Triumph of good

When we were kids, our uncle and aunt used to take us to the pantomime every year. It was our Christmas treat, and boy, what a treat; I loved it all.

We all dressed up in our best frocks (apart from my brother, obviously) and caught the train to London. I loved the noise and the bustle of the tube. I loved Theatreland with the evocative names: Drury Lane; Haymarket; Covent Garden; Palace; Lyceum; Playhouse.

I loved the plush carpets, the sweeping staircases, the grand foyers and the mirrored bars where one day I would be old enough to order gin and tonic for the interval. I loved the exorbitantly expensive ice creams in little tubs with tiny wooden paddles and the glossy programmes. I loved the ladies in furs and clouds of perfume and the men in suits and wreathes of cigar smoke.

But most of all, I loved it when the lights went down and the stories began. I loved the sets and the costumes; the dances and the songs; the men dressed as women and the women dressed as men. I loved shouting encouragement to the heroes and booing the villains.

It was formulaic of course, but it was magic and I believed in magic. For those two hours on a stage in central London, good triumphed and I supported it. In fact, it couldn't have happened without me.

Last weekend I went to a local pantomime here in Wellington. So many things are still the same, and although so many of us have grown up, I think we all want to believe in magic; the triumph of good and the thought that maybe, just maybe, we helped to make it happen.

Here is my review on the Lumiere site - Red Riding Hood