As to dramatic plot—well, strictly speaking, there is none; and it would be difficult to name a single telling "situation," in Utopia (Limited). The Monarch of Utopia wishes to introduce English customs into his kingdom; there is a court party opposed to this innovation: that's the essence of it. In the First Act the one hit, is the introduction of Captain Corcoran from The Pinafore of years ago, and the repetition of the once popular catch-phrase about "What never?" and "Hardly ever," which, taken as applying to our most recent tragical ironclad disaster, is thoroughly appreciated. Beyond this, as far as dialogue and music go, in the First Act there is very little anyone would care to "carry away with him" after a first visit. And if that little were carried away the residuum would offer scant attraction.
The Union of Arts. "Again we come to thee, Savoy."—Old Duet.
As for the Second Act, with its Royal Drawing-room scene, its splendid costumes, and its mimicry of Court etiquette, have we not witnessed a similar spectacle on a larger scale in a Drury Lane Pantomime, not so very many years ago? And was not that arranged by the same artistic stage-manager, who is now, by a wise dispensation of theatrical providence, in command at the Savoy, yclept Mr. Charles Harris? I fancy the Drury Lane Pantomime had the best of it in point of broad fun, as, if I remember right, Herbert Campbell was the Queen, and Harry Nicholls the King. Before this scene is the principal hit of the Second Act, when the King, Mr. Barrington,—to whom author and composer are under considerable obligations for the success of the piece, and without whose acting, dancing, and singing the entertainment would fare indifferently well,—with his counsellors, an admiral, a Lord Chamberlain, and so forth, place their chairs in a row, and detaching from the back of each seat a musical instrument, turn themselves into a St. James's ("Hall" not "Court") Christy Minstrel Company, Unlimited, of which Mr. Barrington, as the Mr. Johnson, is the life and soul. Is this the remarkably original creation of the united intellects of Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan? Have they ever heard of, or did either of them ever see a burlesque entitled Black Eye'd Susan at the Royalty, which ran a long way over six hundred nights, and in later days was revived at the Opera Comique and elsewhere? I will quote from the Times' notice of that burlesque:—
"The court-martial arranged after the fashion of the Christy's orchestra, every admiral being dressed in a colour corresponding to his title, an actual 'nigger' figuring as Admiral of the Black, is another odd device which keeps the audience in a roar."
And it is this "odd device," with a Lord Chancellor, if I remember right, or some legal luminary in black, for one of the "corner men," which is, after all is said, sung, and done, just the one thing (of the two in the show) that brings down the house, and is applauded to the echo as the outcome of the combined whimsical originality of Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan! Imitation being the sincerest flattery, the author of Black Eye'd Susan must be indeed gratified by this tribute to his original success paid by the librettist and the composer of Utopia, and having no further use for this particular bit of humour, he will, no doubt, be willing to make a present of it, free of charge, for nightly use, to the distinguished Savoyards as a practical congratulation to the pair of them on their return to the scene of some of their former triumphs.
Mr. Barrington is the life and soul of the show; withdraw him, and then there would be precious little left to draw, excepting, of course, the mise en scène, due to Messrs. Harris and Carte, if I may put the Harris before the Carte,—and to the Scenic Artist, Craven. Nor must I forget to mention the Electric Lightists, Messrs. Lyons and Kerr, which last is a queer combination of names, from the king of the forest to the lowest of snappy dogs. Miss Rosina Brandram is, of course, excellent in what she has to do, and Miss Nancy McIntosh is equal to the occasion of her appearance. Percy Anderson's costumes are gorgeous and artistic; and to the "Parisian Diamond Company" are due the gems of the piece. The dances are by the ever fertile and agile D'Auban, and everybody who has contributed to the success of the show obtains honourable mention in the neat programme-card.
"Inquirer" writes: "I see an advertisement of a series called 'The Aldine Poets.' Exceptional bards I suppose, as I was always given to understand that poets rarely eat anything. Will this series be followed by 'The Allunch Poets,' The Allbreakfast Poets,' and 'The Allsup Poets'? The last-mentioned, of course, will sing in praise of Allsup's Ale."