The Servant of Two Masters: Commedia Rervisited, Revised, Renovated?

Photo: Richard Termine

The Yale Repertory Theatre’s production of The Servant of Two Masters is an exploration of commedia dell’arte acting style. The irony is that although Carlo Goldoni, earlier in his career, had devised scenarios for commedia troupes to improvise upon, his 1753 Servant of Two Masters was fully scripted. This current revival of Goldoni’s play underwent numerous iterations in its development. Translated by Christina Sibyl, adapted by Constance Congdon, it was further adapted by actor Steven Epp and director Christopher Bayes to extract every possible laugh.

While Goldoni retained the masked comic characters and a basic commedia plot, his play is more refined than its model, which is certainly not the case in this production. Slapstick comedy abounds literally, with lots of noisy slaps (sans the two wooden sticks) and figuratively, frequently based on bodily functions. Most of the time, the show moves very fast, sometimes too fast, so that rare changes of pace are welcome as, for example, when Beatrice (Sarah Agnew), Smeraldina (Liz Wisan), and Clarice (Adina Verson) sing their lyrical love lament in operatic style.

Improvisation has a limited role. On the night I saw it, a letter that Steven Epp (Truffaldino) was handling flew off the stage and landed in the first row. Still in character, he descended into the audience to retrieve it, and entered into a brief interaction with a woman. To howls of laughter, he sat on her lap, joked, and took her bag on stage to use fleetingly as a prop.

Bayes and Epp emended the script by contemporizing it and by casting it in a metatheatrical light. Their show begins in an old run-down theatre where two workmen, speaking an Italianate lingo, open a trunk downstage center. Points of lights flicker, fly out and fill the sky. A cast of commedia actors appears and performs a bouncy song and dance number, accompanied by violinist Carolyn Boulay and accordionist and percussionist Aaron Halva. They remain onstage throughout, interacting and singing along with the cast, as needed.

And from there, we move into the convoluted and flimsy plot. Two fathers, Pantalone (Allen Gilmore) and Il Dottore (Don Darryl Rivera) have agreed to a marriage between their children, Clarice and Silvio, who are in love. The marriage is put on hold by Truffaldino, the prankish and doltish comic servant, who announces that his new master Federigo, Clarice’s former fiancé who was supposedly killed in a duel, is in town. Truffaldino, the Arlecchino of commedia, wears his time-honored geometrically patterned multicolored costume, exhibits the same acrobatic skills, has an eye for the girls and is always hungry.

Unbeknownst to Truffaldino, Beatrice has disguised herself as her brother in order to find her lover Florindo (Randy Reyes). Truffaldino meets Florindo and becomes his servant as well so that he can eat and earn twice as much. Lots of misunderstandings ensue with Truffaldino at the heart of them. All is resolved at the end with the two couples reunited. Truffaldino, forgiven for his deception by his two masters, gets to marry Smeraldina, his female counterpart.

In commedia, character is built physically, and this company has some terrific movers. Randy Reyes’s Florindo is a descendant of Il Capitano, the militaristic macho coward. He depicts his vanity, bluster, and timorousness in large part through a swiveling, diagonal bent-kneed walk. The long, thin, red-costumed Allen Gilmore, as Goldoni’s watered down Pantalone, puts life back into the role through his contortionist feats and antic dancing. Il Dottore, in his black costume with a white ruff, is a moving anachronism as he does the moon walk. In contrast to the zany eccentrics around her, Sarah Agnew’s disguised Beatrice is composed and dignified, even realistic, within the boundaries of commedia. She plays the masculine aspects of the role – stance, walk, gestures – while maintaining the character’s femininity. Steven Epp, a former member of the greatly missed Jeune Lune Company, is the most technically proficient of the talented cast. His athleticism, timing, clowning, and juggling make him the star of the evening, yet his performance seemed a little distant.

The text is contemporized by inserting local references: the Green Line, Scott Brown, etc.; remarks about contemporary politics, such as the fiscal cliff; and allusions to popular culture icons, all of which the audience enjoyed. While this kind of humor is true to the spirit of commedia, I found it heavy handed.

Chuan-Chi Chan’s ever-changing lighting, Katherine Akido Day’s minimalist sets, and Valérie Thérèse Bart’s colorful and, for the masked characters, authentic costumes are magical. A dilapidated false proscenium placed over the Paramount Theatre’s actual proscenium takes the audience back in time. Yellow curtains hanging on a frame stage center create another proscenium. Upstage are miniature buildings meant to portray an Italian town in the distance.

As the play draws to an end, Truffaldino, alone on stage, takes on the quality of Watteau’s Pierrot. The stage darkens, Truffaldino gestures, producing a spark that multiplies into innumerable stars; a waltz plays; and a sliver of a moon rises. Smeraldina and Truffaldino dance.

ArtsEmerson Presents the Yale Repertory Production of

The Servant of Two Masters by Carlo Goldoni

Translated by Christina Sibul

Adapted by Constance Congdon

Further Adapted by Stephen Epp and Christopher Bayes

Directed by Christopher Bayes

Set Design by Katherine Akiko Day

Costume Design by Valérie Thérèse Bart

Lighting Design by Chuan-Chi Chan

Music Composed by Christopher Curtis and Aaron Halva

Sound Design by Charles Coes and Nathan Roberts

Cast

Beatrice – Sarah Agnew

Brighella – Liam Craig

Truffaldino – Steven Epp

Pantalone – Allen Gilmore

Waiter – David Hanbury

Silvio – Chivas Michael

Florindo – Randy Reyes

Il Dottore – Don Darryl Rivera

Waiter – Luverne Seifert

Clarice – Adina Verson

Smeraldina – Liz Wisan