Dublin’s Theatre Royal

If you lived in Dublin between 1935 and 1962, chances are you’ll remember the Theatre Royal. For other folks, if you know it at all, it may only be as a reference in Pete St. John’s Dublin in the Rare Auld Times. Either way, the Royal’s story is worth telling.

History

Over the years, there were actually three Theatre Royals on Hawkins Street. The first opened in January, 1821 and burned to the ground in February, 1880. During its lifetime, it played host to such 19th century luminaries as Jenny Lind and Paganini (on the stage) and George IV (in the audience).

The second incarnation opened in December, 1897, and lived for over thirty years, finally closing in March, 1934. Audience capacity --- approximately 2,000 --- was similar to that of its predecessor and it too was marked by the royal presence, Edward VII doing the honours in April, 1904.

But the best known Theatre Royal is the one that debuted on September 23rd, 1935, with a gala performance of the New Royal Revue headed by the celebrated tenor, Count John McCormack. Sean Lemass, then Minister of Industry and Commerce, presided, McCormack sang Bless This House and an impressive venue was auspiciously launched.

The architect, Leslie Norton, had chosen a stylishly Art Deco exterior, floodlit at night, with a contrasting Middle Eastern/Moorish interior. The large marble foyer had a staircase at each side, supplemented by an elevator on the left. Inside the auditorium, the forty feet deep stage and audience capacity of 4,000 (3,700 seated plus 300 standing) made it one of the largest venues in Europe. Like many of the giant theatres of its time --- New York’s Radio City Music Hall being the most famous example --- the Royal often played first-run movies alongside the stage presentations. In addition, there was a resident 25-piece orchestra. Clearly, it was built to host the biggest acts in the English-speaking world. And it did.

The Pre-War Years

Major international names like Gracie Fields, Jimmy Durante and George Formby played the Royal. But probably the biggest of the pre-war events came during 1939’s Horse Show Week when the Singing Cowboy, Gene Autry, hit town for the first stop on a month-long European tour.

Arriving at the North Wall on Saturday, August 5th, Autry made his European live radio debut that same evening with a thirty minute show on Radio Eireann. Then at noon on Monday, August 7th, there was a welcoming parade down O’Connell Street, drawing tens of thousands. In the afternoon, he opened a week-long engagement at the Theatre Royal, playing three shows a day, with performances at 3:38, 6:05 and 8:40. Demand was such that a 1:00 early Saturday matinee was added. It still wasn’t enough, so two Sunday performances had to be tacked on to the end of the schedule. At a total of twenty-one shows, potential audience capacity exceeded 80,000. And while the Royal’s companion movie that week, Man of Conquest, was not an Autry vehicle, unsated fans could catch him in Mexicali Rose next door at the Regal Rooms.

There was another auspicious aspect to the week --- the international launch of an Irish song that was to become a bona fide standard. During the Royal run, Tyrone-born songwriter Jimmy Kennedy and Michael Carr, his Dublin-raised collaborator, pitched a song to Autry. It was their new composition, South of the Border. By the end of the year, it was both a big transatlantic hit and the title song of a new Autry movie rushed into American cinemas for Christmas.

The pre-war years also marked the theatrical emergence of the man who was to become Ireland’s premier mid-20th century impresario. The son of a Jewish refugee from Tsarist Russia, Louis Elliman entered the picture when his family took control of the Royal in 1936. Running the Royal and the Gaiety, he nurtured local talent, keeping both theatres open during World War 2.

The War Years

After the outbreak of war in Europe, the Royal’s booking policy necessarily changed. With major American and British headliners in dramatically shorter supply, Elliman was thrown back on the need for indigenous talent. The gap was filled by a number of local personalities, some of whom acquired the status of Dublin legends. But while names like Jimmy O’Dea, Noel Purcell, Jack Cruise and Maureen Potter still resonate, there were many whose fame was of a lesser degree.

For instance, in the week commencing September 16th, 1940, the Royal’s stage presentation was called Mexican Serenade. Jimmy Campbell and the Theatre Royal Orchestra opened the proceedings with Rumbaland, followed by the Royal Violettes and Dance of the Senoritas. Then came a routine from Paddy Tyrell, Dan Byrne and Jimmy Davenport plus nine more segments, ending with Campbell’s orchestra and Waltzes Fantastique. The Dublin version of exotic Mexico as filtered through the eyes of Hollywood!

Or take the Easter Parade of 1941, a “lavish seasonal extravaganza” which started its run on Easter Sunday, April 13th. With Campbell and his orchestra again doing opening and closing duties, local performers like Eily Murnaghan, Dick Forbes, Mike Nolan and Joe Duffy carried the festivities forward with music and comedy.

The war also gave birth to the Royal’s own ensemble of high-kicking chorus girls. The act originally started as the Violettes, a group of mostly ex-Tiller Girls from Britain who played a date at the Royal in 1939 and then stayed on. By 1940, they were the Royal Violettes, subsequently becoming the Royalettes in 1943, at which point the line-up was all-Irish. Although ultra demure by today’s standards, the Royalettes had a pleasantly sensual cachet in a society where public sexuality was severely frowned on.

