THEATER

Moliere’s plays are towers of wit, and The Misanthrope is no exception. It is a courtly comedy of manners in which style and verbal virtuosity are the name of the game. This is precisely the type of theater far too seldom done or seen here in Dallas.

In Theatre Three’s production, actors and actresses are virtually propelled about the stage in a torrent of verbiage, constantly in danger of submerging their characters in an effort merely to say the words. The movement is graceful, heavily stylized and generally well handled.

Director Norma Young changed the time of The Misanthrope to 1924, and gave us a set full of pretentious bitches, fops and fools parading around in appropriate setting and costumes. The change in time did us, we feel, a great service. Ms. Young’s point is that the “20’s mirror in many ways the euphoria and sense of other-worldliness of the 17th Century Court of Louis the XIV. It was a visually appealing (budget-wise, too, probably) device and helped establish empathy for the situation which confronted us. We are, after all, more at home in the 20th Century than with the 17th. The actors looked like they were straight from a 1924 Packard advertisement. Costumes were beautiful as was the set.

Larry O’Dwyer as Alceste proved to be more than adept at balancing literature and character. He is a witty, subtle man who projects just the right amount of pomposity and precise, feather-light style, a fortunate and funny mixture. He gave us a character we could admire and with whom we could sympathize.

Camilla Carr as Celimene was captivating, sensuous, coy, will-and-wile-ful, in short, the perfect antithesis of Alceste and -foolish vagary of love – the one woman in the world he could love.

Dick Hooser, a sympathetic Phi-linte, once again dazzled us with a dizzying variety of accents, trying first one then another as if they were so many bathroom slippers. Donna Adams as Arsinoe was avariciously hilarious as either a human halberd or a bishopress from the Charenton Asylum. Virginia Caddell showed us sweetness and purity in a quiet, competent and pleasing Eliante.



Many performers tended to be a little overblown, perhaps to compensate for the difficulty of the language. We have a feeling, though, they will grow into their roles, settle down and attain the natural quality of true character – even in the face of a necessarily exaggerated style. An actor doesn’t just do Moliere, he or she grows into it. After all, the playwright himself said it: “Nature never spoke this way.”

We have kept hinting, pecking at, style and language. We thought Theatre Three handled the style very well. Actors flowed about the stage and assumed graceful, affected poses and attitudes as befitted the milieu. Gestures and movements were clean and precise, leaving one with the impression of studied aristocracy.

Our problem came with the language. There is no question it is a challenge to speak in rhymed couplets. Moliere’s poetry is difficult for 20th Century actors. But it shouldn’t be for the audience, and here is where artistry hits the nitty-gritty and the play sinks or swims. With the exception of Mr. O’Dwyer, Ms. Caddell and sometimes Ms. Carr, the production fails to give the impression of ease and naturalness of language. Actors are too aware of their positions in the play, too aware of the rhyme scheme, too forced in their delivery. There are an incredible number of words in the script, and without great care they tend to pummel one, pin one to the back of the seat in hopeless dismay. Will they never end and get on to the next conceit?

The hope is for more rehearsal until the language becomes more natural. At least director’s notes and individual midnight oil burning if the rehearsals aren’t possible. The play was well worth seeing opening night, but would have been much more so with added emphasis on the delivery. This is all the more important because we feel Theatre Three probably does Mo-liere better than anyone else in town. And if they’re going to be that good at it, why not take the extra step necessary for a truly first class production?

The Misanthrope was a delightfulevening of theater. One that wouldundoubtedly delight its creator. AsMoliere might have put it, “IllustreTheatre!”

Since our December critique on dinner theaters in the area, we’ve been asked over and over, “Okay, what should dinner theaters be doing?” Fortunately, we don’t need to go to the trouble to construct a hypothetical play: The Crystal Palace’s recent production of Godspell was a perfect example of the kind of quality entertainment dinner theaters can provide.

Whomever among the Palace’s hierarchy decided to bye-bye Bye Bye Birdie in favor of Matthew deserves a special dispensation from Dallas audiences. Given a fractured Camelot and clapTrapp Sound of Music, this third production could have signalled three tripes and you’re out. Happily, it didn’t, and not because of the subject matter alone. This Godspell cast turned in a joyously balanced production that deserved the raves it never got from the dailies. They avoided the pretentious and the simpy and more than proved an eclipsed star need not dominate an evening to give an audience its money’s worth.

Scott Jarvis deftly brought an abundance of talent and Little Chap-ian grace to the deceptively difficult role of Jesus. Tip Kelley’s John the Baptist/Judas was appropriately awkward, confused and volatile. Unfortunately, the necessary subtlety of Judas was clobbered at times. This probably wasn’t Kelley’s fault, because the action at these critical times seldom focused on him. He was forced to be a little heavy handed to get the message across.

The ensemble deserves special mention. It was the best we’ve seen. Every player was strong, overshadowing even the champion performance of Country Dinner’s Sweet Charity earlier in the season. They were never overcome by the principals. Now that we’ve seen such a cast is possible, we have to wonder why haven’t we seen more of them? Certainly the actors are available. Is it the direction? The casting? The rehearsal time? The money? Or is it only a sad lack of emphasis?

Godspell is a much more personable play than, say, Jesus Christ, Superstar which cashed in on spectacle, lavish scoring and the hip in hypocrisy. Godspell is a gentle work, more idiomatic than grand. It graces us with charm.

It is a little long. All of Matthew is a lot of Matthew, and a few less parables would help considerably. Cutting a couple of numbers from the first act, stopping, say, with “All Good Gifts,” would shorten the running time and pick up the pace.

The second act’s Last Supper scene is terribly moving, but injured by an unfortunate bit of staging which follows. Not that we’re religious purists, but having Jesus kiss Judas is using a brickbat to emphasize the recent popularization of Judas as the good-guy-who’s-been-done-dirt-by-history. It sticks in the craw.

People have searched for the modern Jesus for years. Godspell is another attempt to find him. Given the strong cast, it works pretty well. Watching many in the audience obviously caught up and moved as if at a revival made for some weird feelings. The notion of the crucifixion with a whiskey sour at your side seems a trifle surreal, smacking suspiciously of the Gospel according to Saint Martini.

Godspell was a superior production, intelligently and movingly staged and played. It is possible in dinner theater. People can be touched and still enjoy the evening. We don’t know the box office on the show, but a couple of spies tell us it was pretty good. Quality -not names, not roast beef, not sex -counts. Quality. It’s no different from cars or airplanes or canned soup or peanuts. Quality is what sells. If Godspell taught this to Messrs. Cullum and Shook, they’ll be winners indeed. And so will we all.