Carnegie Hall, N.Y.; May 3, 2023—Gilbert and Sullivan’s Iolanthe never has found the same popularity in this country as say, their HMS Pinafore or Mikado. In fact, G&S shows are pretty rare lately in New York. So wonder of wonders, Village Light Opera gave a single concert performance of Iolanthe at Symphony Space in February, and the marvelous Master Voices (formerly the Collegiate Chorale) and Master Voices Orchestra led by Ted Sperling came to Carnegie Hall on May 3rd with a semi-staged, one-night-only event. It was a delight.
Chock-filled with political satire, lightly sneering derision of what is “right”, and off-handed sexual innuendo–and, thank heavens, for this production there were sur-titles so the audience could catch up with the quick delivery of tongue-twisters, word-play, and esoterica (a couple of references needed explanation and it was provided with the titles)–Iolanthe sits easily on the ear.
The plot has to do with the fact that while Fairies (a great fascination of the Victorians) were not allowed to marry mortals, one, Iolanthe, did. She had a child and was exiled. The Queen of the Fairies–a formidable figure–pardons her, and we meet her 25-year-old son Strephon, now a shepherd, who is Fairy from his neck to his waist and a man from the waist down (wink, wink).
He wishes to marry Phyllis, a shepherdess and Ward in Chancery, but she sees him nuzzling his mother, Iolanthe, who, as a fairy, does not age, and since she looks 17 and he’s 25, seems like a betrayal. Much is made of it–indeed, it, and the question of who else might marry Phyllis if she will not marry Strephon (with seemingly half the house of Lords interested in her) more or less makes up the plot. Confusion reigns.
The 120-voice-strong chorus sang brilliantly throughout, the women–the Fairies–at the rear of the stage, each wearing a small tiara that lit up, and the men–Lords in tuxedos and various colored satin vests–first aligned across the front of the stage and then joining the women at the rear. They made a joyful sound. The Lords, et al, all puffed up and self-important are flummoxed by the magical, charming Fairies–and that’s the big joke. Mockery is pointed at the Parliamentarians.
The singing actors that made up the soloists were mostly from television or musical comedy, all comfortable on stage and singing and acting out the minimal but clear direction by Sperling. There was little sign of fustiness; self-awareness without condescension ruled.
David Garrison as the Lord Chancellor reeked of upper-classness in his powdered wig and robe; his delivery of the text and songs was impeccable, and the Nightmare Song (“When you’re lying awake/With a dreadful headache/And repose is taboo’d by anxiety…”) was sheer joy. Christina Ebersole opted to break the usual mold of the Fairy Queen, normally a stodgy contralto, by being, simply, glamorous and haughty. It was a pleasure to see her hauteur melt when she espied Private Willis, a Grenadier Guard, in the person of Phillip Boykin, whose rich bass voice rocked the house with “When all night long, a chap remains, “ with its wonderful rhyme of “alive” and “conservative”.
Phyllis was personified by Ashley Fabian, a lovely, perky soprano on the rise, and Shereen Ahmed’s light mezzo impressed as Iolanthe. Strephon, in sort-of Bavarian Shepherd clothing, was Schuyler Vargas, a wide-eyed baritone, and his transformation into a Lord was impressive in stature, though he kept the shorts and suspenders. His duet with Fabian was lyrical and graceful.
Santino Fontana and Jason Daniely as two entitled Lords who fall for Phyllis at the same time, were marvelously self-important, and, joined by Boykin for the trio “If you go in, you’re sure to win…Faint heart never won fair lady”, almost stopped the show. Nicole Eve Goldstein, Kaitlin LeBaron, and Emy Zener were charming as three fairies, and, an addition to the proceedings, Tiler Peck, a ballerina, added daintiness.
Sperling led and directed a just-right, un-exaggerated performance, reminding us of G&S’s skill as both wordsmith and composer. It was all a bit like an evening of dessert, but there’s nothing wrong with that.
