“The Scarlet Pimpernel”

I really, seriously, genuinely didn’t have the time, but I wanted to go and we had tickets.  It’s quite simply one of my very favorite stories, and I’ve never tired of it.  (I also very much like the novel itself, as well as the 1982 film version featuring Anthony Andrews, Jane Seymour, and Ian McKellen.)  So my wife and I took in a magnificently staged and flawlessly acted performance of the musical version of The Scarlet Pimpernel at the Hale Centre Theatre in Sandy City.

As I often do, I wonder whether people living along the Wasatch Front realize what a priceless treasure they have in this theatre.  It is spectacular, and very versatile, and the performances featured in it have been quite worthy of it.  There may have been two or three empty seats tonight; if so, that was a tragic waste.

On the way home, I tried to figure out why I (obviously along with many others) find the story of The Scarlet Pimpernel — and others rather like it, which also feature heroes masquerading as subpar men, such as the tales about Superman and Clark Kent, and the adventures of Don Diego de la Vega (aka “Zorro”) — so perennially attractive.

I can think of two reasons, though there are probably many more:

First, no doubt, many of us dream of doing great feats of goodness, courage, and derring-do (whether literal or metaphorical) as an excape from the humdrum, routine ordinariness of our actual lives and daily reality.  We like to think that, somewhere within us, admittedly deeply hidden but perhaps only awaiting an opportunity that may or may not ever come to bring it out, there is the potential, at least, for greatness.  (That’s why we like stories like that of Oskar Schindler and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and To Kill a Mockingbird, where seemingly ordinary or, sometimes, even rather bad people rise heroically to meet serious challenges.  We like to imagine that we, to, might rise to the occasion in such fashion.)

Second, I think that, for all the cynicism of our age, we still resonate with moral heroism.  We love to see a hero — like Sir Percy Blakeney — who, perhaps at great risk and with no thought of self-interest or glory, does the right thing simply because it’s right.  That’s among the reasons, I think, for the long-standing popularity of the character of Jean Valjean.

I don’t know whether she admired Sir Percy, and I know that I often dislike her heroes.  But I’m reminded of a passage by Ayn Rand, in her book The Romantic Manifesto:

The motive and purpose of my writing is the projection of an ideal man.  The portrayal of a moral ideal, as my ultimate literary goal, as an end in itself — to which any didactic, intellectual or philosophical values contained in a novel are only the means. . . .  My basic test for any story is Would I want to meet these characters and observe these events in real life?  Is this story an experience worth living through for its own sake?  Is the pleasure of contemplating these characters an end in itself? . . .  It involves such questions as:  What kind of men do I want to see in real life — and why?  

Ayn Rand was a vocal admirer of the works of Victor Hugo, among which is the great Les Misérables.  So perhaps she liked Jean Valjean.  I hope so.  If she did, there may still be hope for her redemption.