozart's Da Ponte operas; the music director just has to get musical singing and the stage director just has to let the music be the guide. Bingo! Good show. Now the question that has bugged me: why did Martyn Green hate this number so much? David Duffey mused; I wonder whether it has to do with the voicing of the parts, which has Pooh-Bah singing a higher line than Ko-Ko? Incidentally, my earliest vocal score has Pish-Tush singing the Pooh-Bah line up to "Happy, undeserving A", then changes to Pooh-Bah (singing the middle line) for "If I were fortune". And Paul McShane had this to say: Did someone really dare to criticise this number? For shame! I agree with Aaron and Jeff that it's tops. Apart from the catchy music, and excellent staging possibilities, it is notable for a string of wittily and original (I think) Gilbertianisms. I recall many years ago, when a totalisator jackpot betting system got introduced into our local horse racing scene, one of our newspapers ran a set of 4-5 cartoons, over the words: "See how the nags their gifts jackpot, for A is happy, B is not, Yet B...etc." I thought it was hilarious, and wondered at the time how many readers would have recognised the quotation. However, Lisa Berglund chimed in: I don't much care for "See how the fates," for a couple of reasons. First, I dislike the A,B,C gimmick that Gilbert turned to with tedious frequency in his later librettos. After its appearance in Mikado, we have "D may be dull and E's very thick skull..." and "Both A and B rehearsal slight..." and probably other examples that my befogged brain isn't retrieving at the moment. Second, I've never understood the logic behind the A/B model, or who sings what. Who are A and B supposed to represent? Why would Katisha respond, to the question "Is B more worthy?": "I should say / He's worth a great deal more than A?" This view makes her agree with Pooh-Bah, Ko-Ko and Pitti-Sing that "B should enjoy A's happy lot"? Do the trio (P,P,K) and the duet (M,K) differ in their interpretation of who A and B represent? Does Katisha think that "B" is worthy of more prosperity than A because SHE is "B"? When I played Katisha myself, I found her position in this number completely bewildering. The music, I acknowledge, is pleasing, and structurally a quintet is desirable at this point in the opera. Bruce Miller added: In a production about 8 years ago, we tried the expedient of having Pish-Tush hang signs around the necks of Katisha (a Japanese- looking capital A) and Ko-Ko (a similar "B"). Katisha was slightly to stage right of the Mikado, who was center, and the three "B"'s (with Ko-Ko in the middle) in a group to stage left of Mikado. This made everything intelligible for the audience, and it worked fine. I also like the music, but have to admit it's not among G & S's very finest ensembles. And Arthur Robinson added: I too have never cared a lot for "See how the fates." I don't dislike it, and there's nothing wrong with it; it just has the misfortune to come right after several brilliant numbers ("The criminal cried" seems to me one of Gilbert's best lyrics--even the "throwaway" lines "He always tries to utter lies, and every time he fails" and "he speaks the truth whenever he finds it pays" strike me not only as funny but perfect for the characterization of Ko-Ko and Pooh-Bah) and before a show-stopper. I think that's the same reason I've never cared a lot for "Oh living I." If these songs were in Sorcerer or Utopia, I'd probably like them better. But Biff Florescu observed; Interesting: I much prefer "See How the Fate" to " the Criminal Cried" I think Criminal is set up weakly from a dramatic standpoint, or rather, it is not fleshed out much. Anyway, JMOHO. Robert Jones ventured this: I haven't dared to study the questionable algebra of "See how the fates". It probably makes perfect Gilbertian sense. As for his penchant for such things, perhaps it was a fashionable idiom at the time to refer to hypothetical people in such a way. I hope so. I, too, find it rather weak, and I naturally assume that WSG knows better than I. Derrick McClure mused: Musically I think it's a gem, but I agree that the words are puzzling. the Mikado's opening quatrain could be just a general observation, and a perfectly true (not to say banal) one - some people are more prosperous than others, and prosperity has no relationship to merit. But WHY does Katisha come in so dramatically with "I should say he's worth a great deal more than A"?? If the Mikado's verse is not a generalisation but has a specific reference, then the only POSSIBLE meaning is that "A" is himself and Katisha, and "B" KK, PB and PS. And later on, the reference is made quite explicit with "But condemned to die is he". Katisha can't realistically think they are more worthy than she is, and presumably not even she would venture to suggest that they're more worthy than her Emperor. Anybody got an explanation for this one? Charles Schlotter mused: I suspect this is yet another example of my theory that Gilbert's dramatic situations often hinge upon differences between