"Are you fond of toffee?"
In an attempt to prevent sensory overload
and other symptoms of culture shock to our patrons, we are sparing no
expense to bring you a summary of the plot of Patience
in a form suitable for those who are accustomed to 15-second sound bites.
We’ll start with a 5-second version and
work our way up.
OK, a bunch of lovesick maidens are
falling all over themselves in admiration for a smarmy poet. The smarmy
poet, on the other hand, has the hots for a local milkmaid by the name of
“Patience.” Patience, is so naïve that she can’t understand why everyone
around her is so miserable when they are in love, and, on top of that, she
really doesn’t like poetry or poets.
Add to this mix a second smarmy poet who
feels he is God’s gift to women, but, on the other hand, is still in love
with Patience who was his childhood sweetheart. Toss in a platoon of Heavy
Dragoon Guards who are under the impression that they are engaged to the
afore-mentioned lovesick maidens, a poetry slam between the two smarmy
poets, and one timid lawyer, and you have the plot pretty well in hand.
Too condensed you say? Here is a slightly
expanded version for the more experienced theater sitters.
The show opens with twenty lovesick
maidens languidly gliding about the stage moaning about how miserable they
are in their unrequited love and that they will still be miserable twenty
years from now.
The good news is that they won’t, and the
better news is that there are nowhere near twenty of them. (At today’s
ticket prices you shouldn’t waste time trying to count lovesick maidens!)
These poor girls are totally overwhelmed
by the aesthetic movement embodied by a local “fleshly” poet by the name of
Reginald Bunthorne. A fleshly poet, I hear you ask? No, the gentleman is not
necessarily overweight. The term means he is sensual and worldly – possessed
of carnal desires. No wonder the girls all fell for him.
I hope you knew at the top of the show
that you were here to see something by Gilbert & Sullivan with their usual
complement of characters. One being a dreadnaught-class contralto, named
Jane, who also has a crush on Bunthorne. (That is highly unrequited.)
This brings us to the first of several
plot complications. 1.) Bunthorne is an artistic fake (good taste misplaced)
and only puts on his airs to attract the attentions of the girls, and 2.) He
has fallen in love with Patience, the village milkmaid.
While a nice enough young girl, Patience
has spent way too much time in the dairy barn discussing the facts of life
with her cows. She wouldn’t know true love from heartburn and simply doesn’t
understand how you can love someone who is not a relative. Yet in the
long-standing tradition of Gilbert & Sullivan, her bovine ruminations make
her about the only person on stage with even a lick of common sense.
She confides to a girlfriend that the only
love she has known is for a great aunt and for a little boy named “Archie”
whom she played with 14 years ago. Her friend impresses two things upon her:
1.) Great Aunts don’t count, and 2.) The little boy may count but to truly
love someone your feelings must be absolutely unselfish.
At this point, another plot complication
comes strolling by. It is an idyllic poet by the name of Archibald
Grosvenor, who, naturally enough, is the grown up version of the little
Archie she loved in her girlhood.
We know that this “Archibald the
All-Right” is the epitome of manly beauty because he tells us so right off
the bat. He also claims that he has never ceased to love Patience. She,
naturally, flips head over heels for him but suddenly comes to the shocking
but logical realization that any love she may have for him could, in
no way be absolutely unselfish. Therefore, she feels she must spurn him in
favor of Bunthorne.
I certainly hope that all of the
above has not put you into a soporific stupor because the next plot
complication is liable blow you right out of your seat. A platoon of Heavy
Dragoon Guards comes marching in – with a great deal of “stomp, stomp” and
“oom-pah, oom-pah.” It turns out that they were the fiancés of the lovesick
maidens only last year. In a word, these guys are LOUD. Their music is LOUD,
their uniforms are LOUD, and their singing is LOUD. This is a perfect
example of good testosterone misplaced.
Of course, they demand that the ladies
forget about poets and poetry and return to them. Patience then announces
that she will become Bunthorn’s bride since he is so imperfect that loving
him couldn’t be selfish in any way. Bunthorne then immediately rejects
everyone else.
The ladies, seeing which way the wind is
blowing, then decide to marry into the military establishment.
Unfortunately, old Archibald wanders by again. When they discover he is a
poet, the ladies again throw over the Dragoons and start mooning after him.
Time for a break.
Fortunately, the second half goes a bit
faster. Archie tells the girls about a hardware store he visited recently
and asks for the rest of the weekend off. Jane tells Bunthorne that he’d
better grab her soon because she is getting old fast. (Not unlike this
opera.) She also convinces Bunthorne that he must confront Archie and tell
him to buzz off in an esthetic sort of way.
He is so successful at this (Archie wanted
to do it anyway), that they do a little soft shoe to celebrate. Patience now
sees that Bunthorne has become so amiable that he is now perfect, so,
naturally, she can’t possibly marry him. Then she sees that Archibald has
become an ordinary young man (and imperfect) so nothing stands in the way of
their happy marriage. Then, suddenly, one of the Dragoon officers turns out
to be a Duke and proposes to Jane. So, of course, she quickly dumps
Bunthorne.
This makes everyone happily paired up
except for Bunthorne who almost seems relieved by the final turn of events.
--Mike (he's telling a terrible) Storie
