Iolanthe or The Peer and the Peri
Arthur Sullivan (Music); W.S. Gilbert (Libretto)
Lamplighters Music Theatre
While it may not seem all that unusual, fairies are on the loose on 17th Street in San Francisco; and woe be to the politician that tries to stand in their way of ensuring unlikely love prevails against all odds. But what is particularly unusual is that these local fairies actually have wings and may be roaming among us invisible. The politicians they are about to turn topsy-turvy on their wigged heads are members of Britain’s House of Lords at the height of Victorian snobbery. It is all part of W.S. Gilbert (libretto) and Arthur Sullivan’s (music) satire of the English’s male-dominated society and government, the operetta Iolanthe or The Peer and The Peri, now in a fantastically imaginative and altogether hilarious production at the ODC Theatre by the City’s much esteemed for seventy-four years company, Lamplighters Music Theatre.
From his choice of setting design to dozens upon dozens of injected, quirky incidentals, Ted Zoldan directs this tale of forbidden love with an obvious twinkle in his eyes and a tongue that extends far into his cheek. The operetta that was in 1882 the first to open simultaneously in both England and the U.S. and was the first in the world ever to play on a stage illuminated by electricity now opens in a mammoth, brick-walled, backstage setting with stuffed costume racks, trunks, ladders, and covered set pieces scattered throughout, lit only by an empty theatre’s ghost light.
A stage hand ambles about with his dust mop as we hear a BBC announcement that amidst growing theatre woes such as twenty-eight companies in San Francisco closing due to financial problems, strange women are appearing in theaters near and far to perform unauthorized productions or to scatter pixie dust among audience members. Some of those very fairies — also known as peris — suddenly appear and transform the backstage into a moon-lit, flower-bedecked setting with a green, rolling hillside, with the landscape also still populated with the trappings of Lamplighters’ decades of racked costumes and stored set pieces.
In high-pitched, closely harmonized voices, the fairies half-heartedly sing “Tripping hither, tripping thither, nobody knows why or whither.” While they stumble somewhat awkwardly through a dance, one scatters flower petals only to be hand-vacuumed up by another. Finally collapsing in either exhaustion or boredom, they are brought to attention as a luggage cart suddenly rolls in carrying their Queen with her own ghost light staff in hand. It seems their sad state is due to the twenty-five-year banishment by the Queen of their favorite sister, Iolanthe, who committed the unforgivable sin of marrying a mortal and was at first condemned to die before a last-minute reprieve of forever exile.
With much royal panache but also a bit of Vaudeville zip, the Queen (Sonia Gariaeff) sings in resounding mezzo splendor her own regrets of losing Iolanthe and succumbs to the fairies’ desire to allow her to return to their fold. From the creek where she has been hiding, Iolanthe is pulled out of the depths of a nearby costume rack holding onto a blue cloth serving as the stream’s shimmering water. With renewed energy, the fairies now sing in more hearty tones and dance with vim all around their beloved Iolanthe.
As they pull over a stage trunk and give her a cup of English tea (of course), the fairies and Queen hear why Iolanthe chose to live in the mud all these years surrounded by frogs (at the mention, they all gag with fingers in their mouths — frogs of course to the English meaning the French). Iolanthe wanted to be near her son, the half-fairy, half-human Strephon (an enthusiastic Matt Skinner). This Arcadian shepherd (who also went to art school) is about to marry — or so he thinks — the Lord Chancellor’s young ward, Phyllis.
But what snobby noble is about to allow such a class-crossing union to occur, especially when there are two Earls, a House full of Lords, and even (secretly) himself that desires her hand? That is especially true when he, the Earls, and Phyllis in hilarious buffoonery fashion hiding behind rolling costume carts spy Strephon and Iolanthe sharing a son/mother reunion full of hugs. They all immediately assume the young-looking Iolanthe is Stephon’s secret lover (she not looking a day over twenty even though she is 200). With that assumption, Phyllis (a crisp and brightly agile voiced soprano, Ash Hurtado) is reluctantly ready to listen to the diamonds and pearls flowing left and right her way from these grandiloquent prigs.