strict interpretation of The Law and more flexible Equity jurisdiction. Katisha is certainly a representative of strict interpretation. Once the problem has been defined as "Fate ordains: A is happy. B, though worthy, is not." her course of action is clear. The Mikado's verse a generalization. The Law must subscribe unhesitatingly to this generalization. B is a great deal more worthy than A because that is how the case has been defined in Law (and Fate) and A must prevail. Questions of Equity, such as "But B more worthy?" must be violently rejected for to do is to cede ground to the Equity notions of fairness and looking at the facts of each case. Note, however, that Gilbert has already introduced an additional legal joke into the song (and we haven't even gotten through the first verse!) Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah and Pitti-Sing are making an Equity argument on behalf of A and B, yet A and B not real people but complete abstractions! (To go a step further, this heated argument is advanced by fictional characters.) Now KP&P attempt to redefine the problem in terms that M&K will accept. They turn the case on its head by redefining the worthiness of A and B. M&K, suspecting an Equity trick, ask whether, given the newly defined facts of the case, KP&P will insist upon strict application of The Law (Fate). No, because KP&P are using Equity theory to serve their own self-interests (as M&K use The Law to serve self interests.) Equity will only be used to advance B if they are defined as B. Now M&K have sniffed out the logical flaw behind KP&P's attempt to remove the case to Equity and destroyed it. So the case lapses into The Law, where wretched meritorious B is condemned to die. I find Gilbert's lyrics to this number are among his most subtle and ingenious. He may have used letters to designate characters elsewhere ("Oh, A Private Buffoon") but he never played with so many levels of reality. He seems here to anticipate 20th Century writers who play with perceptions of reality. Thank you for forcing me to analyze and understand my instinctive love of this particular number. Rica Mendes offered this: This is my interpretation of that, and, the way that I played it: The Mikado intends to define A as himself/Katisha and PS, PB and KK as B. Katisha, seeing herself as worthy and unhappy over NP's demise, defines herself (mistakenly) as B. Then the trio comes in, following the Mikado's lead and defining themselves as B and, IMHO, Katisha as A. But, of course, no one is 100% sure of who is who, so the trio has to redefine themselves as B at the end of their verse. And Thomas Drucker observed: It seems as though performers have a hard time fitting questions of motivation and identity into 'See how the Fates their gifts allot'. I'm not sure that audience members feel the same difficulty. After all, the text of the quintet is more or less a standard theme in moral philosophy (down, no doubt, to the references to individuals by letters). There is rather more of a lyrical touch to it, thanks to the quaffing, chaffing, and so forth. Still, the idea would readily have come from ethics text (or, for that matter, a sermon) with 'B' being Boethius. (Finding the ethics text would take a little more work.) If the song were to have been put in Princess Ida, it would be just another pseudo-academic exercise and weigh it down further. Among the lightness of The Mikado, it is reminiscent of other songs giving a certain academic seriousness in the midst of sunshine (e.g., the Quintet 'Try we life-long' in Gondoliers). That doesn't help Katisha's difficulty in sounding convincing in asserting B's value relative to A, but it may suggest that the audience is not in need of another conviction. Bill Kelly surmised: For me (as for Thomas Drucker), the use of "A" and "B" in "See How the Fates" suggests not algebra but moral philosophy. Didn't G. E. Moore, a moral philosopher writing at Cambridge (UK) about the turn of the century, use such a scheme in his Principia Ethica? That would be Gilbert's era. 3.3.6 Braid the raven hair Lisa Berglund observed: In our production of The Mikado, by the way, we gave the solo in "Braid the raven hair" to Peep-Bo. This arrangement seems to me superior to that in the opera as written. Not only does it give that soloist a little more to do, but the solo strikes me as much more in keeping with Peep's character. Her few lines of dialog suggest that she's much more catty and manipulative than the good-natured and ebullient Pitti- Sing. Michael Walters noted: A very interesting observation, with which I agree. In the "Lytton" recording, this solo is given to Peep-Bo (Beatrice Elburn), though this may have been purely accidental, depending on what singers were available for which sessions. But I have always felt that the only reason Pitti-Sing has so much more to do than Peep-Bo is because Jessie Bond was a much better performer than Sybil Grey. 3.4 Influenced Puccini? Ian Hollamby wrote: I seem to recall reading somewhere, that at the time when Puccini was composing Madama Butterfly, he