Punch (79.1880)

October 9, 1880.]

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPJVAPJ.

157

CIPHERING !

Schoolboy [kept in). “Let ’s see—One t’m’s Ought ’s Ought.
Twice Ought ’s Ought. Three t’m’s Ought-Oh, must be

SOMETHING—STICK IT DOWN ONE ! ”

OLIVETTE; OE, AN ACQUIRED TASTE.

The present Strand Management has established a reputation for
an eccentric musical entertainment, of which the chief features are
a few pretty ones on the stage, bright dresses, legs and arms,

and excellent scenery.
Those who saw the late
Madame Favart with-
out Miss St. John and
Miss Cameron, must
have wondered at her
prolonged vitality. But
even with these two
Ladies, and other at-
tractions to hoot—in-
cluding high heels—
and with the prestige
of past successes, the

Eresent Company will
ave to work their
hardest to make the
Public enthusiastic
about Olivette. The
music, with the excep-
tion of a quintette in
the last Act, is common-
place throughout; the stage business, for the most part, hackneyed
and monotonous; the singing nothing remarkable; the words of
the songs more or less unintelligible ; and the story confused.

The leading idea of the plot is the same as that of the farce called
The Ringdoves, where the nephew disguises himself as his uncle in
order to marry the lady to whom the latter is engaged. That is
really all: “ the rest is silence ”—we would that it were— or rather
the rest is padding, and padding with a considerable amount of stuff.
In one respect it can be favourably compared with Madam.e Favart,
for the dialogue, at first, is genuinely good—brisk, sharp, and telling.
But the fireworks fizzle away with only occasional flashes through
the Second Act, and scarcely a spark remains to illumine the Third.
M. Marius, who we sincerely hope will find an early opportunity
for giving up Opera-bouffe and going in for Comedy—though we
admit there are difficulties in his way, as his line on the English

“ One of Us i

Admiral Swayin’ and Cox-Swain.

stage must necessarily be limited—performs a lame part which can
only be made to go at all with a boisterous amount of roaring and
shouting and excessive play of stick. It is neither true burlesque
nor pure comedy, and is but “ sound and fury, signifying nothing ”
to anybody, though of great importance to the Actor. Mr. Ash-
ley’s shortsighted Duke bears a strong family resemblance to his
part in Madame Favart, only younger ; and his sly imitations of
Mr. Toole’s peculiar manner and intonation, like Mr. Peter Mag-
nus's signing himself “Afternoon,” are calculated to afford his
friends in front the highest gratification. More of Mr. Ashley
himself, and less of Mr. Toole—except where the imitation may be
construed as intentional flattery of that eminent tragedian—would
be, on the whole, judicious—for Mr. Ashley.

Mr. Cox, in the small part of Coquelicot, is quite himself as a
thoroughly “ all-round Actor,”—at all events, in appearance. He
is very funny at first; and this seems to be fatal to him, as he
shares the fate of the dia-
logue, and fizzles away
to nothing. In fact,
every one begins _ too
well. It is too bright
to last. The ideas are so
good, their development
so poor. The notion of
the Duke perpetually
conspiring, and always
failing, and the notion of
his choice of conspira-
tors, form a capital
foundation, and yet
nothing worth mention-
ing is built on it.

Perhaps the night we
were there was not what
is termed at the Covent
Garden Concerts a “ Hu-
morous Night.” Handsome Miss Violet Cameron went through
her part, as if she had just dropped in by accident to sing a couple
of not very lively songs, and didn’t wish it to be supposed for one
moment that she was in any way connected with the plot. The
Comic Tenor, Mr. Knight Aston, would be an acquisition to the
Mastodon Minstrels, which troupe he could join as the “ Elephantine
Comique.” Miss St. John, when she did condescend to play, played
charmingly ; but when she didn’t, she seemed to be exchanging
confidential nods and smiles with the leader of the orchestra, who
perhaps needed some encouragement to cheer him at his work; though,
by the way, the instrumentation and the orchestral performance
must be conceded to the credit side of Olivette’s account.

We trust that exceptional success will not make Miss Florence
St. John careless.

Awake, my St. John ! leave all meaner things

To low ambition lounging at “ the wings.”

The most irritating thing in the whole Opera is the last song “ The
Whale and the Torpedo.” After twenty minutes or so of dulness,
there was something hopeful in Miss St. John’s announcement that
she was going to infuse a little life into the Third Act by singing
“ The Whale and the Torpedo.” The title is good and everybody
anticipated a real treat, and as the song was encored, we suppose
that a majority of the audience must have appreciated it. For
ourselves “we could not catch that whale, brave boys,”—in fact,
we could not catch a single word from first to last, and this was
the more annoying, because
everyone on the stage appeared
to be so thoroughly entering
into the joke, whatever the
joke was. There they were
winking at one another, put-
ting their fingers to their
noses, grinning, grimacing,
stamping, dancing, and
laughing, and yet for the life
of us we could not make out
what it was all about. We
asked our neighbours in the
third row, and they couldn’t

tell us. It is still a mystery. Perhaps the art was to conceal art,
and induce us to go again ; but we shan’t,—certainly not while the
stall accommodation in that third row is so unaccommodating as it is
at present. To which subject—not to the stalls—we shall return as
we went, anon.

GOOD EOR A TANNER.

An “ Occasional Correspondent ” writes to advise us not to travel
into Warwickshire without our own food, as there is Nuneaton there.

Eum-antic Couples.