An Afternoon of Eighteenth-Century Delights by The Grimsby Symphony Orchestra

I’ve had a little problem since moving out of London where my blog is concerned. Before, when I was stuck for something to write about, there was also some little building, curio or exhibition to attend and refill the eighteenth-century wells, that’s not really the case here. Grimsby has a fascinating early-mediaeval and later mediaeval history, and came into its peak years in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but it had a real decline between those years and was something of a nowhere place. Online, the history of eighteenth-century Grimsby is limited to a sentence. This is also the case for a lot of the local area, they are places that were wealthy and important in the mediaeval era and became so again at the end of the nineteenth century but largely floundered in the eighteenth.

This means there simply isn’t much around to fill up the Grub-Street tank, so my eyes were instantly drawn to a poster advertising, An Afternoon of Eighteenth Century Delights. I knew I was going to go, though I was a little put off by the nature of those delights, three pieces of classical music by a symphony orchestra - I’m more into a broadside ballad, or even a Purcell and not very knowledgeable about the kinds of music played by an orchestra.

But, I went and I had an experience, and these are my thoughts.

The first parts was Overture to Don Giovanni by Mozart. This was my favourite piece, I liked the drama and seep of it. I also enjoyed the little tunes and motifs I picked up. I sat back in Grimsby Minster and let the music swirl around me, lifting me up and letting my thoughts and feelings be taken away and wander.

The second piece was Symphony 101 (The Clock) by Haydn. There were moments of ticking in various parts, but it seemed to smooth and slippery to be a clock most of the time, I have a clockwork watch you can see into and it’s a busy repetition of complex motion rather than long slides. This piece was written by Haydn when he was performing in London and was very enthusiastically recieved. I enjoyed it but it was more mannered than the Mozart and took me less high.

The third pieces was Beethoven’s Symphony No.1. He’d been taught by Haydn and was influenced by Mozart, so it was a fitting last piece of music. I have to say, I frequently find Beethoven rather annoying, he seems to pick an idea and repeat it, or pull it apart and repeat little bits of it in combinations. I imagine, if I were more musically inclined, I’d love this - I love when a writer does something similar, but it frustrates me as a listener and I was ready for it to finish.

That said, I was very grateful to the Grimsby Symphony Orchestra for putting on An Afternoon of Eighteenth-Century Delights. It’s been a year since I reviewed Purcell’s The Fairy Queen and it was  lovely to hear an orchestra play and feel the music fill the space of the Minster - and all that for a tenner, it was a delightful afternoon.

It's time to light the lights: A collection of puppet anecdotes

 I’m a big fan of The Muppets. The other day I didn’t skip an advert and watched the whole thing because it had Muppets in it and I was just happy to see them again. Of course, The Muppets do have an eighteenth century connection, via a nineteenth century novel, in The Muppet Treasure Island, which I made a video of. I was tempted to write a whole post of fantasy Muppet casts for eighteenth century novel adaptions but I shall restrain myself.

I like other forms of puppeteering also. One of the most magical experiences I had as a reviewer was going to the Puppet Theatre Barge and reviewing a fable there. Next time I’m in Prague, I’m definitely going to a puppet theatre there as well.

Eighteenth century London had at least three semi-permanent puppet theatres, with Martin Powell’s being the earliest, putting on satirical puppet shows from the 1710s on. There were also numerous touring puppet companies that played shows in towns and villages around the country. One such performance sparked a tragedy in 1727 in the village of Burwell in Cambridgeshire. A company set up in a local barn and offered tickets at a penny each. The village, clearly starved for entertainment crammed into the makeshift performance space. There were so many, people had to be turned away and member of the company nailed the barn doors shut to bar entrance to anyone else - apparently this was a fairly common practice. There was a fire. It swept through the wooden barn, spread through the piles of hay and the people inside had to batter their way out the barn. Seventy-eight people died, many of them children. There was no-one in the village who didn’t lose somebody. There’s also a tragic twist in the tale, but I’m planning on doing a little something with the story.

Henry Fielding wrote a puppet show. Technically, the puppet show was a play within a play. In The Author’s Farce, a down on his luck writer called Luckless is working on a show called The Pleasures of the Town. This was then performed by puppets. It features the Goddess Dulness choosing a favourite from the purveyors of what the Scriblerans would have seen as brainrot creations. There’s Dr Orator, obviously based on Orator Henley; Mrs Novel, based on Eliza Haywood and Sir Farcical Comic, a clear Colley Cibber parody. The Goddess gives her boons to Signor Opera, who sings an oratorio about how he likes money.

At the end, Luckless is nearly arrested by a man called Murdertext but is saved when he marries his landlady’s daughter and his landlady finds out she’s the rightful queen of Brentford. It’s a work clearly from the Scribleran said of the eighteenth century culture war, with Luckless saying;

“If you must write, write nonsense, write operas, write entertainments, write Hurlothrumbos, set up an oratory and preach nonsense, and you may meet with encouragement enough.” I can’t say it’s worked for me.

Foote also leant his talents to satirical puppet shows. When he returned from Garrick’s Shakespeare Jubilee with loads of material for a play, Garrick made a not-too-subtle threat that such a play would get him in trouble. Foote countered by saying that he only planned for it to be a puppet show. When he was asked if the puppets were going to be life-sized, Foote said they wouldn’t, only Garrick-sized.

One of the more famous Goldsmith anecdotes comes from a puppet show. He and some friends were watching one where the puppet of a soldier performed impressive baton-wielding tricks. Goldsmith nudged the person next to him and declared that h could do it better, not that he could manipulate a puppet to do the trick better, but that he could twirl a baton better than the puppet. This was taken at the time, and even in all the biographies I’ve read of him, as an example of Goldsmith’s ridiculous jealousy, that he had to be best at everything. I think it’s more an example of Goldsmith’s talent for absurdity. Honestly, I think Goldsmith was wasted on Boswell and co.

