If the culture wars were an actual thing rather than the delusions of some Tory sociopaths, where would pantomime be in the battle? By rights, this curious British tradition should be a godsend for the illiberal and a nightmare for the wokerati. ‘Pantomime does NOT need to be politically correct, says Christopher Biggins,’ trumpeted the Daily Express a few years ago with evident glee. And it would be easy to side with the newspaper’s implication that panto is the most conservative of artforms.  

When Cinderella marries into money, does she not reinforce the patriarchal view of women as powerless damsels and men as figures of authority? Isn’t the cross-dressing dame a sexist assault on femininity, a grotesque parody designed to put women in their place? Doesn’t every pretty young girl who kisses a beast, transforming him into a handsome prince, make it so much worse for those who reject conventional ideas of beauty and ugliness?

Such objections are not just theoretical. Last year, one Scottish website took action and refused to review any production of Aladdin that did not feature a ‘diverse cast’. The site argued that however good a story it was, the pantomime was ‘built upon racist and dated stereotypes’. Whether exoticised or debased, this was not a vision of China the editors were willing to accept.

Aladdin is not the only dubious show in this regard. One reason for panto’s longevity is its magpie-like capacity to steal from popular forms. You don’t need to go too far back to find ‘coconut dances’ performed by Black slaves, and homophobic routines being performed by end-of-the-pier comics. This is not because there is anything inherently regressive about pantomime, merely that it absorbs the culture around it. As a consequence, it always walks a line between acceptance and offence. Being a live artform, it acts as a cultural barometer, so what works one year might shock the next. 

The Express interview with Biggins came after producer Michael Harrison, responsible for a raft of Qdos pantomimes, cut any gag involving a male character looking up a female character’s skirt. This was in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein scandal and at a time when stories of upskirting were becoming prevalent. A routine that had seemed innocent when played by Morecambe And Wise now seemed creepy. ‘There’ll be no looking up skirts and nobody’s going to be slapping anybody on the bottom,’ said Harrison. In 2023, it is hard to imagine anyone this side of Jerry Sadowitz disagreeing with him, still less finding it funny.

Harrison was doing what producers have always done, responding to the prevailing mood and staying in step with audience tastes. In recent seasons, we’ve seen how theatres have reacted to the call for greater diversity among casts (a job that continues) in an age when an all-white company seems anachronistic. It is one reason pantomime should not be dismissed as reactionary. Despite the weight of tradition, it is fluid and ever-changing. 

To return to Aladdin, look at the description of Perth Theatre’s new production. It makes no mention of China, clichéd or otherwise. According to the blurb, Barrie Hunter’s show is set in the Pass Of Killiekrankie where the residents include (in true rhyming fashion) Abigail McTwankie. It is the same along the road in Stirling, where Johnny McKnight’s Aladdin features Marge O’Reen McTwank in the town of Discotopia. On paper, at least, neither show could be accused of orientalism. 

Indeed, the reverse is more likely to be true. Behind the big laughs, McKnight’s superb pantos are slyly subversive. With Louise McCarthy playing the dame in the revival of his Aganeza Scrooge at Glasgow’s Tron, for example, everyone in the cast is female. More than once in his panto scripts, McKnight has put a same-sex love affair centre stage.

He is also a believer in well-constructed stories. Pantomime narratives work because they tap into archetypal forces that you tinker with at your peril. Take Cinderella’s progress from servant to princess. You could choose to read this literally as an endorsement of a hierarchical class system where nobility call the shots and the poor know their place. But really, it is a metaphor. Cinderella is a story about self-realisation, one that describes the process all of us go through from childhood uncertainty to adult agency. The prince is a symbol of the thing each of us most desires.

Likewise, the cross-dressing is more about anarchy than gender. It goes back to the earliest days of pantomime in the 18th century when Italian commedia dell’arte was given a British twist. John Rich, a dancer, acrobat and mime artist, took on the shape of animals (exotic and familiar) and established a tradition that leads us all the way to Daisy the cow: audiences marvelled at the transformations. The pantomime horse, like the cross-cast principal boy and the Ugly Sisters, is part of an off-kilter world, a place of chaos and disorder. Far from being reactionary, pantomime is liberating and transgressive. Oh yes it is!

Panto season runs from late November to early January. For mor general Christmas show recommendations read our round-up.