Person: Luke Argles

The Three Musketeers – Le Panteau

Our pantomime version of ‘Treasure Island’ was not only immense fun for us to do, but proved to be a big hit, not just here in Coulsdon but in the wider world of amateur theatre. In the two years since its publication, there have been over 60 productions of our tongue-in-cheek swashbuckling tale!

So, what better reason to give another classic story of adventure and derring-do the pantomime treatment. Like ‘Treasure Island’, ‘The Three Musketeers’ transcends age and generations, and has slipped across the border from literature into folklore. Written originally in 1844, there have been so many adaptations over the years, across so many media, that people who are perfectly familiar with the characters, the plot and the musketeers’ bold call to arms, have never read so much as a word of Alexandre Dumas’ original tale. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan are no longer confined to the printed page, they are creatures of myth, with a life all their own.

So, our pantomime is not so much a spoof of the book, as a pastiche of the very idea of ‘The Three Musketeers’, only taking those parts of the plot and the characters that easily lend themselves to being funny. Yes, it does bear some resemblance to the original, but only very loosely (probably about as much as the usual Hollywood treatment). One very significant difference to most versions is that in ours, D’Artagnan and the other gallant comrades in arms are all played by women.

It’s our opinion that the female of the species can swashbuckle as well any male, but rarely are they given the chance. Well, here’s that chance, and alongside Dame D’Artagnan (the would-be musketeer’s aunt) and a pantomime snail (yes, really) they will fight for honour, justice and outright silliness, along with some excellent songs.

‘All for one, and one for all!’*

*For the record, Dumas may have used this as the Musketeers motto and made it famous, but guess who wrote it and used it first? Yep, William Shakespeare, in his narrative poem of 1594, ‘The Rape of Lucrece’. We’ll not be making a panto out of that.

The Merry Wives of Windsor

‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’ is one of Shakespeare’s more unusual comedies. No strange land for this one for a start. No far-flung Illyria, exotic Messina or Syracuse, but instead the action centres round The Garter Inn in Windsor. A real place no less, and one that stands to this day. Similarly, the Princes, Dukes and sundry other nobles that inhabit so many of his tales are notable by their complete absence, replaced by the title-less and newly prosperous middle classes. The only knight of the realm that features is the rascally, roguish Sir John Falstaff, a knave who sets out with poor intentions to fool the good wives of Windsor out of money, but fails spectacularly at every turn.

It is said that the character of Falstaff was one that Queen Elizabeth herself was most fond of. He appeared first in Henry IV Part One, and again in Henry IV Part Two, a portly, aging disreputable sot, too fond of his drink and of cheap women, forever lacking in funds. Quick to borrow, never to repay, and cowardly to boot, Falstaff does retain a certain charm and zest for life, and it’s this, for a time, that endears him to Prince Hal. However, when the prince becomes the King, all his former life is left behind, including Falstaff. In Henry V, Mistress Quickly delivers a eulogy outlining the circumstances of his death, and there, one might suppose, was the end of him. If a queen commands though, a humble playwright must write, and so, two years after his death, Sir John Falstaff lived again.

So ‘The Merry Wives…’ is what we would call today a ‘prequel’. Reunited with his low-life comrades, Pistol, Nym and Bardolph (the latter two also dying in Henry V, executed for looting), Falstaff unknowingly engages in a battle of wits with Mistress Page and Mistress Ford and finds himself distinctly unarmed, or at least badly under-gunned. Unlike the bittersweet nature of his antics in the histories though, these adventures are purely comedy, descending almost into farce. It dispenses with the oft-used conventions of romantic comedy, such as the mistaken identity, the flirtatious wordplay, the lovesick entanglements, and replaces them with Falstaff, the aging would-be suitor and lothario (supremely lacking in self-awareness) falling for the tricks being being played on him. In parallel, middle-aged, middle-class Francis Ford, consumed with ill-founded jealousy, repeatedly makes a fool of himself while attempting to prove, vainly, his wife an adulterer.