vouchsafed to one of his friends that Sullivan's scoring of 'Japanese' music was so inspired that he (Puccini) could learn from it. It certainly seems to be a matter of record that Puccini had a copy of 'Mikado' in his musical library, and they both appear to have used the tune of 'Miya Sama' in their respective scores. Bruce Miller replied: This rings true. Both were superb orchestrators, and although Sullivan was writing for a much smaller orchestra, Puccini could have felt as reported. Sullivan's full orchestral score was, by the time of Madama Butterfly's composition, in print - although it's unclear from your message precisely what form of score Puccini was supposed to have had in his library. I suspect it was a piano-vocal score, which wouldn't have provided the kind of information Puccini could have used as to details of orchestration. The full score was a limited edition of 75 copies. It's nice to think that Puccini may have been able to consult one of them. 3.5 Chorine Tribulations Leta Hall wrote: I am a lyric soprano of adequate ability, which means that I usually sing in the chorus. I will happily sing chorus for most G&S shows, even Pinafore and especially Pirates or Yeomen or Ruddigore. But Mikado! Herewith are my objections, from the chorine's POV, to Mikado: All the best music ("I Am So Proud," "Beauty in the Bellow of the Blast," the madrigal, etc.) happens when we are off stage. Sure, we can hang out in the wings and enjoy it, same as the audience, but it's not the same. We have to sing "Three Little Maids." I know, I know, TLM is one of the most beloved of all G&S numbers ( highlights CD has it), but I loathe it. Its CP is enormous and it's redundant because everything it tells us is expressed elsewhere, to wit: 1. Yum-Yum is leaving school and coming to marry Ko-Ko (Pish- Tush's dialogue); 2. The young girls are innocent of the ways of the world ("Comes a Train of Little Ladies"); 3. They are also silly hoydens ("Oh Please You, Sir"). Cut it and you loose nothing, except that the audience would lynch you during intermission. We are expected to act stupider than usual in order to satisfy the stereotype that's being satirized. We are usually forced to carry Japanese-style parasols or fans or both. I'm 5'7, so I'm usually one of the tallest of the women's chorus. During Mikado rehearsals and performances I'm in constant danger from the wood & paper props. In Pirates we wear mobcaps during the second act. No one's ever hit me in the face with a mobcap. If I lived in a town that didn't have a G&S society, only the annual Mikado society, sure, I'd sign up. Even the worst Gilbert & Sullivan (which Mikado isn't) is better than no Gilbert & Sullivan - god forbid. And if Gillian Knight were performing, I'd buy a ticket every weekend. And I love the dialogue. Dan Kravetz replied: I strongly disagree. "Three little maids" was obviously intended to be a sharp, surprising contrast to the chorus that precedes it. It's a transition between old-fashioned and modern young women right in front of the audience. The chorus portrays innocence but the trio that follows is supposed to show the opposite. Silly hoydens? Perhaps, but we need to know this as soon as we meet the three principal girls. And Bruce Miller replied thus: I respectfully but urgently disagree with your contention that "all the best music" in Mikado happens when the [female] chorus is offstage. You are thus discounting: So please you sir (a number which, in my experience, the women's chorus loves to sing). With joyous shout - absolutely magnificent and exciting music to sing. For he's going to marry Yum-Yum. Act I Finale closing chorus, culminating in "We do not hear their dismal sound" - Sullivan's answer to Meistersinger, and way up on the spine-tingling chart. Entrance of the Mikado and My object all sublime. Act II Finale, wherein the chorus gets to reprise two of the best of the Act I Finale. No, my dear Leta - if you find this dull, I submit to you the fault is not with Sullivan (or Gilbert). Rica Mendes replied to this: Agreeing with THBM, I have to chime in and add "Criminal Cried". Leta Hall replied: One of the many benefits I receive from Savoynet is the chance to have some of my more fat-headed opinions revised after input from the more learned members of the group. (No, I am not being sarcastic; I really mean it.) You're quite right - the music in the two finales is terrific and I do enjoy "With Joyous Shout" very much. My mistake. On the other hand, I still disagree with some of what you've said. "So Please You Sir," for instance is a great number and women's choruses often enjoy singing it - in the context of Mikado. It's lively, it's fun, and the tra-la-las stop just this side of being giggles. But I bet that if you gather together a women's chorus and give them the entire canon of women's chorus music from which to pick for general singing, it will be quite some time before "So Please You Sir" gets mentioned. (Some numbers from Iolanthe will be sung twice before you get to it, in fact.) Perhaps I should have made clearer that I was speaking only from my experience as a chorine. As an audience member for Mikado I enjoy the whole show. In fact, the next time you music direct it, let me know and I'll come up from Maryland to see it. And I'll leave the theater whistling all the airs. Of course, now "So Please You Sir" is stuck in my head. Thanks Bruce. Thanks a lot. And Dan - the point you outlined had never occurred to me. And it's a good one, too, especially since subtext is one of those things I get all excited about. I'll have to think about it and (oh dear), possibly withdraw my objection. Sigh. Of course, I notice that no one has rushed up to defend the experience of being hit in the face with parasols. Hmmmm. 