The strange thing about the history of
the gothic movement in Britain is that this generally neglected and
often forgotten cultural current has roots which go back centuries,
crossing paths with other movements and art forms, many of which are
long lost, misrepresented, or misunderstood. The role of gothic
theatre in the formation of modern goth culture is one such example.
The second wave of British gothic
culture effectively began with the first production of 'The Bells',
at the Lyceum in London, in 1871. This single production was a key
event in both the renaissance and eventual respectability of British
theatre, but also indirectly laid the basis of twentieth century
gothic. The fact that it is generally ignored these days, then, is a
curious and unfortunate development.
'The Bells', a translation by Leopold
Lewis of the 1867 play 'Le Juif Polonais (The Polish Jew)' by
Erckmann-Chatrian, was first performed by Henry Irving in that
production. Irving had taken over management of a failing Lyceum
earlier that year. Irving, a renowned 'actor-manager' who took keen
(some may say overbearing) interest in the running of the theatre and
set the artistic direction of the productions, each of which would
invariably star himself, was a huge star in the theatrical world at
the time – but even he had his work cut out in turning around the
fortunes of the Lyceum. There were many empty stalls when 'The Bells'
made its debut. So the huge success of the production was, then,
extremely timely.
The play itself deals with a fairly
simple gothic trope: a wannabe Silesian Burgermeister who owns a
tavern who kills a passing Jewish trader for his money, only to tormented
by his guilt in the form of the sleigh bells of his victim. The
ingredients of the play – cursed ambition, petit-bourgeois avarice,
guilt, madness, and not a little anti-Semitism – were standard
fare. But what was more unusual was the powerhouse, barnstormingly
visceral performance that Irving's production gave. The histrionic,
hammy performance by the Old Man was so electrifyingly emotive that
it provided all the thrills and chills that a Victorian theatrical
audience were craving; the third act of the production was
essentially a showcase for Irving's singularly egomaniacial vision.
It was, as Garth Marenghi would say, “raw, balls-to-the-wall
horror”, and it was a smash hit. It ran for a spectacular 150
nights.
This production had a number of
repercussions. It had the result of making Irving's career, and
taking British theatre a massive step forward towards respectability;
Irving would later become the first actor to be Knighted. It also
rekindled the Victorian appetite for the macabre, and with it the
next generation of gothic.
But probably most importantly it
provided the basis for the figure that would dominate that next
gothic wave. Irving's theatrical manager was one Bram Stoker, who
would become so enamoured with the visceral performances Irving gave
that he intended his new character – one Count Dracula - to be
performed by him. Indeed, the first ever stage performance of
'Dracula' was a dramatised reading on stage at the Lyceum – and the
description of the Count in Stoker's original novel, with his grey
hair and 'aqualine nose', bears an obvious to the Old Man himself.
Where is that legacy now? Well, in one
of those curiously self-defeating things that characterise the goth
movement the Lyceum, after being derelict and then a bingo hall, is
now showcasing 'the Lion King' on a daily basis whilst we were busy
trying to get 200 bands in a small field in the midlands. Irving died
at the Midland Hotel in Bradford, just a few miles from Goth City,
although this fact in itself has also been largely ignored. 'The
Bells' today is just a footnote in the backstory of modern goth.
But that's not important to dwell on at
this time. What is important is to remember that ham pays, that
audacity pays off, and that things begin. All the time, they begin.
Merry Christmas, gothics!