'The Shakespeare Theatre Company revives a grand Tradition.'
by Joe Martin, DC Theatre Examiner
Il Dottore and Pantalone in 'Servant of Two Masters'
Photo credit: Don Darryl Rivera as Il Dottore and Allen Gilmore as Pantalone in the Shakespeare Theatre Company’s production of The Servant of Two Masters, directed by Christopher Bayes. Photo by S. Christian Low.
The extraordinary production of “Servant” by Christopher Bayes at the Shakespeare Theatre is a fresher-upper for that august institution in Washington. It is full of stylized acting, the great dance of real commedia performances. It mixes this so-called classic text with perfect modern references – which was the spirit of Commedia when it was played in town plazas – fast and perfect physical timing, extreme dynamics, from yelling and sung lines to whispers which are, absurdly, barely audible to the audience. It has mock opera, popular dances, rap performances (in mask and renaissance costume). It is full of slapstick – the term in comedy we inherit from Commedia itself – as Harlequin (or Arlecchino) hit others with his “slapping stick” or was himself beaten with one. Arlecchino’s close cousin is the star of this play: Truffaldino. He is, as usual, played exactly as Arlecchino. Traditionally he had one clear objective: he was eternally hungry. That simple character “objective,” in Goldoni's text, works here to uproarious effect.
The design for most of the play brings across the feel of the “poor theatre” which Commedia really was. There is the reproduction of bare floorboards, and a touring company’s back curtain on a cheap wood frame where characters make their exits. Live musicians are seated at the side so recorded really is superfluous. This is a bit of a relief at STC, which has the “big guns” speakers systems that rival Cinemax 3D.
In the end a great deal had to be poured into this “poor theatre” appearance. Not only in the astonishing costumes and masks, but in stage elements that both rise up and fall apart – there is even one great disaster that occurs to the set. Katherine Akiko Day’s scenography is astonishing in the ways it can be used to mimic the tradition as it provokes jaded moderns in the audience. The adaptation is both loyal and flexible in the spirit of the tradition. Adapter Constance Congdon has herself written some breathless frantic comedies in her time (“Tales of the Lost Formicans”) and has served Goldoni with panache.
But it is the acting – the acting – I mean the acting – which holds us in thrall. It is akin to circus and dance. The actors have such a heightened awareness of each others' moves that the lifting of a mere finder or he scratching of a crotch will get an instant reaction overblown reaction from either one or eight other actors on stage.
Clarice (Danielle Brooks) is to be married to Federigo, but on the report he is dead her father Pantalone (another great stock character of Commedia, performed by Allen Gilmore) has now been promised to infantile Silvio (Andy Grotelueschen), and the engagement is celebrated with a vivid company dance. Alas, Federigo appears in town and the wedding is off. But all is not what it seems, since Federigo is dead, and is being impersonated by his cross-dressed sister Beatrice. She has come to find her lover Florindo, who is responsible for her brother’s death and has fled to Venice. Brooks as Clarice seems to channel characters from three different eras and cultures, each distinct, and adds her operatic voice to her delivery.
Our real protagonist, however, is Truffaldino, played with acrobatic dexterity by Steven Epp –who is costumed in the time honored patched ”Harlequin” duds and mask. Due to his immense hunger he agrees swiftly to serve this young master “Federigo.” But when this master leaves him for too long without a meal, another traveler shows up near Brighella’s tavern who has means to hire a servant. This is the flamboyant Florindo, who is in fact Beatrice’s lover. He is, in this version, quick with his sword, and and absorbed by his ego. Jesse J. Perez’s version of this character is very much akin to the infamous Commedia figure Il Capitano. Actors who specialized in this character were present in all Commedia companies—he is a descendent of the swaggering soldier (Miles Gloriosus) in the Roman comic tradition. In fact this is not really evident in Goldoni’s text. Still, between director Bayes extraordinary understanding of Commedia style, and Perez's own acting choices, this Florindo is endowed with the boastful soldier's affected machismo. In Goldoni's script he can be seen as one of “los inamoratos” – the two “innocents” or lovers who do not have masks as they are not buffoons normally. But what is "normal" in Commedia? In this version they have an extra dose of foolishness and buoyancy. Beatrice has her own moments bravado and ego. In short, on stage, we really see the human beings as they often are, looking out for number one.