4. The Libretto 4.1 One Catalogue too Many? George Timson asked: Am I the only Savoyard who thinks that TWO songs that catalogue the people disliked by the singer is ONE song too many for a single opera? Arthur Robinson replied: A certain W.S. Gilbert felt as you do, and wanted to cut one of them just before the opening, but was dissuaded by the company. And Mark Beckwith: This never occurred to me before. I think Princess Ida has Mikado beat for catalogs of dislikes, but I am counting the Ape song which isn't really a catalog. I have certainly never used this as a criterion of any judgement of a given work. 4.2 Yam - A vegetable or Not? George Timson wondered: When Yum-Yum sings "and for yam I should get toko" what does 'yam' mean? 'Toko' of course means punishment (from the Hindu), but can 'yam' mean something other than a vegetable? 4.3 No Minstrel He Henry A Stephens confessed: This has been bugging me for years. During the Act I finale, when Katisha tries to "unmask" Nanki- Poo, why do all the Chorus members try to silence her? I understand Nanki-Poo's motivation and Yum-Yum's motivation to want his father being the Mikado kept secret. But why the chorus? This trashes the idea that Gilbert's choruses were real people, not just parrots of refrains. Real people would want to hear this secret. Any ideas? Rica Mendes replied: Very simple: Yum- Yum squawks, "Ah-hah! I know!" The one action that Yum-Yum takes (the only intelligent one, if you ask me) in the entire show is, assumably after having this epiphany, is to quickly get the chorus to shout "Oni bikkuri shakurito!" And Tim Devlin replied: What often happens at this point is that Yum-Yum rushes about telling the chorus to interrupt. I can see your point that the average villager would be keen to hear exciting revelations. But I have always taken this moment to be a satisfying example of small-town solidarity against those interfering b-----s from the capital. As did Arthur Robinson: Good point, but I can think of two reasons the chorus would interrupt Katisha: 1. She has probably antagonized them, and the female chorus are friends of Yum-Yum, so they'd do what she wants them to. 2. More important, and supremely logical: if they DON'T interrupt her, the opera ends (and joins Trial as the only G&S one-acter), and the chorus will cease to exist. And Robert Jones suggested: Nanki-Poo & Yum-Yum are nice young people, while Katisha is a terrifying harridan. Why should not the people of the town take side with personable, amenable folk? Of course, their hearts should break when she voices her lament, but, well, short shrift to her till then. David Craven offered this: I saw an effective technique wherein the reason the crowd shouted down Katisha is that Nanki-Poo and Num-Num started passing out money to the crowd right after Num- Num squawked "Ah-hah! I know!". I can't think of any other reason that they might help her out. Tom Shepard observed: Real people do not sing in choruses, at least not on my street corner. Also, despite its obvious plot necessity, I can convince myself that Yum-Yum knows how to work a crowd and appeal to mob rule when necessary. Lisa Jo Hafferkamp twitted: You must forgive them; they're all quite mad. Quite. But don't worry, they're under treatment for it. And Bruce Miller chimed in: It's also within the realm of possibility that the townspeople know perfectly well what Katisha is trying to tell them, but want to avoid her actually being able to say that she tell them. Ever hear of avoiding being served with a subpoena? 4.4 Ko-Ko's Promotion Rowan Donoghue wrote: I have just been reading through The Mikado in preparation for producing it as our school musical and I noticed that there are two reasons given for Ko-Ko's rise to Lord High Executioner. In Pish-Tush's song "Our Great Mikado" he explains that Ko-Ko is let out on bail because he is next to be condemned, and therefore could not cut anyone else's head off until he remove his own... implying that relief was given to the town, as no one else could be executed for flirting. In the dialogue that follows, it is explained by Pooh-Bah, that the Mikado being quite logical could not see any difference between the judge who condemns and the "industrious mechanic" who carries out the sentence", and therefore rolled the two offices into one. It would seem that Sullivan and Gilbert were following slightly