I think we should have more access to puppet shows, they are great fun and when done right, can be really beautiful and atmospheric. I also think there should be more Muppet takes on eighteenth century literature.

I suggest a Tom Jones with Kermit as Tom and Miss Piggy as Sophia. Squire Western would be played by the requisite human, Allworthy would be Sam the Eagle and Gonzo and Rizzo would be Thwackum and Square. 

Or a Beggar’s Opera, Kermit as Macheath and Piggy as Polly Peachum, Mary-Sue Pig as Lucy Lockit and Gonzo as Mr Lockit and the requisite human as Peachum.

Or how about Clarissa? I picture Pepe the Prawn as Lovelace and Miss Piggy as Anna Howe. Couldn’t find a part for Kermit though…

Review: Peter & the Serpent: A Screenplay by Ralph W Osgood II

Peter and the Serpent is a screenplay written by film-buff and accountant turned writer, Ralph W Osgood II - as the name suggests, he is American. He’s written a number of screenplays, novels, children’s books, poetry collections and even a musical which all have a religious aspect to them and are found at his Barnabas Press.

I found the Afterword of the book very interesting. Osgood was transitioning from numbers work to writing work and, being very fond of film (and in the industry), he started a screenplay about the hugely popular Christian preacher, George Whitefield. During the course of writing it, he became a beta-tester for the very influential scripting programme, Final Draft. Begun in 1990, the script was finished by 1996 and shopped around. As is the case with most screenplays, it ultimately didn’t find a home but Osgood did receive a positive memo from Lucasfilm producer, Howard Kazanjian, which is included in the book. 

It’s about a boy called Peter, who runs away from a terrible apprenticeship and originally wants to join a highwayman called Roger. Unfortunately, the people who are after him find a bigger fish in Roger and he’s sent to Newgate. Peter also comes under the eye of a kindly but ostracised preacher called George Whitehead, who helps Roger repent before he is hanged, and helps Peter to come to terms with Roger’s death and see a hope in Jesus. There’s also a human-trafficker called The Ratcatcher, a comic duo of a heavy called Jerry and a mountebank’s fool called Andrew, as well as evil lords, pickpockets and the wonderfully named, Phillip-iin-the-tub (the role I’d want).

I’ve come to a point where a try to avoid thinking of things as bad, because I’m not in a position to judge most of the time. What might seem bad to me might be absolutely right for the audience it has in mind and the effect it wishes to have. I don’t read screenplays, this may be my first ever, nor do I even watch that many films any more - but this is a bad screenplay.

Film is a very dense medium and often needs a firm focus to work. Peter and the Serpent has 29 named characters, al sorts of incidents and subplots but no firm plot - to try and summarise it, I had to impose order on the text that’s simply not there. It also isn’t in any particular genre. The main character is a child but the text includes a man wanting to put a rod up a dog, and suggesting he’ll do it to a girl; hanging, the throwing of a dead cat’s head - and slapstick. It’s a romp around 1740s London underworld but stops for multiple sermons about Christ’s redemption of the wicked. Characters appear from nowhere, or disappear. The ominous Ratcatcher turns out to be a damp squib, the wicked Lord Egbert simply vanishes. 

There are some good elements. I liked most scenes with Andrew and Jerry. Andrew is an acrobatic, unserious man who works as a Merry-Andrew for the Mountebank Dr Corbin. Corbin was one of the many villainous characters in the film who don’t get much time to be villainous. Jerry and Andrew are introduced by winning a flea race, then Andrew takes his winnings to his girlfriend, Jenny, who is currently in the pillory. The tiff they have in that public place is good fun, and so are many of the other antics - with Jerry being the gentle giant who really befriends Peter. This is sort of ruined when Andrew makes a sudden heel-turn at the end and tries to violently break up one of George Whitefield’s gatherings, getting a slapstick comeuppance as a result. Osgood gives a few casting choices for this film and suggest Jerry be played by John Goodman and Andrew by Jim Carey (remember, this was finished in 1996). I think those two could have made a really good double act.

He suggests that Mel Gibson would play Roger, the highwayman, which I imagine he’d like because he gets to be murdered by English people, but Roger spends too much time moping in Newgate to be a heroic enough role. I also think there’s something to the storyline of Peter seeing the highwayman as a father figure but seeing the limitedness of Roger’s life, begins to see more in George Whitefield. Leon Garfield could have done that story great justice, but it’s rather garbled and mangled in the sheer number of plots and tones.

It’s also not a very good depiction of the eighteenth century. There clearly is some research, Roger ends in Newgate, the fair happens in Moorfields, there’s stuff about the grim docks where people are ferried. Whitefield’s theology seems appropriately Calvinist for an early Methodist preacher. But they go to pubs with names like, ‘The Blue Cloud Inn’ and ‘The Globe and Urine’. They also speak in a cod-Shakespearean way, calling each other ‘sirrah’ and eating trenchers of beef. At one point a character says ‘zauns’, as presumably, Osgood has heard the word and doesn’t realise it’s ‘zounds’ - or that an eighteenth century person wouldn’t say it. It seems surprising that anyone reading about eighteenth century underworld characters wouldn’t come across flash, the criminal slang on the time. Thank goodness he didn’t, he’d have lathered it over everything like Jake Arnott’s The Fatal Tree.

I’m not sure how you could mix The Beggar’s Opera, a Leon Garfield adventure novel and a primer of Calvin’s ideas on original sin and forgiveness, it’s not one of those books where I feel I could have done it any better. I’m glad Osgood tried but this film would be unwatchable.