The Royal Alexandra (better known by its diminutive, the Royal Alex, but only out of royal earshot!) has just turned 100. The old lady, however, does not creak along or look the slightest bit dowdy. She still bears seat-frames, arm-rests, and decorative end-caps in their original form, and there are still wire-frames as hooks for gentlemen’s hearts under the orchestra seats, just the way it was in Edwardian times. If you were to tour the theatre, you would find newel posts, railings, and balusters of hand-carved cherry wood and wall paneling with trim in Circassian walnut.
If you cannot actually take a physical tour, then simply dip into the splendid, glossy coffee-table souvenir book, The Royal Alexandra Theatre: A Celebration of 100 Years (McArthur and Co.), compiled by Robert Brockhurst of Mirvish Productions, with a specially commissioned photo-essay (in full colour) by Edward Burtynsky. It’s a unique portrait of the theatre and its impressive chronicle of shows—all the way from Top O’Th’World in 1907 to Dirty Dancing in 2008. Generously illustrated with photographs, posters, and newspaper clippings, it is a fitting tribute to a national landmark and beloved Toronto institution that has hosted legends of the stage, and there are tidbits to go with some of the famous names. Fred Astaire’s sister called him “Moaning Minnie” because of his seriousness. When Paul Robeson appeared in Othello some fans were disappointed because he did not sing. When Debbie Reynolds lost her voice, her director, the great Sir John Gielgud, went on stage to read her lines as she mimed her role. The furious audience didn’t realize the historic significance of “the first (and last) musical performance by one of the 20th century’s greatest classical actors. Besides some of the greatest stage performers, the Royal Alex has hosted famous theatre companies: everything from the Berliner Ensemble, the British Royal National Theatre, and the Chichester Festival to the Stratford Festival, the Shaw, the Williamstown Festival, and the English Shakespeare Company. Your eyes could turn quite gold with nostalgia.
However, nostalgia is the least of it. This theatre has become a legend in its own time, and for several good reasons—beginning with its genesis. Named after Alexandra Carolina Marie Charlotte Louise Julia, a 19th century Danish-born woman who only arrived in Britain in 1863, but became the wife of Edward VII, the mother of George V, grandmother of both Edward VIII and George VI, and the great grandmother of Elizabeth II, The Royal Alex was created because a very wealthy and socially prominent young stockbroker got miffed for having been turned away from the box-office of the Princess Theatre when a show posted a sold-out sign. Cawthra Mulock, the youngest member of the Toronto Stock Exchange, resolved to build his own theatre so he’s never be turned away again. As with any legend, there is an alternative version. In his case, it presents Mulock as a selfless patriot who wanted to change the general impression of Toronto as “a provincial backwater.” Knowing that Toronto’s theatres (the Grand Opera House, the Princess, the Majestic, Shea’s, and the Star) were below the standards of those in London and New York, he employed architect John M. Lyle to build his theatre on a steel frame. Its exterior walls and interior floors were made of reinforced concrete (2’5” thick), and the entire building was wired for electricity, with carbon arc follow-spots placed in a separate, fireproofed room of their own. Knowing how common it was for theatres to burn down (the Iroquois in Chicago in 1903 had 623 fatalities, including an elephant and dancing ponies from the show running at the time!), Lyle used a fire curtain of woven asbestos and steel wire, heavily framed with iron, and backed up by an automatic water sprinkler. With two fire-escape doors on each floor, the theatre, even when full, could be emptied in two and a half minutes—or so the publicity claimed. The Royal Alex was the first truly “fire proof” North American theatre, and only the second in the entire English-speaking world, after the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden.
There were other notable distinctions: a Beaux Arts façade, slate-tiled mansard roof and copper trim. It was the first North American theatre with no internal pillars, and its grand mural above the proscenium was “Venus and Attendants Discovering the Sleeping Adonis,” as painted by Frederick Sproston Challener, who used his American wife as the model for Venus. (The couple separated eventually, and after the artist’s death at ninety, the resentful wife moved back into the marital home and destroyed every piece of his art she could find!)
In the Thirties, though it had to show films to make up for a shortage of plays during the war, the theatre did manage star attractions such as The Taming of the Shrew (with the Lunts), Victoria Regina (with Helen Hayes), Susan and God (with Gertrude Lawrence), and Whiteoaks (an adaptation of Mazo de la Roche’s Jalna books, with Ethel Barrymore in command). In the Forties, Ernest Rawley became Manager (succeeding William Breen and the first Royal Alex manager, Lol Solman), and he resolved that the theatre should never go dark. So he put together his own stock company and hired a Broadway director for a base company of Canadians, supplemented by an occasional American or British star on the order of a Gloria Swanson (long before the silver screen became too small for her) or a Tallulah Bankhead (who could memorize an entire script in a few days but who could never remember first names of real people, hence leading to her affectation of calling everyone “dahling”!).
After World War II made touring by English companies impossible, Rowley booked operas, ballet, and Broadway musicals. In 1953, the Royal Alex had a run of 72 continuous weeks without being dark. No other North American theatre outside of New York had ever done this. However, when in the Sixties, money was lost one season, the theatre was put up for sale. Ed Mirvish, who bid the lowest, was nevertheless declared the official owner in 1963 because he was the only one willing to keep it open as a theatre. Ed knew nothing of Show Biz. In fact, he had been inside the Alex only three times in his life, including once when his father who took him to see Al Jolson in 1927. He and wife Anne closed the theatre for three months for renovations, and in addition to cleaning the mural and selecting flocked red French Baroque wallpaper (because it was warm, festive, and regal), they dressed ushers in “period” uniforms: maroon jackets, gold epaulettes, ruffled shirts, black satin knee-breeches, and buckled shoes. Ed introduced a cash register at the box-office so that ticket sales would be final. Chafing at the idea of sharing a season subscription with the O’Keefe Centre (that had a much larger auditorium), he started his own season subscription in 1965, his first production being Hair that set a record for longevity in Toronto. From then on, there was no turning back, and when his son David became his manager in 1986, the Royal Alex added new chapters to its illustrious history.
(This feature article was originally commissioned by Forever Young)
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