Hypocrisy, Vanity, and Arrogance Skewered in 'The Misanthrope'

The Misanthrope by Molière
A new version by Constance Congdon from a literal translation by Virginia Scott

Directed by Adam Zahler; Scenic Design, Audra Avery; Costume Design, Rafael Jaen; Lighting Design, Deb Sullivan; Sound Design, Matt Griffin; Properties Design, Larry Vigus; Production Stage Manager, Carola Morrone; Assistant Stage Manager, Jennifer Braun

CAST (in alphabetical order): Steven Barkhimer, Philinte; Jason Bowen, Acaste; Ellen Colton, Arsinoé; Zillah Glory, Eliante; Billy Meleady, Oronte; Karl Baker Olson, Clitandre; James Lloyd Reynolds, Alceste; Amy Russ, Célimène; Nathanael L. Shea, Du Bois/Basque/Guard

Performances through February 10, 2008 at New Repertory Theatre
Box Office 617-923-8487 or www.newrep.org

Mis-an-thrope: somebody who hates people; somebody who hates humanity, or who dislikes and distrusts other people and tends to avoid them

New Repertory Theatre livens up the January doldrums with The Misanthrope, Moliere's 1666 comedy that is surprisingly fresh and funny nearly three and a half centuries later. Adam Zahler's snap-crackle-pop direction of Constance Congdon's modernized script transforms the Mosesian Theater into the Paris of the late 19th century – La Belle Époque. In tandem with the dazzling scenic design and the eye-catching costumes, this production is an aural and visual feast.

Moliere paints an unflattering picture of the French aristocracy, highlighting their duplicity, frivolity, large egos, and loose morals. The self-righteous Alceste vows to speak with nothing but total honesty to battle the hypocritical custom of the day. He is met with scorn, ridicule, and lawsuits at every turn, which only serve to strengthen his resolve. His tragic/comic flaw is his love for the vain Célimène who personifies all that he despises. Alceste presumes that he can mold her to his image, but she continues to entertain a string of suitors and hangers-on, leading to jealousy, gossip, and comic mayhem.

In a character-driven work replete with clever language, James Lloyd Reynolds as the title character and Amy Russ as his beloved coquette lead a cast of accomplished performers who do justice to the lean and witty verse of playwright Congdon. They display consummate skill in creating a rhythm that makes the dialogue flow and never sound stilted or flowery, much like expert Shakespearean actors reciting the Bard. Reynolds has just the right measure of bluster and bile to portray Alceste's wrath against mankind, yet softens into putty in the hands of his adored. Russ is sexy, frisky, and exudes joie de vivre as the young woman in love with love and possessing an abundance of self-esteem. Still, she is convincing in her more serious moments when faced with pressure from her lovers to make choices that cause her discomfort or oozing vitriol toward a spurious friend.

The versatile Steven Barkhimer (Philinte) is Alceste's reliable sidekick, willing to hold a mirror up to show his friend his impolitic behavior, all the while risking a figurative kick in the side. He is kind and supportive, even if frequently exasperated, and the actor does a great job of registering his reactions with eye rolls and associated exhalations. He is well matched with Zillah Glory (Eliante) as Célimène's cousin and confederate, and the stable voice of reason from the distaff side. Ellen Colton creates the colorful, disingenuous with-friends-like-this-who-needs-enemies Arsinoe and seems to relish her troublemaking role. Jason Bowen, Billy Meleady, and Karl Baker Olson vividly portray ardent suitors with energy and the requisite eccentricity imagined by Molière. Nathanael Shea handles three parts with aplomb and concomitant costume changes.

Without a curtain to conceal it, Audra Avery's set can be appreciated before the play begins. A center staircase with wrought iron railings rises out of a sundial patterned floor, a large swing is suspended downstage left, and the walls are segmented into large panels, some frosted, some filled with colorful stylized caricatures. Minimal furniture includes a wicker wing chair, a slatted wooden deck chair, a couple of café chairs, and a bar. A photographer's large format camera on a tripod and numerous lush potted plants draw our attention to other corners of the room.

The Renoir painting The Boating Party inspired Rafael Jaen's costume design. The women's dresses feature tight, form-fitting waists, long flounce skirts, and a rainbow of colors. The men's attire ranges from classy, conservative, and well tailored to dapper dandy, accessorized by top hat, boater, walking sticks, and riding crop. One manservant wears a brass-buttoned uniform reminiscent of a bellhop, while another dons a disguise of richly textured, colorful robes suggestive of Carnac the Magnificent. Each character's entrance holds the promise of a delightful contribution from the wardrobe department.

In keeping with New Rep's theme for the season, The Misanthrope showcases one man's struggle to isolate himself from the humanity he detests, while desperately seeking to fulfill his desires by connecting with one particular human. It seems unlikely that he can find a satisfactory balance, but few of the other characters fare much better. For all of their connections with each other and the "right people," they are isolated islands unto themselves much like Alceste and objects of Molière's ridicule. They just don't seem to know it.

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