different aspects of the plot. Derrick McClure replied: Surely Pooh-Bah explains how the post of Lord High Executioner came to be established in the first place, and Pish-Tush explains how Ko-Ko came to hold it? The two explanations are not contradictory - they refer to different accents. Chris Wain observed; I agree with Derrick. The implication of Pooh-Bah's "It is" speech, is that just as there are also circuit judges (lesser ones, for those who don't know the English judicature), there are also circuit executioners. Now why wasn't one of those given the job of beheading those flirters on Death Row? I think their ranks must also have been filled from amongst those condemned to die. We know only the story of the most famous of them. 4.5 The Kaishaku Ted Rice wrote: This is another of the minor errors that can be found throughout Mikado - not that they detract from its enjoyment ! Japan did have appointed executioners, but they were usually tanners. The " industrious mechanic" who carried out the sentence was usually a close friend or relative of the condemned, chosen for his skill with the sword. This gentleman, for the post of Kaishaku was that of such rank, did the deed. Although decapitation was commonly used for the lower classes as well as the upper, there is no record of the 'boiling oil or lead' being used on anyone; as Ko-Ko was by decree a gentleman, he would have been offered hara kiri (as would have the other two), which usually ended with decapitation. Pitti-Sing would have been allowed to save her honor by cutting her throat, rather than disembowelling herself, before being bisected. (Jeff DeMarco drily interjected: Not to mention being divisible into three!) Customs of execution in Japan are detailed in a scholarly work, "The Book of Execution," by Geoffrey Abbott, a retired Yeoman Warder. 4.6 A pessimistic little train? [During the OOTW discussion of Princess Ida Andrew Crowther made passing reference to the words of Comes a train of little ladies and elicited the following reply from] Derrick McClure: Andrew, I don't agree that the lyrics of "Comes a train of little ladies" are "essentially pessimistic": to "IS it but a world of trouble?" the answer could easily be "No, it's not!" And look what follows in the opera: three of that very "train of little ladies" asserting the most joyously optimistic outlook imaginable! No, "Comes a train..." does not express pessimism but wide-eyed wonder, a hint of apprehension (natural on stepping for the last time out of the school gates into the big world), and a delighted response to the beauty and joy that there IS in the said big world. To which Andrew replied: I see your point.... But notice that all their questions point the same way. They don't ask, "But on the other hand, could the world be a much jollier place, and the glory of its treasures exactly what it seems to be?" They're toying with this mood of callow disillusionment - though admittedly they're nowhere near as far gone as Ida. The fact that they're inclined to dance and sing isn't incompatible with the idea that they're also inclined to cynicism. I'm sure flesh-and-blood parallels could be found. 5. The characters 5.1 Katisha Carole Berry wrote: I have to say that Katisha is the funniest and most interesting of all G&S ladies - she also gets all the best tunes! 5.2 Nanki-Poo [ARCHIVIST'S HEALTH WARNING - NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED: There follows a very long discussion on whether or not Nanki-Poo should be considered the villain of the piece. This is a question on which strong opinions are held and these were fortrightly expressed and argued over in the discussion. Of course, if you have strong views on this question the discussion is a must however, if it has never even remotely occurred to you that Nanki-Poo is anything but the Romantic Lead and one of the all time Good Guys, then read on and be prepared to experience a completely different world view.....] Andrew Crowther wrote in response to 1.2 above: Wet seems the perfect word to describe Nanki-Poo. Anodyne and utterly unmemorable. To me, Alexis wet - unpleasant, of course, but at least he's got character. Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum remind me somewhat of Hero and Philia in A Funny Thing Happened On The Way to The Forum - who were, I believe, deliberately designed to be utterly boring and, yes, "wet". Derrick McClure indignantly asked: What IS this perverse streak that makes some Netters describe Nanki-Poo as "the villain of the piece"?? [See David Craven in section 1.7] What's villainous about him, for Heaven's sake? In the realm of high drama, that word is applied to Iago or Richard III: presumably nobody thinks Nanki-Poo resembles them. In the realm of light opera, it might perhaps be applied to Kecal or Dr Falke. What has Nanki-Poo done to deserve classification with even that company? He flees the court rather than marry Katisha - what's wrong with that? He hadn't made any promise to her. If a man is faced with the choice of (A) marrying a Gorgon, (B) getting his head chopped