286 - Topsy-Turvy, United Kingdom, 1999. Dir. Mike Leigh.
Gilbert and Sullivan are on the verge of breaking up.
They have been successful for so long that they are an institution.
They have written ten comic operetta hits together.
They have built The Savoy Theatre, the finest and most advanced theater in England.
It is the first building wired fully for electricity, and it has a telephone. Although one has to yell, and the operator might eavesdrop--resulting in their speaking over it in code--they have it, and they are among the first.
Sullivan signs his contracts with a reservoir pen, a pen that contains its own ink. And he has lump sugar from Lucerne.
Their producer, impresario Richard d'Oyly Carte, is even building the Savoy Hotel, in which every bedroom will have its own bathroom.
They are at the forefront of all new technologies.
Sullivan has recently been knighted by the Queen.
Their new operetta, Princess Ida, opens to packed houses, and the reviews in the papers predict that the public will come in droves for a least a year. It will be a resounding financial success.
But not all is well.
Sullivan is restless.
He is weary of Gilbert's perpetual writing of magic into his stories. In 1881 he used a magic coin. Before that it was a magic lozenge. Before that, a magic elixir. And now, Gilbert suggests a magic potion. He is tired of these contrivances.
Sullivan feels the public expects him to advance. To compose serious operas. Grand operas. He intends to leave the Savoy and write music on his own.
He is sick anyway. Kidney disease. He must take a shot before going out and conducting his own work. He goes on holiday to get some rest. Things have come to a head.
Gilbert is not happy either. The same review in the papers contends that he is beginning to repeat himself. He is known for his world of topsy-turvydom, but it is all getting rather tired.
His own actors say the same things backstage.
Where is the panache of Pirates? The wit of Pinafore?
And the public apparently agrees.
Princess Ida does not have the success its reviewer predicted. In fact, it is a flop. Gilbert's dental surgeon informs him that his wife thought it too long. The show must close.
Richard d'Oyly Carte, will have to revive an older work, The Sorcerer. It will run for three months. He informs them he is not in the business of revivals. Something must be done. Quickly.
When the two men meet with d'Oyly Carte and his wife, producer Helen Lenoir, Sullivan refuses to set Gilbert's new libretto to music, and Gilbert refuses to write a new libretto for Sullivan.
"If you wish to write a grand opera about a prostitute dying of consumption in a garret I suggest you contact Mr. Ibsen in Oslo. I am sure he will be able to furnish you with something suitably dull."
They are reminded that they are under contract and required to deliver. Nothing helps, however. They are at an impasse. All parties exit unhappily.
When Gilbert arrives home his wife suggests they go to the new Japanese exhibit at Humphrey's Hall. Gilbert refuses. He goes anyway.
They watch Japanese writing. They drink green tea. They attend kabuki theatre.
Gilbert, currently the most popular writer of theater in England, appreciates what he sees. He comes home with a kabuki sword.
And nearly midway through the film, the instigating moment happens. At 1:11:47 of a film of 2:40:49 (counting openings). This violates screenwriting rules, but this is Mike Leigh. He does not write screenplays. He improvises with his actors. He does not follow the rules, and in this case it works.
The sword falls from above the door and hits Gilbert in the head.
Eureka!
He picks it up. He prances about in his study like a kabuki actor.
He sets it down. He stares at it. The wheels turn in his head. His eyes grows alive with fire.
He is inspired!
And history is made.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we have--
The Mikado; or, the Town of Titipu.
Gilbert reads his new story to Sullivan.
Sullivan laughs with pleasure.
And for the rest of the film we watch behind the scenes, behind the stage, behind the curtain, as the D'Orly Carte Opera Company puts on its next great hit at the Savoy Theatre and the partnership of Gilbert and Sullivan is saved.
You may or may not have seen The Mikado, but it made such an impression on me that I remember the day on which I first saw it. Saturday, November 3, 1984. I was a child. I had gone canoeing that day. My canoe partner had turned over our canoe and I had lost the contents of my pockets to the river. I had gone home and showered and returned to the concert hall for a show I would never forget.
Mike Leigh has not forgotten it either. He is a man of the theatre. And he has spared no expense in portraying the original show down to its finest detail. The production design is magnificent. The insights are keen. The dialogue is hilarious.
Watch this film.
And enjoy its topsy-turvydom.
* * * * *
Behold the Lord High Executioner
A personage of noble rank and title
A diginified and potent officer
Whose functions are particularly vital
Defer, defer
To the Lord High Executioner!
Defer, defer
To the noble lord
To the noble lord
To the Lord High Executioner!
By a set of curious chances
Liberated then on bail
On my own regonizances
Wafted by a favoring gale
As one sometimes is in trances
To a height that few can scale
Saved by long and weary dances
Surely never had a male
Under suchlike circumstances
So adventurous a tale
Which may rank with most romances
In the Sicilian mountains. Plenty of scope there for Gypsy music, one might suggest.
I'm going out to see a little Italian hokey-pokey, and I care not who knows it.
What's the point of having a bathroom to every bedroom? Who will be staying there? Amphibians?
I have had what I deemed to be a good idea, and such ideas are not three a penny,
My goodness. It's perfectly green.
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