Geoff Turner’s Sir Thomas Graspall in The Raree Show or The Fox Trap’t. Picture: Gareth Buddo
IMAGINE the joy of Sarah Cowling, York tour guide and Churches Conservation Trust volunteer at Holy Trinity, Goodramgate, when research led to the discovery of the writings of Mr Joseph Peterson.
Parish records show that Peterson gave his living as “comedian” in the register at his son Joseph’s baptism in January 1738. Actor, writer and comedian would be more accurate, given that Peterson’s career blossomed at the Norwich Theatre Company from 1746 after working for Thomas Keregan’s company in York.
Yet before his exit stage left to Norfolk, York-born Peterson wrote expressly for his home city, and now Cowling is directing Holy Trinity’s revival of his first theatrical romp in a traverse staging at Merchant Taylors’ Hall, where it is thought the hour-long comedy might have been first performed.
There will be only one performance, tonight at 7.30pm, sold out alas, but last night’s dress rehearsal played to pretty much a full house too, so it had the atmosphere more befitting a first night.
Wood is everywhere: doors, dark panels on the walls, the floor, but thankfully not in the acting, led by Nick Patrick Jones’s Mr Joseph Peterson, introducing his piece of 18th century theatrical shenanigans in couplets, in the manner of Shakespeare’s Puck.
Jones will reappear as Peterson’s most exaggerated character, the coxcomb Sir Fopling Conceit, a narcissist as foppish and vain as his name, surely heading for a fall.
He is not alone in Peterson’s parade of vainglorious peacocks: step forward Geoff Turner’s Sir Thomas Graspall, in his case headed for a pratfall via the Raree Show of the title: a tented peep show that invites him to look inside. The Fox trap’t indeed.
Step forward with even more braggadocio Joe Standerline’s thunderous foxhunting enthusiast Squire Timothy, as quick on the bottom slaps as outrageous boasts.
They will be outwitted in a battle of wits by the womanly wiles of Mad Alice (York tour guide Alicia Stabler) in the guise of Betty, together with Joy Warner’s Corinna and Andrea Mitchell’s Belinda.
Further undermining the pompous posturing are the earnest machinations of Zander Fick’s Belamour and Matt Tapp’s Manly.
Standerline pops up too as Peterson’s answer to Shakespeare’s Fool, the self-explanatory Smart, albeit in a cameo, but one where he has fun with a hammy French accent and moustache.
Peterson crams into his hour all the tropes of Georgian theatre: the wigs and the topical wit; the daft names and even dafter characters; villainous uncles, astute servants and absurdist foreigners; physical buffoonery, clashing swords and verbal spats; putdowns and comeuppances; unhappy exits and the obligatory happy ending.
Then add Georgian style to compliment the foppery and frippery, further boosted by the perky musicality of Nicky Gladstone’s violin and Chantal Berry’s keyboard.
The last word goes to Jones’s Peterson, who is unnecessarily apologetic about the standard of his debut work. What’s more, it won’t be the last word if Sarah Cowling has her way. “There’s a whole catalogue of these funny little York-grown Georgian shows,” she says. “I really hope we can unearth more.”