Oh, You're Too Kind, But Do Go On . . .

Sydney Morning Herald

Saturday January 10, 2004

Amalia Illgner

In this, the first, fantastical festival of cajolery and congratulation, accolades and arse-kissing, everyone has new haircuts and hasn't aged a bit. Sweet nothings are shucked and served fresh by the dozen, each with a grain of salt. It's the only place where every side is the bright one, every choice the right one and what a time you'll have if you just let your ego do the talking. It's all too easy to find.

At the junction between the roads less and more travelled, take the latter and rose-tinted lamps will guide you down the path of least resistance to the entrance, a wondrous haze of smoke and mirrors. Admission is free and ladies and pensioners receive lip service at no extra charge, but you are cordially advised to put your guard down at the door. So pour yourself a drink, take your seat in the centre of the stardust and prepare to get drunk in the sheer sparkle of it all.

The overture to Mozart's Don Giovanni bellows in the foyer and the start of the D-major allegro, a perilous balance of humour and tragedy, sets the tone. Don Giovanni, the licentious nobleman himself, rushes past. He's even more handsome in the flesh. But he's got no time for small talk as they're already playing the scene where he has the peasant girl Zerlina's husband dragged away. Zerlina is a foxy babe and the Don likes the ladies and they generally like him, but his flatteries of marriage to her don't seem to be working today.

Dorian Gray , who has been casually watching from the sidelines, suggests the little tart has read ahead to the end of the opera where, unrepentant, he is to be engulfed in flames. She's nonplussed at the prospect of a lover who's got a one-way ticket to hell. Dorian suggests that his flatteries and insincerity need a little more tweaking: ``For the canons of good society are the same as the canons of art." But, you ask Dorian, isn't insincerity a terrible thing? Grinning, he replies: ``I think not. It is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities." And grinning, he leaves, obviously not having read his own ending.

Lord Chesterfield, having passed Dorian Gray in the hallway, concurs that ``if some men want to think of themselves as a little brighter, a little more attractive than they actually are, what is the harm? And if telling them so makes them so, so much the better." They each congratulate and toast one another's genius and are on their way to meet Stevie Nicks , from Fleetwood Mac, and tell her Sweet Little Lies.

Wasn't it a Spanish proverb that said flattery makes friends and truth makes enemies? Who doesn't want friends? The truth got Cordelia nowhere in King Lear. While the other flattering sisters got castles and fancy clothes, all Cordelia got was banishment. She probably deserved it, stupid girl.

You sit and lap up the conviviality of the festivities. However, suddenly you notice Hamlet, the peeved Danish prince, in his inky cloak, moaning about social-climbing sycophants. ``Do not think I flatter," he tells his friend Horatio, ``for what advancement may I hope from thee, /that no revenue has but thy good spirits/to feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd ?/ No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp!"

Could it be that flattery is of no actual use to anyone, or in fact even detrimental to both the giver and receiver? Signore Dante Alighieri , who had been uncharacteristically silent, decrees that all flatterers be put in the eighth ring of hell, beside tyrants and murderers. A spokesman for Psalm 12 pats Dante on the back in agreement, saying ``everyone lies to his neighbour;/their flattering lips speak with deception". His sidekick continues: ``May the lord cut off all flattering lips!" The bitter old rep for Psalm 36 takes you aside and mutters: ``He flatters himself/too much to detect or hate his sin" while looking directly at the preening Hamlet.

Next you meet a ruggedly handsome man, so handsome you think he's a dead ringer for Stanley from A Streetcar Named Desire . His name is Mark Antony . Some cheer, some faint and others look like they've heard it all before. In a nutshell, he reckons that flattery is useful sometimes for a greater purpose, as it can trick vain, evil people into letting you do stuff that will benefit good, noble people.

Hamlet takes note. Dante, the Bible people and other hard-nosed protesters need more convincing but, you think to yourself, Antony seems such an honourable man so you stay till the festival's end, scratching backs and having your back scratched, being very careful not to swallow, and if you do, to always take it with that proverbial grain of salt.