off, or (C) running away, he surely doesn't have to be a villain to choose the last. He persuades Ko-Ko to marry Katisha (I assume this is what David means by "letting others pay for his mistakes while he goes off in bliss and joy"). OK, but Ko-Ko has only TWO choices - marry Katisha or boiling oil and melted lead. Nanki-Poo gives him an escape by suggesting the easier alternative - that's not villainous, surely? And what "mistakes" of Nanki-Poo's are "others" paying for? He hasn't made any mistakes at all: he's "succeeded in all he does", and left everybody rejoicing. Have some sense, David! Rica Mendes replied to this: In all fairness, Nanki-Poo does not make these suggestions for Ko-Ko's own good, but to get Katisha out of the picture. Nanki-Poo leaves it not only to Ko-Ko, but to Pooh-Bah (who is always getting his oars entangled into things) and Pitti-Sing to cover his tracks. Come to think of it, it isn't Nanki-Poo that is willing to face Katisha, but Pitti- Sing! Hence, in comparison, Nanki-Poo is among the three bad- doers in the show. As did David Craven: It is all relative. In terms of Light Opera, Nanki-Poo is a villain of the first order, up there with "the greatest villain unhung" Col Fairfax (and no other) and the arrogant ignorant blue blood Alexis Poindexter. What has Nanki- Poo done? I will explain. Fleeing the court is the first of his many sins. Whether or not it was just, Nanki-Poo is under a legal obligation to marry Katisha. Many marriages in history have been made among heads of state for dynastic or other purposes which have little, if anything to do with love. In this case the Mikado COULD have made an exception for his son, but to do so would have created the presumption that the Mikado and his family are above the law. The greater good was served by this marriage, and Nanki-Poo, for his own selfish reasons, chose to risk the greater good for his own personal comfort. Tom Shepard suggested: What Nanki-Poo has done is to choose to have a life, and at no one's expense, not even Katisha's, since her "claim" on him was false. David Craven replied to this: I am sorry. I really don't see how we "know" that the claim was false. We have a Monarch who is very very scrupulous about following the law. He won't even exempt his own son or parties to whom the administration of the law would be unfair. He is, in many ways, a literalist. As such, is it not equally reasonable that he would examine Katisha's claim and, UNDER THE LAW OF THE MIKADO, determine its validity. The claim might not be "fair" in a 20th (or even 19th) Century Western way. It might not be Just... but there is no reason to suspect that it is "false". Tom Shepard continued: Fairfax was obviously cavalier and cruel, and Alexis was a great idealistic and selfish moron. All Nanki- Poo wants is to live and love, and not to inflict his views or attitudes upon others. What is going on here with all this N-P bashing? Why begrudge a nice princely young guy his chance to be happy? I can't believe that WSG would ever have intended such revisionist attitudes of villainy to apply to Nanki-Poo. This is all the more curious to me because most of the characters in The Mikado are truly unsympathetic; they are about as cold-blooded as WSG ever created. But N-P is practically the exception: he's a hell of a nice guy, and he is surrounded by people whose agendas are far less agreeable than his own. Everyone else is on the take or on the make or around the bend or whatever-----but Crown Prince Nanki-Poo just wants to live and let live. To which David Craven had this to say: Yes. That is the twist. The villain is the apparently nice guy who is twisting the knife, ever so kindly to get his way. Heroes don't have to be likeable guys... in fact heroes are often rather lousy people from the Greek hero Heracles who killed his music tutor for daring to correct him, who killed his wife Megara and their children, his fiend Iphitus.. to War heroes who outside of the military are drunks and wife beaters. And some of history's great mass murderers have been "nice quite guys". Don't be fooled by outward appearances. Tom Shepard replied: But Nanki-Poo is just not a villain. I'll (grudgingly) grant that he broke his father's law, but this in itself doesn't make him so much a villain as perhaps an opportunist who happens to be very much in love with someone who loves him. In his pursuit of happiness, he upsets Katisha quite some and no little, but I would claim that she is the villain for pursuing and persecuting a guy who clearly doesn't want her, and she then enlists the law of the land to try to force him into a loveless relationship. She's been around the planet about 20 years longer than N-P, so she had at least a two-decade head start to corral someone other than the Crown Prince who she virtually blackmails. Who can blame Nank-Poo? Just suppose any of us were grossly misunderstood and then pursued (in the courts) by an unrelenting harridan? If N-P had given in to Katisha's demands, would he THEN be a hero, and K the villain? Putting WSG aside for a moment, and