.
A seventy-one year
old man, a little crippled these days, lying in the too-scorching sun by the
Australian seaside, reading a book which arrived in a neat brown package this
morning. With a wee lump in his throat.
It’s a biography.
A twentieth-century biography. A twentieth-century show-business biography. The
sort of thing I usually skim through in a short afternoon. And here it is,
cocktail time, and I’m only up to page 93 of a whopping 450. Why?
Several reasons.
This is the sort
of biography I like. Chuckle. The sort of biography I write. Not all jolly
theatrical anecdotes and dubious stories, and bother the facts, but a real
piece of history, freely-told non-fiction for the generations to come. The
author even goes as far as to debunk some of the publicity stories surrounding
… oh, did I say the biographee is the great George Mitchell, the inventor and
soul of the show known for decades last century as The Black and White Minstrel Show. The most popular light
entertainment show of British stage and screen of its time, winner of the
Golden Rose of Montreux …
Oh well, I might
as well fess up. For just a twelvemonth the very young Kurt Gänzl was an
insignificant member of the chorus in the Minstrels.
I was doing summer season with them at the Futurist Theatre, Scarborough, when
whatshisname walked on the moon, and then opened at London’s Victoria Palace in
The Magic of the Minstrels for
several months … I enjoyed
Scarborough a lot.
Anyway, just to
say I have a wee personal interest in this particular biography. Many of the
people who parade past in its pages, I once knew. Daphne the work, Beryl the
money, bald red-faced Bob the boss (who cheated on my NI), little George Inns
‘director’, antique Roy the choreographer, not to mention the performers and, of
course, dear, if not frequently-seen, Mr Mitchell himself ... are not just
names to me.
But this can be a
disadvantage to a writer and a reader as well as an advantage. I was there..! I’m
not gaga yet! Don’t try to tell me something untrue … Well, this author doesn’t. She avoids the
undersides but tells the important parts as they were.
Mrs Eleanor
Pritchard, the writer, was she a Television Topper? She tells the tale with a
lot of insights. Or is this really a compilation of George Mitchell’s writings
plus interviews? Which ever it is, it comes out as a thoroughly satisfying read
and a totally satisfying record of the history of the most remarkable variety
show ever to come out of Great Britain.
While I was in the
show, a meagre American performer (of colour) by the name of Gloria something
thought she’d get herself in the papers by (figuratively, I'm sure) chaining herself to the front of the
Victoria Palace, where we were playing, and screaming ‘racist’. New word then. Well,
the media always fall for a gag like that. She got her coverage. If not many
more jobs. But this under-educated woman didn’t know her theatre history. And
neither did the British press. The nigger minstrel show is America’s
one truly special and original contribution to the world of the musical
theatre. But the BBC, which shows murders, rapes, death and all its favourite
perversions nightly, couldn’t take a bit of black pancake…
And so, The Black and White Minstrels came to an
end. But it will be a while before they and George Mitchell are forgotten. And
this excellent book records the whole career of the man, his music and his
musicians in charming detail for posterity. Bravo!
PS I appear in an anecdote
on p83. And it is absolutely correct. Except that my umlaut fell off. Pfui.
And, well, there was more …
 |
| George Mitchell OBE |
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