This most peculiarly British art form is alive and kicking because it has constantly evolved and speaks to our inner child
No aspect of theatre is more prone to nostalgia than pantomime. As far back as 1897, George Bernard Shaw was lamenting the form's descent into its modern incarnation as "a glittering, noisy void", and three decades before that the clown Joseph Grimaldi, in his autobiography edited by a young Charles Dickens, declared panto dead and recalled with pleasure "the delights ? the ten thousand million delights" of his childhood viewing experiences. By 1883, the Times was railing against "the corruption of Boxing Day morals through the influence of the music hall".
Ironically enough, one of the great pleasures of the modern panto is seeing the last traces of that old, derided music-hall tradition, particularly apparent in the great Scottish pantomimes in Edinburgh and Glasgow this year but also in much-adulterated form at Hackney Empire's or Theatre Royal York's Jack and the Beanstalk. The music-hall stars of the late 19th and early 20th century, who made panto their own by introducing their own patter and songs, were the equivalent of TV celebs such as Pamela Anderson, John Barrowman and Julian Clary, who can earn footballers' wages for a few weeks over the Christmas season in the big commercial pantomimes.
Pantomime has survived only because it is so plastic and malleable. Instead of becoming trapped like a fly in amber, it has constantly evolved ? from the 18th-century Harlequinades, through the music-hall era to the comic and sometimes magical spectacles of today. It looks both backwards and forwards. Just as a Shakespeare production often breeds not contempt but pleasure through familiarity, so part of the enjoyment of panto lies in its standard set pieces and in knowing that the singalong is coming next. During the very best, most sparkling contemporary pantomimes, somewhere in the darkness the ghost of Grimaldi hovers with his smile on his face.
Perhaps it is because they are often part of our Christmas childhoods that they gleam so brightly in our minds, meaning that we decry modern versions. But it seems to me that pantomime is in much better nick than it was during the 1980s and 90s. There is a revival of interest from serious venues, with the Lyric Hammermith back in the panto business for the second year running with Dick Whittington, while long-established panto purveyors such as the Nottingham Playhouse, which is staging Mother Goose, go from strength to strength. We also have some great contemporary dames, too, in Clive Rowe and Berwick Kaler. No, they're not the same as Dan Leno or Arthur Askey, but we wouldn't expect them to be ? any more than we'd expect Simon Russell Beale to act like Laurence Olivier.
For many children, pantomime remains the only theatre experience of the year. At its best, pantomime is a celebration of the child in all of us, and I always find something cheering about the fact this most peculiarly British art form should be inspired by such a spirit of wild, youthful anarchy. I'm with the 19th-century poet Leigh Hunt, who declared: "He that says he does not like pantomime either says what he does not think or is not so wise as he fancies himself ... Not to like pantomimes is ... not to like love ... not to like a holiday ... not to remember that we have been children ourselves."
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