quite seriously, a contract for a lifetime relationship is pretty important and is not to be undertaken lightly or without some thought of what the future will bring. If we believe this, then let's look at WSG again, at Nank-Poo, and figure out why he should sign up for a miserable life because if he doesn't, then we'll all call him a villain. Relationships at best are tough. It is not villainy to try and create one that gives promise of being mutually satisfying. If we begrudge this of N-P, then we really do NOT wish him happiness and good fortune. Deborah Sager, returning to the original thread, asked: How is the greater good served by this marriage? Katisha is not a foreign royal of a country that Japan is at war with, or any other diplomatic necessity. She is a lady of the court, and the only good that will be done is that the Mikado keeps her, and maybe her family happy. Now the director can interpret the events prior to the show any way he wants to (including, as suggested here, a pregnant Katisha), but there's nothing in the script to show a larger, more important purpose. David answered with: I suggest that this is, in fact, grounded in the script. The Mikado makes it very clear when he agrees that the law is unfair (thereby ordering the deaths of Pitti et al) that he must follow the law as written. Nanki engaged in some conduct which resulted in the imposition of a legal burden upon him - he was legally obligated to marry Katisha. To exempt Nanki-Poo from this law, merely because he was the son of the ruler, would result in a government of men, not laws. (In fact, many would argue that much of the present problems in DC arise out of various members of the government acting as if the laws do not apply to them) A key ingredient to a proper social order is that laws must apply fully and fairly to everyone. Nanki-Poo, however, does not want to follow this rule.... and much like the punishment for Chelsea Clinton for smoking Marijuana (not that she ever would) must be firm and strong, so to must be the enforcement of the law on Nanki-Poo. He may not like it, it may not be "fair" (in a 20th century shifting values way), but it is correct. And for him to avoid his legal obligations is, if not villainous, at least Cravenly. Tom Shepard asked: Where does this legal obligation appear in the libretto? I confess that I cannot find it. And Rica Mendes observed: It must be a legal obligation, or else the Mikado would not have come along with Katisha to reclaim Nanki-Poo etc. But Tom Shepard reckoned that: This doesn't compute, as they say. The Mikado may just have gotten so sick of Katisha that he made the trip in order to shut her up. It was perhaps a family problem, but I don't yet see the legal connection. David replied: Nanki-Poo states: "She misconstrued my customary affability into expressions of affection and CLAIMED me in marriage, UNDER MY FATHER'S LAW. My father.... ordered me to marry her". In other words, Katisha made a claim before the appropriate legal authority (the Mikado) and the appropriate legal authority issued an order. We may dispute whether the legal authority was CORRECT in making this decision, but that does not alter the fact that such order was made. This is a legal obligation. For example if you sued me for slander on the grounds that I had unfairly sullied Mr. Poo's reputation and the judge issued an order in your favor, I would not be free to ignore the order. The order from the court, whether in fact the judge had any real basis (for the judge ignored the basic fact that Mr. Poo, like an honest lawyer or politician is an imaginary character), would be a legal obligation unless and until it was either satisfied or overturned by a higher legal authority and in Katisha v. Poo the opinion is from the highest (earthly) authority and not subject to appeal. Courts in the US have issued stupid orders which have been overturned by higher courts.... but violate one of those stupid orders, even if subsequently overturned, and you will still have trouble. It is the difference between a system governed by the rule of law and a system governed by the rule of a mob. To which Tom Shepard admitted: You are right. Mea culpa. David continued his original argument: (While this may seem trivial, think of a War. The general must send someone out to face near certain death in order to save the army. If this person thinks like Nanki-Poo, he will not take the risk, resulting in the loss of the army or even the country.) Acting for one's personal benefit in lieu of the greater good is villainy. At which Deborah Sager observed: It is the job of the General to go fight enemies (his personal life has almost no bearing.) Maybe you can argue that's its the job of the prince to marry whoever his father tells him to, but marriage is highly intimate, and its for life. To this David noted: Historically, it has been one of the jobs of Royalty... even within G&S... we have several examples, the most prominent of which are the Crown Prince of Barataria and the Daughter of the Duke of Plaza-Toro and the Daughter of King