After the War

When the war ended, the international stars, particularly Americans, returned. Bob Hope came twice, once in 1951 and again in 1953. Judy Garland, with her insecurities in full bloom, was in for a week in July, 1951. Other famous Americans included Danny Kaye, Nat King Cole, Roy Rogers & Trigger and Johnnie Ray.

The public attention to star visits often extended beyond the entertainment pages. When Frankie Laine played a couple of sold-out nights in late September, 1953, his pre-show press conference at the Gresham Hotel turned up on the front page of the Irish Press. Asked about it not long before his death, Laine, then in his 90s, spontaneously recalled the pleasures of staying at the Gresham!

With the advent of rock ‘n’ roll, the Royal duly adapted its booking strategy to showcase whatever major names were available. First up was Bill Haley, in for two nights at the end of February, 1957. Although now a quaint and largely forgotten figure, Haley was the initial face of American rock ‘n’ roll. Indeed, the previous summer’s papers had been full of stories describing Teddy Boy riots and seat slashings at cinemas playing his movie, Rock Around the Clock. Cardinal Stritch, Archbishop of Chicago, captured the essence of adult trepidation. As quoted by the Irish Independent, his Lenten Pastoral Letter described rock ‘n’ roll music as “tribal rhythms which have a certain vogue in our day.” Further, it declared that such a “throwback to tribalism in recreation cannot be tolerated for Catholic youths.”

But if adult Dublin braced for the storm, it worried a little too much. There were no scenes of frenzy on Haley’s arrival at Dublin Airport and when he checked into the Gresham, no more than one hundred or so fans congregated outside. Still, the Gardai were called on to draw batons to disperse a crowd of around a thousand on the final evening.

In the flesh, Haley was a mild man in his early thirties, prematurely approaching middle age. Still, the Evening Press’s Terry O’Sullivan took no prisoners. The audience was a particular object of his disdain. Some of them were “grotesque absurdities …. who would have been better off at home saying their prayers.” Others had “an occasional eruption of self control”, while “for many of the customers, the visit of Bill Haley acted like an emetic.” Indeed!

The Pantomimes

The story would be incomplete without mention of the annual Christmas pantomime. More so than today, the pantomime was a feature of Dublin life in the 40s and 50s and the Royal’s fare was the cream of the crop. Take its 1951/52 offering, Robinson Crusoe, as an example.

Opening on December 23rd, the production featured Eddie Byrne as Captain Hook (a bad bad pirate), Jack Cruise and Harry Bailey as Wette and Windee (two old salts) and Noel Purcell as Ma Crusoe (a merry widow). With eighteen named players plus the Royalettes and assorted specialty acts, the eleven scene presentation took the Irish Clipper to Neptune’s Domain and the Island of Golden Palms, thereby allowing Ma Crusoe to discover the Lollipop Tree.

The Final Curtain

The final curtain came down on June 30th, 1962, after which Leslie Norton’s creation fell to the wrecker’s ball. There were several contributing factors:

1. Right from the beginning, the Royal was a financially marginal proposition. It was too big and its running costs were too high for a city of Dublin’s then size and wealth. Caught in a permanent battle with the underlying economic realities, it could never find a sufficiently protective financial comfort zone.
2. The international stars that were to be its salvation turned out to be a mixed blessing. True, many of them were very popular and brought delight to large audiences. But they were also expensive, some so much so that there was little left in the till for the house. The 1936 Gracie Fields engagement was a prime example. Although highly popular, the Lassie from Lancashire was a hard bargainer and the theatre found itself looking at a potential loss even before the opening night audience was seated. Indeed, the Fields experience became sufficiently notorious that popular Irish balladeer Delia Murphy’s wartime demand to be paid “what Gracie Fields got” was sufficient to put the kibosh on her proposed engagement. Murphy may have been at the zenith of her popularity, but enough was enough.
3. As the 50s unfolded, the traditional variety bill that had been the Royal’s mainstay found itself squeezed by the twin encroachments of television and rock ‘n’ roll. The first provided a stay at home alternative to variety. The second fragmented the audience such that teenagers no longer accepted the same entertainment fare as their parents. The squeeze wasn’t confined to Dublin. The Empires and Astorias that decorated Britain’s urban landscape in the first-half of the 20th century also fell. From the late 50s onwards, one after another closed its doors.
4. The Royal’s super-central location was ultimately part of its undoing. With rising Dublin property values, the alternative uses of the land were too enticing. If a big theatre couldn’t make it financially, an office block could.

At the end, there was a moment when it seemed that fortune might step in to save the Theatre Royal. Having just gotten into the television business, RTE gave consideration to taking over the Royal as studio space. But it fell through. Had it succeeded, the prosperous Dublin of the Celtic Tiger would still have a splendid, large world class theatre at its very heart. Pity!

Author

A native of Dublin, Pat Murphy has lived in Toronto since 1965. His historical writing has appeared in History Ireland, Breifne and Templar History and his music writing has appeared in Blue Suede News and The Beat. He presents the month-end edition of The Long Note on CKLN

top