THE PICNIC COMES BEFORE PINAFORE,
LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY.
WELL, SHIP HAPPENS.
It’s best to approach Pacific Opera Project’s new production of W. S. Gilbert (libretto) and Arthur Sullivan’s (music) 1878 opera, H.M.S. Pinafore: the same way that many people approach going to the Hollywood Bowl — as a reason to eat, socialize, and take selfies. For that kind of person, the program is secondary. If you come to see the work itself, you’re going to be stymied at every turn — if you stay to the end, that is.
H.M.S. Pinafore, Gilbert and Sullivan’s first international success, is a loopy comic opera that, at its most basic level is about the mismatched romance between Ralph, a lowly sailor, and Josephine, the captain’s daughter. They love each other, but they mustn’t, since they belong to different social classes. Along the way, Gilbert skewers norms and famous incompetents of the day, including the then-First Lord of the Admiralty, on whom the character of Sir Joseph was most definitely not modeled, in spite of their similarities that were obvious to everyone.
It’s not uncommon for Gilbert’s writing to be revised for each production. His list-songs, in particular, tend to be updated with new offenders “who never would be missed.” However, director Josh Shaw’s lazy and heavy-handed additions are too often blunt and pandering. Early on, though, he almost had me fooled: when we meet Sir Joseph, we learn of his early life, which bears a striking resemblance to a certain billionaire, totally in line with how Gilbert did it. But then Shaw sledgehammers the bit by explaining that he’s referring to Elon Musk. That’s not wit. He did similarly with critical mentions of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (this performance took place after our president sent California’s National Guard and the Marines to escalate the protest in Downtown Los Angeles). This elicited rallying cheers in the audience, but were a distraction from Pinafore. Shaw peppered in painfully dated name-dropping, including Macarena and Captains Crunch and Kangaroo. He got easy laughs from it, but then Gilbert’s words were generally received with silence. To kill it all, he inserted a commercial to subscribe to next season in the middle of the first half.
POP set out to make the evening at Heritage Square a festival affair. This was largely a success during the picnicking hour that precedes the show. There’s a group of singing sailors at the entrance, a food truck serving American comfort food (not English?), space for kids to run around, and lights in the porta-potties. (Weirdly, there were pride flags lining the historical houses–and not the basic rainbow but the hideous new variants; I mean, I’m all for queer picnics, but why not one flag? And why at this event?) Some people dressed up, but as pirates. (People, pirates is Penzance. Pinafore is sailors.) I was filled with dread when Shaw, in his introduction, encouraged cell phone use, a practice I abhor. However, he staged a trashy photo op early in the performance, which had the effect of satisfying most of the audience’s phone addictions. I was surprised I didn’t hate this aspect, though I would still hire snipers with squirt guns if I could.
I don’t want to be hard on the amiable cast, but, on the whole, they were not fully committed to Gilbert and Sullivan’s unique and bizarre nuttery. Some were plain miscast, and the women tended to fare better than the men, who all had similar voices and displayed a regrettable layer of inhibition. Emily Geller had the thick mezzo appropriate for “plump and pleasant” Little Buttercup, but not the curves. Farewell, endearing comic mezzos who take pride in being “massive” and “sufficiently decayed!” Instead, it’s supposedly ok to queer Gilbert’s use of “queer” in another bit of show-stopping pandering. Youthful Jake Stamatis was full of energy as Sir Joseph, but lacked the pompous haughtiness that comes with age and power. Of all the characters, his suffered the most from being cast too young. Lydia Rae Brown was always welcome as Cousin Hebe, leader of the sisters and the cousins and the aunts. Overall diction was muddled and incomprehensible, especially from the chorus. Olivia Yokers, as Josephine, however, has Gilbert and Sullivan in her bones. Her bright soprano was clear, I could understand every word, and she nailed, with sincerity, that bonkers exaggerated delivery that you need to enchant us into their earnestly silly world. After she finished her big Act II aria, my friend leaned over and said, “She knows what she’s doing!”