It’s funny, but this, undoubtedly the most original of Shakespeare’s works, drawing on no ancient text or foreign translation, is looked down upon by numerous scholars of the Bard. They seem to forget that the texts weren’t designed to be pored over, dissected and examined by fusty literary experts. It was created to have life on the stage, uproarious, physical life as popular entertainment.

And that is what you have before you. Enjoy.

Journey’s End

R.C.Sheriff’s play is set in the officer’s dug-out of a British infantry company in the trenches facing Saint Quentin. It is the 18th of March, 1918, and in just a few days, the German army will begin Operation Michael, the opening of Ludendorff’s Spring offensive intended to push the British Expeditionary Force into the sea and capture the Channel ports. For the Germans, it is the last roll of the dice in the Great War, which has been going on since August 1914 and wiped out a generation of young men across the continent. In the trenches, the constant threat of death and the fear that generates, along with the loss of friends and comrades, has deeply affected every man there, and each deals with it in their own way. Captain Stanhope leads the infantry company, with a keen sense of duty but a growing dependence on alcohol to cope with the pressures of command. When the young and naive Raleigh joins the company, his precarious balance is disturbed…

After it was written, Sheriff encountered resistance in getting the play produced in London’s West End. There was a reluctance to put on a play about the war, which having ended just ten years previously, was all too fresh in people’s minds. Others baulked at the idea of a play without a leading lady, which would hinder ticket sales. Eventually, the Independent Stage Society were persuaded, after some words from George Bernard Shaw, to put it on at the Apollo Theatre. They still hedged their bets. It was a ‘semi-staged’ production, meaning no sets and minimal props, and would run for just two nights. The lead, Captain Stanhope, would be played by a 21 year old unknown…called Lawrence Olivier. However, when the curtains finally rose on the evening of Sunday, December 9, 1928, in the audience was Maurice Brown, a West End producer. He was impressed, enough at least to take a gamble on booking it to open at the Savoy Theatre on January 21, 1929. Even then, it received minimal promotion and no advance bookings were taken. However, word of mouth was enough, and ‘Journey’s End’ sold out, and proceeded to run for a further two years to packed houses.

Sheriff himself didn’t see the play as being expressly an anti-war piece, rather it was an account of his own experiences. He’d been only 18 when he’d gone to France as a Captain in the 9th East Surrey Regiment, and fought at Vimy, Loos and Passchendaele, where he was severely wounded. He’d written other plays and would go on to write more, though ‘Journey’s End’ remained his most famous stage work. He’d go on to write screenplays too, receiving an Academy (Oscar) nomination for ‘Goodbye, Mr Chips’ (1939) and a BAFTA nomination for ‘The Dambusters’ (1955).

The Fairy Godfather

In 1972, Francis Ford Coppola gave us the gangster epic ‘The Godfather’. Set in 1940’s New York, it centred on the criminal empire of the Corleone family, led by Marlon Brando’s iconic Don Corleone, and it single-handedly set the tone for American Mafia/Mob/Gangster movies to follow ever since. Nowhere did it say anything about pantomimes.

Richard Lloyd made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. He’d written a pantomime that less than delicately mashed up a bucket of well-used mafia gangster tropes, spread them over a comedy base, added some spicy panto sauce and served them up with side order of rollicking good songs, finishing with a rousing (everybody join in!) rendition of ‘That’s Amore!’. There are good fairies, evil villains, a dame and a gondola-full of Italian cheese gags. You just have to look at the cast list.

So we had to put it on. Really, we had to. And now you gotta to watch it, capisce?

Cut yourself in for a pizza the action tonight.

