DOWNTOWN NEWS
December 13, 2004
CONTRIBUTING
WRITER
In a spirit of
full disclosure worthy of Mrs. Candour, one of playwright Richard Brinsley
Sheridan's more indelible comic creations, I feel duty-bound to offer these
disclaimers: I know of at least one discerning acquaintance who did not return
after the intermission of the Taper's new production of Sheridan's The
School for Scandal, and
my theatergoing companion later described her state throughout much of the play
as "antsy."
A further
confession: I myself have been known to doze and nod through productions of
this 18th century classic about intriguing gossip-mongers in London high
society.
So why did I--and
much of the audience around me--have such a roaring good time watching the
Taper production which continues through Jan. 23?
The simple
two-word answer would have to be Brian Bedford, whose lead turn as Sir Peter
Teazle, the newly married older gentleman who might as well have a sign stuck
to his back that reads "Cuckold Me," buoys the proceedings with
surprising nuance and heart. As the show's director, Bedford also deserves
credit for keeping the play buzzing along from plot to counterplot without ever
feeling rushed, a trick abetted immeasurably by his surgical streamlining of
the text.
In short, though
the Los Angeles area boasts a few marvelous classical troupes (Glendale's A
Noise Within, North Hollywood's Antaeus Company), we seldom witness such
crowd-pleasing showmanship applied to an antique text on the Taper scale.
Despite all the wigs, heels and bustles, this production feels positively
populist.
Those extravagant
costumes, by the way, are a show unto themselves. Costumer Catherine Zuber has
clearly had as much fun as is legal in her profession, trotting out a veritable
wardrobe full of buckled shoes, brocaded robes, fluffy ruffles, even a fur cuff
with a tassel for the particular dandy Crabtree (Edward Hibbert). Wig designer
Gerald Altenburg keeps up with her, piling multi-colored coifs high on the
actors, in varying degrees of character-revealing absurdity.
Edward E. Haynes
Jr.'s set is an imposing but versatile fa™ade fronted by a sleek black floor
that works like a reflecting pool, making the space look taller than it is.
Deep-red theatrical curtains frame the set, giving the Taper's thrust stage an
uncanny proscenium feel, as if to say: All this world's a stage, and these
merely players.
The comedy they
play out has age-old contours: Teazle has plucked his young wife (Kate Fry)
from the country, thinking her naivet˜ makes her a safe bet for a loyal
helpmate. Fat chance: She's since had her head turned by the social whirl of
London's fashionable set and won't be dissuaded from its twittering orbit.
Behind the
Teazles' quarrels over her clothing bill and her busybody friends, though,
Bedford and Fry deliver the unspeakably touching spectacle of an old fellow as
smitten as he is befuddled, wrapped around the finger of a harmlessly
flirtatious young woman hurling herself into fun as if making up for lost time.
She's having so much fun, in fact, she can't see that the motives of her new
fair-weather friends in the catty chattering class--steely Lady Sneerwell
(Carolyn Seymour), blowsy Mrs. Candour (Marianne Muellerleile), mincing
Benjamin Backbite (Scott Parkinson) and his uncle Crabtree (Hibbert)--are more
likely to be bitterness, envy and petty hatred.
For all his
high-minded scorn of these brittle figures, Sir Peter has a huge blind spot of
his own: He can't recognize possibly the worst schemer of them all, young
Joseph Surface (Don Reilly), who impresses with flowery, courtly rhetoric while
plotting more intrigues than he can handle, particularly against his profligate
brother Charles (Kevin O'Donnell), whose unapologetic, youthful embrace of the
wild life turns out to be proof of his authenticity.
The play hurtles
inexorably toward a scene of terrible revelation that, in one stunning moment,
disabuses both Teazles of their illusions. It's to the production's credit that
this second-act scene is milked not only for all its laughs, but for its full
measure of moral satisfaction and pathos.
The play's other
match-ups--between prodigal Charles and Sir Peter's pretty young ward Maria
(Devon Sorvari), and between the Surface brothers and their benefactor uncle
Sir Oliver (Ted Barton)--are given their due and no more, which is a distinct
relief; in Bedford's deftly edited version, we spend no more time on these
subplots than they deserve.
Just as a note or
two of tedium begin to sound in Act Two, the plot begins to tie itself up
neatly. We may be way ahead of its twists and turns--my companion's main
complaint, in fact. This is often the case, though, with archetypal classics.
The trick that Bedford and company pull off is to earn that inevitable, satisfying
denouement: to make us crave it and share in it, however much we know it's
coming, just as surely as we know that no amount of marital squabbling will
ever separate the Teazles.
"There is
great satisfaction in quarreling with her," Sir Peter notes with bemused
pleasure at one point. This relish for minor irritation which, while never
seriously threatening, still manages to disarm with laughter and make us feel
alive to our human folly, may be the essence of this production's immense
appeal.
School for
Scandal is at the Mark Taper through Jan. 23, 135 N. Grand Ave., (213) 628-2772
or taperahmanson.com.