Shaw’s direction was busy. Very, very busy, with what seemed like every line having an accompanying Mickey-Mouse action. At best, the actors could barely keep up. Other times, it was forced, running gags into the ground, such as with Sir John’s obsession with “If you please.” Two years ago, Shaw made a drinking game out of The Pirates of Penzance: take a drink every time someone says, “duty.” That could’ve just as easily been applicable this time, but instead, it was, take a drink every time someone rings the ship’s bell. However, the writing didn’t prompt any ringing, which was sparse and telegraphed way in advance. By Act II, only one person in the tables was still playing along. One addition, inappropriate for the show, but intriguing, had Sir Joseph locked in an endless loop of “Never Mind the Why and Wherefore” encores and gradually breaking down. Here, it was yet another pandering distraction, but I saw the potential for a very funny, thoughtful, and unnerving Fringe show.
Joshua Horsch conducted the generously-sized 12-member ensemble tightly, but without the irresistible bounce and sparkle that brings Sullivan’s music to life (the arrangement is by Steven Dziekonski, G&S Works). Only occasionally did they overcome the constant roar of traffic. I was surprised how thin they sounded, given the extensive miking by Drew Sensue-Weinstein. The actors were miked, too, but with forehead mics and well-hidden wires. Sitting in the back section, I couldn’t see the mics at all. Grace Berry’s lighting was serviceable, but she needed to cover the blinking LEDs. In addition to directing, Shaw designed the set, a large and handsome wooden ship. Amy Lawrence’s choreography was cramped and ragged; these sailors were unfamiliar with the concept of precision. Hailey Springer’s costumes were colorful, but inconsistent. Those for the female leads had beautiful, flattering lines, but Sir John’s uniform fit like someone else’s rental.
My first Pinafore, this was the show I was most excited to see from POP this season. Ultimately, it was undone by the constant, gimmicky, pandering interruptions and the beautiful but noisy venue. My friend and I left feeling disappointed. I guess that’s better than my fellow neighbors in the rear section. At intermission, many of them just plain left.
photos by Nick Rutter
H.M.S. Pinafore
Pacific Opera Project
in collaboration with Opera Las Vegas
Heritage Square Museum, 3800 Homer St. in Los Angeles
ends on June 22, 2025
for tickets, call 323.739.6122 or visit POP
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
I can’t speak to this particular production. I strongly believe, however, that American companies, both theatrical and operatic, should STOP staging Gilbert and Sullivan.
These operettas occupy a unique middle ground that few American performers understand, and even fewer can execute with any degree of style. They are neither full opera nor musical theater in the modern American sense, and attempts to make them fit into either mold usually result in messy compromise.
The material depends on a fluency in Victorian British language, class distinctions, and period-specific rhythms of speech. Most American singers do not possess this fluency. The class cues, which in the original productions were the engine of much of the humor, tend to get flattened into general caricature. The satire, aimed at British institutions such as the military, the legal system, and the monarchy, often gets misread or entirely missed by performers who do not grasp the historical context. What was once barbed and socially specific becomes polite and diluted.
Vocally, the works require agility and nuance, but American opera singers often apply a heavy operatic tone that misses the point. The musical lines need precision and a kind of lightness that rarely survives traditional vocal training. Patter songs, in particular, demand not only articulation and speed but an understanding of comic rhythm that lives closer to spoken theatre than aria. Slowing them down or treating them as vocal showcases kills the joke.
These works also require a heightened theatrical sensibility. American performers, both operatic and theatrical, are trained to aim for sincerity and emotional realism, which are completely out of place in this context. The characters in Gilbert and Sullivan are not meant to be emotionally accessible. They function as stylized figures within a social critique, not as people with backstories and inner lives. Without that sense of formality and detachment, the humor becomes foggy and the pacing falls apart.