Twelfth Night (1999)

What is Twelfth night? Well, it is, traditionally, the last night of the twelve days of Christmas, and falls on either the 5th or 6th of January, depending on whether you start counting on Christmas Day or Boxing Day. A Christian festival, superstition has it that leaving your decorations up after the twelfth night is unlucky, and other customs surrounding the date include singing carols, eating cake and having your house blessed. None of which are remotely connected to Shakespeare’s play of the same name. The source of its naming remains a mystery, though some make tenuous links to the awarding of the title ‘Lord of Misrule’ and the wild abandon or ‘a world turned upside down’ which may possibly have formed part of the festivities on the day during Elizabethan times. However, that’s somewhat overselling the action contained within the play.

What we have is a resourceful heroine, Viola, who having been shipwrecked and washed up on the shores of an unknown land, adopts the masculine persona ‘Cesario’, to enhance her chances of survival. She falls into the employ of Orsino, the Duke of Illyria, who is hopelessly smitten with the Countess Olivia, a woman in mourning for her recently departed brother. Orsino uses Cesario as a go-between to advance his romantic case, but unfortunately Olivia falls for Cesario instead. Worse still, Viola has become infatuated with Orsino, but can’t do anything because she’s pretending to be a man.

Olivia’s household is a place overrun with guests and servants. The steward, Malvolio, is a pompous ass disliked by all. Sir Toby Belch, Olivia’s uncle seems to be a permanent resident, drinking and carousing with his frankly gormless associate Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and flirting with Maria, one of the sharper of Olivia’s housemaids. It is she who formulates a plan, with the two dissolute knights, to take Malvolio down a peg or two by persuading the steward that Olivia secretly loves him.

And into all this walks Sebastian, Viola’s identical twin brother. Thought drowned by his sister, he did in fact survive the shipwreck and is now endlessly confused by people referring to him, and more, as Cesario…

TWC have, somewhat inevitably, been forced to cut back some of the script. Feste, Olivia’s fool or jester, is mainly there to add even more of a comic touch to this already amusing situation. Sadly, what was undoubtedly hilarious to the groundlings in 1602 falls these days on ears that have no understanding of the references being used, and so much of his ‘stand-up routine’ has been excluded. We present ‘Twelfth Night’ as we guess it was intended to be played – an exhilarating and romantic romp, shot through with a vein of wistful lyricism, delivered with exuberance and delight. The alternative title for the play is ‘What you will’, seemingly indicating that Shakespeare was happy to leave the title to the preference of the audience. Whatever you call it, it remains one of his funniest romantic comedies. Enjoy.

The Recruiting Officer (1998)

Written in 1706 by Irish writer George Farquhar, ‘The Recruiting Officer’ is a comedy set in and around the town of Shrewsbury in Shropshire. As the War of the Spanish Succession rumbles on in Europe, two recruiting officers, the womanising Captain Plume and the effete and cowardly Captain Brazen, attempt to entice the men of the town into the army and the women into their beds. Plume has an advantage here, for on his side is the redoubtable Sergeant Kite, who will use any means, fair or foul, to get men to join up.

Life is complicated by the women in their lives, who are far more independently minded, and smarter, than they can honestly cope with. Plume is promised to Sylvia, the daughter of a local Justice, Balance, but he’s also the father to a bastard born of a local girl, who Sylvia knows about and is caring for. Melinda, Sylvia’s cousin, was the amour of Plume’s friend Worthy, but he refused to marry her and instead proposed that she become his mistress, because she was too poor. Now she’s inherited a fortune, he’s back, but Melinda’s going to have a little fun with Worthy, by playing up to Captain Brazen. And then there’s Lucy, Melinda’s maid, who by subterfuge intends to wed Brazen too.

Hidden motives, trickery, miscommunication and disguise, all go towards making this boisterous romantic comedy laugh out loud funny, and it’s been doing it for over 300 years. It was the first play ever performed in New York City, at the Theatre on Nassau Street, on 11 December, 1732 (by amateurs too!). However, Farquhar didn’t benefit from its success. Heavily in debt and made ill with worry, he died in April 1707, not two months after the debut of his last play, ‘The Beaux Stratagem’.

