A Not Quite Classic LYSISTRATA

 

Officially, the latest production by the Chesapeake Shakespeare Company is called Lysistrata, but the show is actually a clever melding of two comedies by the Greek playwright Aristophanes. Only Act II resembles the Lysistrata typically seen in theaters—a wicked satire in which the eponymous heroine ends the Peloponnesian War by organizing a mass boycott of sex. Act I follows the plot of the lesser-known The Assemblywomen, about a group of Athenian women who take over their city’s government to establish a proto-socialist paradise in which all wealth is held in common and all sex is free (provided you first offer your services to someone old and ugly).

In his program notes, director-adapter Ian Gallanar explains that his goal in merging the comedies was “to expand the recognizable elements of plot and character while trimming much of the ritualistic aspects of the plays. It’s hard for rituals to have meaning if they are, in fact, no longer rituals for anyone.” To this end, he has replaced the traditional Greek choruses with a mixed bag of contemporary songs, both borrowed—the company grooves to Eurythmics, Aretha Franklin, and Barry White—and original. (The second act opens with an especially witty tune titled “The Greeks Didn’t Have An Intermission.”)

Combining The Assemblywomen with Lysistrata is an inspired choice—both plays feature charismatic women rallying to save Greece from the stupidity of their farting, fornicating, warmongering husbands. In Gallanar’s adaptation, the disgruntled housewife Lysistrata first leads a coup on Parliament; when the outbreak of war thwarts her plans to remake society, she devises a new stratagem: force peace by depriving men of the one thing they love more than fighting.

Considering the large cast of characters—a total of 14 actors and several puppets (including a towering, dreadlocked Dionysus) play nearly 30 roles—it is perhaps unsurprising that the production is sharpest in its quieter moments, when the performers have more opportunity to relate to each other and develop the humor beyond mere pratfalls and sight gags. With only three men in the cast, Gallanar must fill out the crowds and battle scenes with women in false moustaches; the game actresses hurry onstage and off, but inevitably someone drops her manly swagger or enters without her beard, and the final scenes have a sloppiness to them that I am unaccustomed to seeing in a CSC production. At times actors struggled to remember their lines, leaving me unsure whether certain bits were improvised or simply executed without confidence.

In contrast, the less crowded stretches of gossip and plotting consistently build to hilarity. Michele Massa plays Lysistrata as a natural leader whose no-nonsense brand of idealism is frustrated by weaker mortals on both sides of the gender line. Her banter with her husband (a commendably unselfconscious Scott Alan Small) and his buddies (Gregory Burgess and Frank Mancino, equally willing to make asses of themselves) bounces nimbly between Massa’s paeans to her matriarchal utopia and the men’s earthier fixation on what it will mean to their sex lives. (The ensuing “Shadow Orgy,” which features gyrating men and women and one unsuspecting sheep, provides an emphatic answer.)

Even funnier is the scene in which Lysistrata proposes her revolutionary boycott to her sex-loving countrywomen. Led by the lusty Calonice (Jenny Leopold), who spots something predictably off-color in Lysistrata’s “big” and “weighty” plans, the women vow to do whatever it takes to end the war … and they are horrified to learn this means abstinence. Particularly horrified is the voluptuous Lampito (Bridget Garwood), whose breasts, everyone agrees, are spectacular. Garwood’s characterization—think Marilyn Monroe, only breathier—is comic gold, and it’s a shame that Gallanar does not find more ways to incorporate her into the action.

The other women in the cast—including Elizabeth Darby, Nancy Flores, and Charlotte Moran, along with CSC company members Jennifer Crooks, Rebecca Ellis, and Lorraine Imwold (who also designed the puppets)—give uniformly solid performances, though none create characters as distinctive or memorable as Garwood’s Lampito. Shannon Listol and Santina Maiolatesi join with Garwood to lead the occasional music numbers, which include an opening “prayer” to Dionysus that morphs into a rap. The trio sings and dances skillfully, but the rap is uninspired and not funny enough for parody—it seems instead like an awkward attempt to make these ancient plays more contemporary and “relevant.” The same might be said about the puppets, who represent gods and demigods watching the action but crack jokes like amateur comedians.

These unnecessary bits of padding add perhaps fifteen minutes to the show’s running time and help push it over the two-hour mark—dangerous territory for a farcical comedy. A faster, tighter play would likely have been funnier.

Dan O’Brien’s set and lighting designs make efficient use of the long performance hall in Oliver’s Carriage House, where the CSC stages its winter productions, though a few too many speeches are shouted from high balconies. Costume designer Kristina Lambdin drapes the women in a colorful array of toga-like dresses; the men make do with drabber garments. Fight choreographer James Jager delivers a crisp, climactic battle between the valiant women and their pitiful male counterparts.

Lysistrata is playing at Oliver’s Carriage House, located at 5410 Leaf Treader Way in Columbia, on Thursday and Fridays at 8 P.M. and Saturdays at 2 P.M. and 8 P.M., through March 6. Tickets are $15-$30. For more information, go to www.chesapeakeshakespeare.com or call 866.811-4111. Groups of 10 or more should call 410-313-8874.

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