“My brain is a fairy brain, but from the waist down I’m all gibberish,” Strephon (Rahul Kulka GSAS) says in the Harvard-Radcliffe Gilbert & Sullivan Players’ production of “Iolanthe; or The Peer and the Peri.”  Like the half-fairy, half-human Strephon, the operetta, which runs March 27-April 5 in the Agassiz Theater, blends the fantastic and the mortal with humor and panache as its characters straddle the divide between Fairyland and upper-crust, parliamentary Britain.

In traditional G&S fashion, “Iolanthe” features a twist-and-turn-filled plot, upbeat music, and subtle, socio-political satire. The show begins 25 years after the title fairy, or “peri,” marries a human being, an act that fairy law deems a capital crime. Iolanthe (Kimberly A. Onah ’15) has had an illicit son, Strephon, with her mortal husband. The Queen of the Fairies (Laura A. Peterson ’16) takes pity on Iolanthe and chooses to exile rather than to execute her. The show starts with the fairies’ desire to bring Iolanthe back into the fold. “[W]hy not forgive her? 25 years is a long time,” Celia (Julia E. Belanoff ’18) pleads with the Queen.

Celia and Leila (Tamsin E.M. Jones GSAS) speak for the fairies through solo performances. While Belanoff’s voice rings out clear, articulate, and delightful, Jones at times could not be heard above the swelling music. But it is Peterson who commands the stage. Dressed in a red-and-gold dress and holding a glittering star-tipped scepter, Peterson as the Queen inspires awe not only in her doting fairy followers but also in the chorus of uppity Brits from the House of Peers who strut around the stage pretentiously, trying to impress her and to hide their own foolishness.  

Stepping spritely and flitting about the stage in color-coordinated wings and eyeshadow, the fairies might seem caricaturish at first glance (“We must dance, and we must sing,” they sing tunefully in “Tripping hither, tripping thither”). But their interactions with the peers make them relatable, even human. Indeed, the cohort of peers—who make quite the entrance as an ensemble wearing Louis XIV-style red capes with white leopard trim and jewel encrusted crowns—appear more outlandish than the fairies. “Bow, bow, you lower-middle classes,” they sing smugly. Indeed, the peers tiptoe around the idea that they have few intellectual qualifications to control society but are nevertheless imbued with incredible legislative power.

When taken together, the peers draw attention to the absurdity of British legal system and the players who dominate it. Lord Chancellor (Aaron A. Slipper ’18) brings the house down during numbers such as  “Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest.” Troubled because he adores Strephon’s lover, Phyllis (Camille L. Crossot ’16), the Lord Chancellor moves from merely coveting her (“My regard for her is rapidly undermining my constitution,” he says in Act I) to bumbling about forlornly  in his matronly nightclothes and disheveled hair. Slipper successfully plays both versions of the Chancellor, first demanding respect as the wig-clad, snobbish judge he is and then eliciting huge laughs as the bug-eyed, restless unrequited lover.

All of the action unfolds in front of a lushly painted backdrop complete with dappled trees, quaint stone steps, pink flower buds, and tiny button-capped mushrooms. By Act II, posh lampposts and a detailed rendering of Big Ben join this landscape. Smart lighting choices, including a dreamlike pink glow that fades in and out as characters transition between Fairyland and Parliament, add to the ambiance. The scenery and lighting both support the whimsy of the fairies and highlight the absurdity of the peers.

This production of “Iolanthe” stays upbeat and entertaining, even though it is a long operetta whose denouement comes toward the very end. Ultimately a mockery of stuffy British law, the show garners laughs through several strong performances and a humanity-affirming message. “I’d rather have half a mortal I do love than half a dozen I don’t,” Phyllis says to Strephon, accepting him for who he is.

—Staff writer Melissa C. Rodman can be reached at melissa.rodman@thecrimson.com.