Much Ado About Nothing

‘Much Ado About Nothing’ is a comedy of love nearly thwarted by villainy, and tragedy narrowly averted. It is held by many to be one of the most verbally dextrous of Shakespeare’s works, and the dialogue fairly sparkles with witty repartee, chiefly from Benedick and Beatrice, two of his most compelling and human creations.

The setting is a Sicily at war. Don Pedro, the Prince of Aragon, returns from the fighting, with his entourage, to stay with his old friend Leonato, the Governor of Messina.

While there, Claudio, a member of Don Pedro’s retinue, quickly falls in love with Leonato’s daughter, Hero. It’s a cause for much celebration, in most parts. However, Don John, Don Pedro’s bastard brother, sees only a chance to sew discord, and with the help of his two henchmen, Conrade and Borachio, they plot to break up the loving pair and ruin Hero’s reputation..

Elsewhere, another scheme is put into place, but his time it’s with chiefly good intentions. Benedick, a good comrade to Don Pedro, and Beatrice, Leonato’s niece, have known each other for some time. They trade insults, they verbally spar whenever they are together. All but they can see the spark of something special between them. And so the plan is hatched by Don Pedro to push the warring duo away from conflict and into loving reconciliation, getting the two to see each other as others see them. 

When all is said and done both couples find themselves together, but not before they run a gauntlet of lies and confusion, flirting with each other and disaster.

‘Much Ado About Nothing’ is undoubtedly one of Shakespeare’s finer plays, possibly his best comedy, edged only by ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Much of it though, if you look hard enough, makes no sense. Don Pedro is a Spanish warlord, with two of his closest companions coming from rival Italian city states, Padua and Florence. For no explained reason, they’re fighting in Sicily. Leonato at least sounds Italian, but Beatrice and Hero, not to mention servants Margaret and Ursula, don’t. And the whole of the watch, Dogberry, Verges, Hugh Oatcake etc. have clearly been parachuted in from England. Best not to dwell on it.

Talking of which, TWC has edited the Bard’s script. I know, how dare we! Well, if it was good enough for Kenneth Branagh in his 1992 film adaptation, it’s good enough for us. Really, it had to be done. A lot, and we mean a lot, of references to cuckolds and horns needed to go, and there are only so many allusions to obscure classical mythology any audience can take. And cast for that matter.

So, sit back and relax. Be taken to an island in the Mediterranean, and treated to some of Shakespeare’s finest prose. And maybe a pint or two…

Mort

Welcome to Discworld, the light-hearted fantasy universe devised by the author Terry Pratchett and unleashed upon an unsuspecting world in 1983, with the publication of the first Discworld novel, ‘The Colour of Magic’. Contained within its pages was a fleeting appearance of Death, not as a concept but as a personification, complete with hooded robe (over a seven foot tall skeletal body), scythe, sonorous voice and riding a pale horse called… Binky.

Death would go on to become one of Pratchett’s defining creations, and appeared in all bar two of the 41 Discworld novels that Pratchett wrote before his death in 2015. In ‘Mort’, the fourth Discworld novel, published in 1987, the story focuses on Death as he takes an apprentice, the aptly named Mort (‘Mort’ meaning ‘death’ or ‘dead’ in French). Mort, who prefers to be called by his full name, Mortimer, is a gangly, inattentive but well-meaning teenager whose father is only too glad to pass on to another’s responsibility.

Mort does his best of course, but allows his feelings to get in the way. One night, while undertaking ‘The Duty’, he’s called to the bedroom of Princess Keli of Sto Lat, who is about to be assassinated by an agent of the scheming Duke of Sto Helit. Rather than simply escort her soul away in the aftermath of her death however, he prevents the assassination, which sounds great, but sadly, it doesn’t end there. She may not have been killed, but as her death was already pre-determined, people are beginning to act as if she’s not really there…

Stephen Briggs adapted ‘Mort’ for the stage in 1993, and as a frequent collaborator with the author has actually adapted over twenty of Terry Pratchett’s novels for the amateur stage. TWC have performed three of them, ‘Mort’, ‘Wyrd Sisters’ and ‘Lords and Ladies’, all directed by Mike Brown.

