This Christmas Carol hits a false note
When is a pantomime still a pantomime?
I know, when it’s pretending to be Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.”
And no, I’m not talking about Ross Petty’s comic concoction in Toronto. I’m speaking of Tim Carroll’s misguided version of Dickens at the venerable Shaw Festival in Niagara-onthe-Lake.
It’s a condescending cartoon of an affair, with a lifeless puppet for Tiny Tim, a shadow play of Fezziwig’s Christmas party that suddenly bursts into a shabbily choreographed dance and it’s sadly populated with characters that are mere shadows.
I don’t know who this paltry version was created for. Perhaps it’s meant as a sinecure for out of work actors. Maybe it’s designed for school outings to rake in money every year. Pity poor high school students dragged to this dumbed-down Scrooge, barely 90 min- utes long, with an unnec- essary interval rammed in the middle.
Christine Lohre’s imaginative costumes and sets offer eye-candy to keep things going, but there’s nothing charming about the uncredited script. It looks and sounds like it was made up by the actors and director in a few improvisational sessions. Oh yes, I know somewhere in tiny print in the glossy program it says this production owes credit to The National Theatre of Bergen, Norway. Really?
And why would you look for a vision of Scrooge there, when there are better Canadian versions? Snatches from Dickens’ novel are the only moments of drama here.
To pad things out, there is the aimless nonsense of actors wandering the aisles before the lights go down and we are treated to a hohum carol sing. Director Carroll favours this sort of thing, which he seems to think is making
everything inclusive, bringing actors and audience together. Really? Doesn’t a good play do that?
Personally, I like my actors to stay up on the stage, doing what they’re paid to do, entertaining me without looking desperate and bored as they ask if I want to stroke a fake pussy cat or hold a tiny ship with a torn sail.
Children of a certain age may love this upclose experience. That’s why we have children’s shows and Ross Petty pantomimes. But here, telling a story without making it resonate with more than quick gasps of drama is a swizzle.
This is a comic book version of Dickens’ with Scrooge cracking pantomime jokes. Looking at the hollow ghost of Jacob Marley he turns to the audience and giggles, “I always knew Marley had no guts.”
Then there’s the one about the Gingerbread Man, or was it cookie?
You soon get the idea this band of actors camped out at Shaw relishes the notion this is clever stuff. In the words of Dickens, “Bah Humbug.”
And speaking of the actors, with the exceptions of Michael Therriault’s amiable Scrooge and Patty Jamieson’s cockney Mrs. Dilber, the rest have nothing much to act.
Hamilton’s Emily Lukasik is a pretty Belle, but we know nothing about her as Scrooge’s long-ago love. And Andrew Lawrie and Marla McLean may be called Mr. and Mrs. Cratchit, but how they figure in “A Christmas Carol” is barely revealed here. That’s the thing, isn’t it. If you didn’t know something about Dickens’ novel, you still wouldn’t from the creaking bones of epiphany suggested here.
In trying to make this show a feel-good experience there’s little darkness in the ghosts who wake Scrooge to caring and sharing. It’s hard to be inspired by lifeless puppets, shades of ghosts and underwritten human beings paraded across the stage. Dickens’ cautionary tale is tricked-up here so the Shaw production lands somewhere between reality and fantasy. Why are there images of cartoon prisoners in jail and enemy soldiers playing Christmas football?
There are good versions of Dickens’ story. “Mr. Scrooge,” written by Dolores Claman, Ted Wood and Richard Morris, manages to be truthful to Dickens’ intent and sweetly comic at the same time. So does Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse’s “Scrooge: The Musical,” offering depth, along with falling snowflakes, figgy puddings and ghosts with Christmas messages.
Michael Therriault does what he can to make Ebenezer Scrooge believable, but it’s very difficult to be good in a show that’s as humbug as this.
You’d be better off staying home and watching Alastair Sim, arguably the best Scrooge of all, in the 1951 British film classic than heading to Niagara-on-the-Lake.
Gary Smith has written on theatre and dance for The Hamilton Spectator for more than 35 years.