… From pantos to Boney M. Thebe Mabanga on what we can look forward to this season Bad entertainment is as much a feature of the season to be merry as is long-distance travelling and expensive wine in celebrating the birth of a Jewish boy who changed society in only 33 years. In subtle form and in overstated fashion, in shopping malls, churches and on TV, attempts to entertain you during the holiday season often leave you cringing with embarrassment or giving money out of guilt-induced benevolence rather than genuine appreciation of talent. It all starts in the office, of course, with a colleague who sets a cellular phone on a hideous Christmas ringtone, puts it on maximum volume and then leaves it lying around while having a smoke and gossip. That is just the tip of the snow mound, for after hours the mediocrity is glaring and unavoidable. Leading the way are pantomimes, the Nativity Play and Christmas carols.
I was convinced pantos are to be avoided when I read the tagline for an adult panto piece. Anything that claims to be”naughty but nice” evokes images of a middle-aged businessman who makes his first million rather late in life and buys a shimmering red sports car and follows that up with a girlfriend half his age. Pantomimes, though, are not the only theatrical tragedies at this time of the year. There is also the end-of-year school extravaganza. The subject is invariably the reenactment of the birth of Jesus Christ and in most cases the showstoppers are stars by pure accident. It is a curious fact that those children who get lead roles in school plays attain higher self-esteem and go on to do well in their school careers and top the class list. Those given peripheral roles in the chorus are destined for mid-table obscurity on the results ranking and those who are cast in non-speaking roles such as sheep or donkeys sit at the back of the class. It is possible to work your way through the ranks. I, too, started at the bottom. In my earliest Sunday-school acting career, I was cast as a sheep only because I was among the youngest. I recall once, during a staging for the parable of the lost sheep, I played the 100th sheep that went astray. I was required to hide behind the altar for what seemed like an eternity. My moment of stardom was to come when I had to bleat a few times so the audience could guide my owner to find me. The waiting turned out to be so long, I fell asleep. The poor fellow had to conduct a proper search since my hiding place was not rehearsed. At one stage, I am told, the sheep actually acquired my name. In years to come I acquired speaking and singing roles, although more of the former really. Strange that I never got to star in the ultimate, the Nativity Play. My teachers obviously never recognised talent. My classic moment as a spectator to this famous tale occurred when I sat through a pre-school graduation edition. There was a boy who had been cast as a donkey. He was noticeably older than his peers, judging from his bigger, white sheet-covered frame, and I would not be surprised if he got his role because he had struggled to memorise the lines and his voice stood out in the wrong way if he attempted to sing. His Oscar-winning piece of improvisation came when in a moment of being overwhelmed by applause, Joseph and the rest of the cast left him stranded for a scene change. Undecided as to which exit to use and practically blindfolded, he hobbled to his left, tripping on his sheet as he tried to go fast. He then plunged head-first into a makeshift pillar, knocking it over. In a dazed panic he retreated, changed direction and was then trapped by the shouts of his playmates from both exits. In utter confusion, the donkey shed its costume and ran, dragging it behind. Christmas is, of course, also a time for Christmas carols. There are times when you sit through these morbid tunes and wonder when it will all end not just the evening but the holiday season. A group responsible for spreading carols is Boney M. Every year without fail the SABC hauls out its tired videos of Mary’s Boy Child and Little Drummer Boy. All it really does is evoke memories of childhood some good, some traumatic.
Christmas entertainment works if it does not try too hard and is honest. Many people would not mind a live music concert in an indoor, intimate venue from an artist with commanding stage presence, such as Simply Red or Oliver Mtukudzi. A properly rehearsed attempt to showcase Christmas in other cultures would be a welcome addition to the holiday season and an interpretation of Christmas carols by a well-honed orchestra would work well.
Unfortunately, such celebrations are rare indeed. Instead, both the poor and the rich, in equal but vastly differing measures, sadly endure bad festive-season entertainment. For those at the lower end of the social scale, the worst is when travelling to faraway places to be with their loved ones. Their point of departure is the Noord Street taxi rank in downtown Johannesburg. They sit with their luggage, trying to keep an eye on their children and to evade pickpockets in a wait that can last up to six hours. In sweltering heat or between spells of rain, their nightmare unfolds. One of the most popular and easy-to-imitate styles of music is gospel. There is a brand of gospel that originates from the Sepedi-speaking Northern Province and is popularised by the Zionist Christian Church. It is called mokhukhu and its soul-stirring multi-layered tenor strains can make you cry.
Now, like all popular culture phenomena, mokhukhu has spawned many imitations, the worst of which find their way to the pavements of Noord to an audience eager to throw change into a Zionist Christian Church hat. They too will make you cry. Not because of a touching rendition, but because they are so pitiful. The female backing vocalists sing without passion and in between songs the leader has to apologise for the member who continually moves out of step with the rest of the group, pointing out that she has been with the group for only three weeks. Looks more like three hours. The star of one of these shows was a man who was so infuriated with a group member that he turned to her and uttered, in staunch Sepedi, expletives as though he had never seen the inside of a church. Realising that he was jeopardising his image as a gospel star, he apologised to his audience and muttered something about righteous anger. His audience immediately halved. Those who remained did not bother to throw donations. The last word on bad entertainment this festive season belongs to the rich people of Gauteng. The Civic Theatre in Braamfontein plans to throw a lavish do that is said to”redefine the word gala”. The R700 ticket includes three shows and a three-course meal. The problem is that your new year will be ushered in by Mango Groove, a group that, as journalist Chris Roper said of PJ Powers, has outlived its usefulness. The piano melodies of Alan Lazar are some of the most memorable composed in South Africa, but the novelty of a mixed-race band has worn off and the pennywhistle strains are unbearably irritating.
There is also the promise of rubbing shoulders with the cream of South African society. Hmm, anybody who matters should be with family and friends or out of the country. Fancy spending time with the Big Brother winner? Or any of the losers, for that matter? Or you could get lucky maybe among the minor-status celebrities will be some Gladiators.