.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

This is the second time that Theatre Workshop have visited the strangely English forest that exists just outside Shakespeare’s Athens. Peter Quince and his band of tradesmen cum would-be actors have wandered out from the city to ensure they’re not overlooked as they go about their amateur thespian labours, but either they’ve wandered much further than they intended from the busy streets of London, or there’s a thriving English enclave of ex-pat artisans tucked away in the shadow of the Parthenon. 

There are changes. Not least in the location of our endeavours. Having seized the opportunity to take the group from its home and perform in the open-air just three years previously, we’ve gone further, and at the invitation of Southern Water, will take the production to the shores of the Bewl Water reservoir, near Lamberhurst in Kent. Though the setting is idyllic, this represents no small undertaking, especially for an amateur group whose members are mostly in full-time employment. So we can feel for Messrs Starveling, Bottom, Snug, Snout and co., as we do a full day’s work and then barrel down the A21.

But we’ve not given up on our first open-air home, and will perform first at The Woodman before packing up and heading for Bewl. We could hardly do otherwise, given that it’s our regular watering-hole.

Let’s talk about the music for a moment. Most of the music you’ll hear will be played live by Mark Taylor, though there are a couple of passages that are pre-recorded. He’s composed most of it himself too, because he’s a talented gentleman. Exceptions include the fairy and bergomask dances in Act IV and V which are set to traditional tunes. He’s also composed the music for ‘Philomel with Melody’, whose lyrics are by Shakespeare, and given that Shakespeare’s own lyrics to the fairy benediction at the end of the play are lost to us, we’ve used a 5th Century Celtic blessing as the basis for a song, which again will be accompanied by Mark Taylor’s music.

One last thing. The production is dedicated to the memory of Lesley Argles, a member of Theatre Workshop almost since the beginning. She died aged just 44, as the result of a tragic accident on the 13th July, only two weeks before curtain up. Her husband, Chris, who she met through the group, as well as her son, Luke, and daughter Kimberley, are all on stage here tonight. They were united in their decision that the production should go ahead with their full participation, despite grievous personal loss. They are certain it was what she would have wanted.

The Three Musketeers

France 1625.

A young nobleman called D’Artagnan leaves his family in Gascony, south-west France, and makes his way to Paris to seek his fortune and join the King’s Musketeers. Unfortunately he encounters Rochefort, Captain of the Cardinal’s guard at a rural inn, and after an ill-advised confrontation, loses his letter of introduction to M.de Treville, (the captain of the King’s Musketeers), his money and his sword. So, when he finally arrives at the French capital, his welcome is far from warm. Things take a turn for the even worse when his first meetings with Athos, Porthos and Aramis, the best of the Musketeers, result in him challenging each of them to duels. Finally, taken under the wing of the Three Musketeers rather than being killed by them, the young Gascon finds himself embroiled in the machinations of the cunning Cardinal Richelieu and his deadly agent, Milady de Winter, with plans to dishonour the Queen of France herself. A tale of high adventure, full of fun, swordplay and affairs of the heart…

Originally written by Alexandre Dumas (in collaboration with his regular ghost writer Auguste Maquet) and published in 1844, this swashbuckling historical tale became one of the most enduring adventures in literature, challenged only by, perhaps, ‘Treasure Island’. Numerous adaptations have been made, for stage and screen, including musicals, animation, and even an opera. The script that Chris Argles chose to direct was by Willis Hall, and had been published just the previous year, 1995. Although it keeps to the story, more or less, inevitably some liberties are taken and Hall leans into the humour, no doubt one reason for its selection.

It has passed into Workshop legend that Mike Brown, playing, or rather completely inhabiting the role of Porthos, at one point during the production ran across the stage completely naked, except for a strategically placed broad-brimmed musketeer hat (with a large feather). The part demanded it, obviously.