As I child I could never understand the appeal of panto. New Year’s Day seemed to be the time for families to go out together and experience ‘the arts’. Some might see the Nutcracker ballet at the Royal Opera House, others may hit up the West End or a classical music venue. Failing all that, you can get your culture fix by watching the New Year’s Day Concert from Vienna on the Beeb. Why, then, did my mother and father insist on taking me to the Wycombe Swan to see a bunch of washed up soap actors and reality TV ‘stars’ poorly re-enacting a fairy tale?
Of course I went along with it. It was something I was meant to enjoy. In fact it was something that everyone else did seem to enjoy. Year upon year these farcical productions were happening in local theatres all over the country, and year upon year people would spend money on these things. Six-year-old me was bemused: from my theatre seat I would gaze around this room of seemingly reasonable people who had assembled to watch a fat, balding ex- Emmerdale star in drag express his emotions through the medium of a cheesy 90s hit. It was no aria.
Although panto wasn’t exactly my cup of Earl Grey, I could at least see why other (probably more normal) children enjoyed it. The fairy tales were familiar, the humour was slapstick and obvious, and, if you were lucky, Buttons might throw some sweets at your face. But what perplexed me most were the adults. Whereas the majority of children were too shy to respond to the cry of “Oh no he isn’t!”, the adults always replied with an enthusiastic chorus of “Oh yes he is!” What on earth compelled them to partake of this farce with such fervour?
But now, at the grand old age of twenty, I have begun to see the light. As in the pantomime classic Peter Pan, this in-your-face, ridiculous tradition allows adults to feel like kids who never grew up. For all its absurdity, panto allows escapism from the toils and troubles of everyday life. It’s the perfect antidote to those inevitable January Blues, fed by a dwindling bank balance, expanded waistline, and the awareness that no matter how enthusiastically you resolve not to drink/smoke/swear, within a week you’ll be off your face with a fag hanging out of your mouth and shouting expletives at the dog.
Whether you love panto, or just see it as an annual excuse to dust off Christopher Biggins and put him in a gaudy dress, the charm of this festive tradition cannot be denied. It’s mad, it’s camp, it’s often a bit tacky; but at the end of the day, it’s all just a bit of fun. And, in the Wycombe Swan’s production of Snow White this year, it has brought Ann Widdecombe to the stage. That is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