Truffaldino proceeds to pick up mail for one master and deliver it to the other. Unfortunately, he can’t read. He takes Federigo’s (that is, again, Beatrice's) letter of credit—the forerunner of a check – for a great sum of money and tears it into 8 pieces to demonstrate to Brighella, just where each dish should be placed on the tavern table when a feast is to be served. And that meal – well, what a meal. This is one of the greatest and most remembered scenes in the history of comedy, due to the almost impossible demands placed on the Truffaldino. He must rush about to get servings to two impatient masters like he is two people, scampering and whirling between their two rooms and the frantic kitchen staff. You will remember this hyper-theatrcial sequence possibly all your life, as it is done here. And you will understand at that moment the direct line that runs from Commedia, to Charlie Chaplin and the Marx Brothers.
Actors in Commedia were freed up to perform "lazzi," or comic pieces of business, which they refined and brought to a peak of perfection. In this case these are often quite contemporary moments done with a wink to the audience. Here Epp as Truffaldino, when confronting an impossible set of choices, stopped the “text” to say, “Select all. Copy. Delete all.” Then he goes into a terrible panic. “”No! History! Retrieve.” (Well, at least he did so the night I was there.)
As Truffaldino gets himself into deep stress serving both masters in the hostel and tavern of Brighella, he meets Pantalone’s servant girl Smeraldina (one of the best known Commedia fantescas, or female clowns.) She is brought to life by Liz Wisan who captures all of Smeraldina’s insecurities as she tres to show she is deeply enamored of Truffaldino. He must get permission from his master to marry her. But which one? This question becomes even more complicated as the plot progresses. Trufaldino also has increasing trouble blaming all his mistakes (to each if his bosses) on the fictional servant Pascual he created for that purpose.
There are great moments of self-conscious theatricality. Truffaldino spends the first half continually asking when the play will start. He finds a steel switch on stage and experiments with it, turning out every single light in the theatre for two minutes of total darkness. In a moment of self-referential theatre Clarice’s hapless wooer Silvio, with sword drawn and ready for combat is poked in the rear end by the percussionist (was it a drum stick?)
Gilmore, as Pantalone has one of the best lazzi of the evening after a recognition scene when he realizes Federigo is a woman. On the words “She was dressed as a man,” he starts a slow build, beginning with several obscene gestures, to a series of he most absurd conniption fits one can hope to see on stage. With legs in the air and back end bouncing on the floor boards, he gets to the point that he claims has ironed out his sphincter, and makes hopeless efforts to stand up despite his broken bum. It culminates with the comment: “I’ve done a lot of things up here I am not proud of.” You get the idea.
His confidant, Il Dottore (the Doctor), costumed by the consistently fanciful Valérie Thérèse Bart so that he comes close to a character out of Alice in Wonderland or even Yellow Submarine, plays the “pedant” doctor like a beer-bellied puppet. He shrinks down and springs up in implausible ways.
Will Florindo get his Federigo (Beatrice?) And will Truffaldino get his Smeraldina despite his lies and deceit? How? You must go and see. By the end even the set at the Lansburgh Theatre, that Truffaldino has wrecked, helps to show us what love is.
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The Shakespeare Theatre Company, at the Lansburgh. Directed by Christopher Bayes. Set by Catherine Akiko Day. Costumes by Valérie Thérèse Bart. Live music by Chris Curtis and Charles Coes. Running through June 24. Tickets 202-547-1122 or Shakesppearetheatre.org
See more theatre and book reviews by Joe Martin at
See more theatre and book reviews by Joe Martin at
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