Gama and Crown Prince Hilarion. At this point Eugenia Horne observed: But Gilbert and Sullivan's monarch had made a very public "love match" which kind of influenced things later on for royal marriages. The Crown Prince of Barataria (Luiz) and the Daughter of the Duke of Plaza-Toro (Casilda) were kind of nuts about each other even before Luiz knew he was the Crown Prince, so this pair wasn't exactly unhappy about the end arrangement anyway. (Okay, if Nanki-Poo is running around in disguise as a "second trombone" and Luiz (unknowingly "in disguise") is "His Grace's Private Drum", are there enough G&S Crown Princes for a whole band?) Deborah asked: How old is Katisha anyway? What if Nanki-Poo wants kids? To which David had this to say: His father made the determination, and in any event, if Katisha is really THAT old, then it is probable that Nanki-Poo can take a child bride when he is much older... one of his own choosing. After all Henry VIII had several wives of his own choosing. David continued his original argument: Nanki-Poo, when it is discovered that a number of people are to be executed, but that he can stop the execution merely be revealing that he is alive, refuses to do so. A "hero" certainly would be willing to give up his life for the life of others. (Witness the heroes in wartime who dive on grenades) Is it the act of a villain? Well it is at least cravenly. To which Deborah: He's already married Yum-Yum at this point. Anything along those lines would affect her too. As NP himself points out: Nanki-Poo: Katisha claims me in marriage, but I can't marry her because I'm married already - consequently she will insist on my execution, and if I'm executed, my wife will have to be buried alive. But David observed: And he is deciding that the lives of two are worth more than the lives of at least three.... in any event, Nanki- Poo can go and face his death with honor, while Yum-Yum can run away. David continued his original argument: He is prepared to marry Yum-Yum in full knowledge that she will be buried with him upon his execution. In other words, he is willing to throw away another's life for a month of PERSONAL bliss. Deborah asked; Which time do you mean? At the end of the first act, he doesn't know that Yum-Yum would be buried alive. (David: I suspect that he does know this.) Ko-Ko tells them this in Act 2, where he lets Yum-Yum go. He doesn't marry her until Ko-Ko tells them both to leave in safety. David continued his original argument: Alternatively, if he believes that the punishment will not be implemented once his true identity is disclosed, then he is engaged in manipulation to serve his own pleasure, without regard to the horrible consequences to the Town of Titipu... which will be demoted in rank. Deborah remarked: Huh? He left home in the first place because he knew that he was not exempt from his father's law. To which David replied: As administered by his father - not by lesser mortals. Nanki-Poo shows a disregard for the law, and would undoubtedly use his position of power to convince those with less power than his father to let him off. (Much like a Supreme Court Justice here in Illinois who reputedly flashed his judicial id card to get out of various and sundry traffic stops.) I suspect that Pish-Tush would give in, after all, ALL of the officials in town (Pooh-Bah) have shown a susceptibility to corruption. David continued his original argument: With regard to Ko-Ko and Katisha, he is forcing Ko-Ko, AT THE THREAT OF DEATH, to do what he, Nanki-Poo has refused to do. Does Ko-Ko shirk his duties by running off (in a Nanki-Poo like fashion)? No. He is a true man, willing to face the consequences of his actions. And Deborah: Well, what I said about forced marriage for Nanki-Poo also applies to forced marriage for Ko-Ko. But Ko-Ko has duties of his own that he shirks. NP: Very well, then - behead me. Ko: What, now? NP: Certainly, at once. Ko: ...I can't kill anybody! Although, this is not such a bad fault, come to think of it. But anyway. David pointed out: And Ko-Ko is not being asked to perform his duties at the proper time and place. Merely because Ko-Ko is the executioner, does not give him power to perform executions except at the designated time and place. (For example, if Ko-Ko, the tower of London's designated headsman) were to sneak into Col. Fairfax's cell the night before the scheduled execution and cut off his head, it is likely that Ko- Ko would be charged with and convicted of premeditated murder....) In this case, Nanki-Poo is surprising Ko-Ko with an unreasonable and unexpected demand. At some point during the time period Ko-Ko might well have gotten his nerve up. But Mr. Manipulator cannot wait until then and must control everything. David continued his original argument: The fact that everything turns out well is not fully relevant. It certainly had nothing to do with Nanki-Poo's actions. Based on Ko-Ko's conduct, I suspect that had Nanki-Poo not turned up, Ko-Ko, being the honorable man that he is, would have eventually cut off his own head. That his passing would ha