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Subversive Performances, Masculine Pleasures
popularity of Charles Coburn’s song The Man who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.
Here the promise of attaining the high life on the results of very little physical or
mental effort was inspired by a financial scandal avidly reported by the popular
press and induced by the activities of swindler Charles Wells,
a man who has gained considerable notoriety of late . . . engineer and patent agent of
London, he first came into note through his successful speculation at the gambling tables
of Monte Carlo. The newspapers reported his immense gains from day to day, and many
a sanguine individual drew his balance from the bank and wended his way to the
fascinating principality of Grimaldi in the hope that he would be equally fortunate. 96
The real protagonist formed an unlikely focus for music hall celebration, described
as “a respectable looking man, of medium height, about forty five years of age,
with a short black beard and a bald head, nobody would suspect that he was the
biggest swindler living.” 97 The translation of gambling notoriety onto the stage
called for the ingenious use of stereotypical sartorial triggers that would identify
character to the audience, and the song epitomized the late flowering of the swell
genre. Coburn was adept at utilizing the visual codes of popular culture to inform
his acts, and with respect to his preparations for another role, which lampooned
Gallic pretensions, he noted:
I got my first idea for it actually from a match-box. It was one of those little boxes in
which we used to buy wax vestas years ago. When I took it to my tailor and showed him
the picture of the Frenchman on the cover, and asked him to make me a similar suit of
clothes he laughed at me: I must be joking of course . . . “You can do it” I replied . . .
“All you’ve got to do is take your tape measure and see that you fit me. I want a collar
just like that and the same comic trousers.” Well, he did what I asked, and when the suit
came I only had to add a little tuft of hair under the chin, a loose flowing tie and a glossy
silk hat to complete the costume. It was a success from the first evening I wore it. 98
Coburn’s rendition of “Monte Carlo” was equally mannered: in a surviving
recording the final syllables of every line are drawn out in a mockery of upperclass
diction while the pace of the song increases to suggest the frenzied pursuit
of material success. 99 The circumstances which the lyrics celebrated were far
removed from the experiences of the majority of the audience. As the author of
All about Monte Carlo suggested, the city was “not only the greatest gambling
centre in the universe, it is also the most beautiful spot on earth. While we in
London are having an old fashioned severe winter, there the palms, eucalyptus,
lemon and orange trees, geraniums and aloes are growing luxuriantly.” 100 Indeed
Coburn had his reservations about their general appeal recalling that
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