What none of these ego-inflated, pompous puppets of societal norms quite understands, however, is that there are a bevy of fiercely determined, fluttering-about fairies who have now pledged to be ready to rescue Strephon at a moment’s notice (and a turning on the stage’s ghost light). These British have surely never faced a challenge of wit and trickery that they are about to experience with fairies much more clever than they buzzing all around. Just wait until they discover the Fariy Queen has cast a spell on their House and has made Stephon a Peer above all other Peers.
As in most G&S operettas, it is when the main targets of their satiric treatment file on stage front and center– in this case the crowned and robed Lords of the Upper House of Parliament — that the real fun occurs. Sporting fine voices full of harmonized gusto, the eight Lords parade about in lines, circles, and groupings comically and deliciously choreographed by Jayne Zaban.
Bouncing along with them are two of the night’s biggest delights, the titillating tenor Earl Tolloller (Jacob Bronson) — himself clearly displaying a touch of SF fairy-hood — and the smooth and suave baritone Earl of Mountararat (John Melis). Both bring voices that sell with splendor their comic characters, each at first ready to fight for the hand of Phyllis but then deciding theirs is a friendship much too important to waste bickering over a female.
But not giving up his chance for her hand in matrimony is the Lord Chancellor himself — a big-voiced, wonderfully pretentious, ever funny Chris Uzelac. When the mighty Lord has a nightmare about his unrequited love for his ward, Director Zoldan has yet one more heyday of many orchestrating a laugh-out-loud scene where a vertically stretched sheet full of hidden fairies and three fairy-controlled pillows play havoc for the tossing and turning L.C., who is also vigorously singing, “You’re a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you snore, for your head’s on the floor.”
Not to be overlooked as a source for many of our continuous chuckles is the ever-presence of Willis, the stage hand whom the fairies dress in military red but who continues to ramble somewhat aimlessly about with broom, with intent of putting used props back to their places of storage, and with looks at the goings-on with some resign, bewilderment, and occasionally, slight amusement. Finally in the opening of Act Two, the heretofore mute Willis (Charles Martin) has a chance to bring his booming bass to bear, as he sings with spunk and spark about the folly of those deemed from birth either liberal or conservative.
The title character, Iolanthe, actually does not appear that often during all the chaos and tricks her sisters are playing on the nobles — silly sorts that the Fairies are actually beginning to like a bit too much, given the Queen’s decree that to love a mortal means a sentence of death. But as the silly-packed intrigue of who will end up with whom at the altar builds to a climax, Rose Waldman delivers the evening’s most moving and overall beautiful number, with her Iolanthe singing in clear, emotionally expressive notes a ballad directed to the Lord Chancellor with a confession that could lead to her own demise.
Along with the set dressing and properties designed with snap and snicker by Elisabeth Reeves, much of the production’s ongoing amusement comes from the whimsical and wily designs of costumes by Melissa Wortman, with Fairies in the eclectic and non-conventional dress and footwear one might see at a San Francisco night on the town by the avant-garde. Wigs and hair designed by Arie Singer add their crowning touches of fling and flair.
With occasional comic antics of her own, Music Director Jennifer Ashworth conducts the accomplished nine-piece orchestra that do great merit to Sullivan’s score. That they share in close proximity the backstage set with the cast at times causes an imbalance in which lyrics are lost, especially for certain cast members whose un-miked volume is sometimes not enough to counter the orchestra, including unfortunately the shepherd boy on the rise to Peer-dom, Strephon.
That said, the script’s hilarity is infectious; the constant jokes inserted by the director are a hoot; and the singing is overall wonderfully rousing even with numbers that are not nearly as well known as those in some other Gilbert and Sullivan gems. Lamplighters Musical Theatre once again proves the company is a San Francisco treat and treasure with an Iolanthe sure to please both long-time G&S fans and newcomers.
Rating: 4 E
Iolanthe or The Peer and the Peri continues through July 19, 2026, in a two-hour, thirty-minute (one intermission) production by Lamplighters Music Theatre at the ODC Theatre, 3153 17th Street, San Francisco. A limited amount of remaining tickets are available at https://lamplighters.org/ or at https://odc.dance/.
Photo Credits: Joe Giammarco
