Ginsberg and Sullivan

Patience

Written by W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan

Directed by Peter Kelley

At the Agassiz Theater

Through this weekend

ACENTURY after Gilbert and Sullivan mocked the aesthetic hysteria of the 1880s, the Harvard Gilbert and Sullivan Society has set Patience in the beatnik 1950s. Since this opera is one of Gilbert and Sullivan's least scintillating, the "beat poet" approach would seem a guaranteed descent into idiocy.

The first scene does little to change this impression. A flock of anachronistically granola-esque maidens meander, lamenting over their unrequited love for the poet Reginald Bunthorne. In the context of a set containing an enormous portrait of Elvis, a malt-shop sign and a jukebox, these sentiments seem better suited to tenth-grade teeny-boppers than seasoned literati. Moreover, the characters' "hip" enunciation of phrases like "they're so square" mix poorly with the original "prithee's." To cap it off, Colonel Calverly's (David Magill) patter song with the dragoons, although extremely well sung, is simply neither tuneful nor funny.

However, a little patience pays off. Flamboyant and cocky, beat poet Bunthorne (Adam Albion) bursts onto the stage, surrounded by a swarm of swooning girls who emulate his attire and shadow his every move, swaying rapturously with every flourish of his poetic pen. The effect is hilarious.

ALBION every inch the hip poet, carries his role with both energy and aplomb. His presentation of the haughty Oscar Wilde aesthete with Kerouac funkiness lets him get away with singing "You're only hip enough/If you understand the stuff/That Allen Ginsberg writes" to Sullivan's classical music.

Bunthorne makes a big point of ignoring his bevy of beat beauties. But when his eternal love appears, air-headed, pink-clad diner waitress Patience (Valerie Bryce), he practically swoons. Though he refuses to read to the slavering masses, he promises her, "I'll read it if you bid me, baby!", launching into an orgy of hilariously over-done verse. Needless to say, Patience understands none of it, and on top of that, she doth not dig the poet.

As this is a G&S show, Bunthorne is not the only one suffering from love unrequited. Patience laments her lost childhood sweetheart, irresistibly beautiful rival poet, Archibald the All-Right (Douglas Freeman), who just happens to cruise onstage. Although Archibald loves her fiercely, Patience must reject him because she believes love must be entirely unselfish. For their part, the soldiers lust after all the ladies, who have abandoned the boastful Bunthorne to pine away over consummately cool Archibald. Poor Bunthorne's one remaining admirer is the one woman he can't stand--the plain Lady Jane, brilliantly portrayed as an obnoxious pseudo-intellectual groupie by Alida Griffith.

With the exception of slight tuning problems (no doubt precipitated by the orchestra), the G&S singers are excellent. The orchestra, on the other hand, is to the production as a wart is to a foot. But that is traditional. And even though the dancers are frequently out of step, the choreography, satirizing dance steps from the 60s, is delightful. In handling the beatnik kitsch, the more the dancers ham it up, the better it is.

Somehow, the G&S Society rises above Patience's mediocre script and unmemorable score and pulls off a droll and visually delightful evening. You'll just need a little patience to get to the good part, which--fortunately--is most of it.