The School for Wives. Whitely’s new translation sets the tone for this robust and funny production.
Andy Massingham and Tess McManus. Photo: David Whitely.
Reviewed for The Citizen. Initially, it jars. Here are members of the mid-17th century French aristocracy in full period costume peppering their speech with modernisms like “Our wives sometimes screw us” and “ditz.”
But David Whiteley’s new translation of Molière’s classic comedy about jealousy, self-deceit and assorted other human idiocies – along with their flip side, love – not only soon comes to feel natural but also sets the tone for this robust and funny production of The School for Wives.
With John P. Kelly in the director’s chair, the show happily blends bits of slapstick, commedia dell’arte and farce into a well-realised production that’s at once modern and of the period. Which, considering that our basic foibles haven’t changed over the centuries, makes sense.
The arrogant and sexist blowhard Arnolphe (Andy Massingham in full stride) is at the centre of the story. An aging aristocrat who fears cuckoldry the way most men fear death, he’s hit on a way to secure the perfect wife: he’s had his ward Agnès (Tess McManus, nicely blending ingénue and sullen teenager) raised in a convent where, presumably schooled in obedience and ignorance, she’ll now make the ideal, faithful mate.
Arnolphe’s scheme is, in keeping with his self-absorbed nature, despotic and, in our eyes especially, antediluvian. “Your sex only exists so that man can be revered/The power and the glory belong to the beard,” he declaims to Agnès in the early going. One detected a frisson of fury amid the laughter that the line drew on opening night.
Arnolphe’s plan, of course, backfires. Human nature bridles under suppression and when the handsome if vain Horace (Drew Moore in magnificent, rock star-like black tresses created by costume designer Patrice-Ann Forbes) happens along, he and Agnès quickly become an item.
The story plays itself out from there with funny Romeo and Juliet-like balcony scenes between Horace and Agnès as the hot-headed Arnolphe fulminates as he struggles to control a situation beyond his comprehension, with occasional appearances by Arnolphe’s friend Chrysalde (Whiteley), the voice of reason in a story where measure and logic are rare and unheeded commodities.
Arnolphe, fool that he is, does eventually elicit our pity, but Massingham wisely avoids overplaying that card.
There’s also much foolery involving Arnolphe’s dim servants Alain (David Benedict Brown) and Georgette (Catrionia Leger). Perennially randy, they chase each other across the stage or fall into a quick, heated clutch when they’re not busy screwing up instructions from their boss that are intended to stopper the Horace-and-Agnès match.
Moving in unison or trying to squeeze together through the narrow front door of Arnolphe’s home (set and lighting by David Magladry), the pair also underscore the efficient choreography created by Massingham.
In translating this story, Whiteley has retained Molière’s original Alexandrine rhyme scheme. The cast handles it well, making it conversational without losing the edge of artificiality that points up the unnaturalness of trying to thwart love or dominate others.
Whiteley also deliberately uses some bad rhymes (“broach” and “smooch,” the latter pronounced “smoach,” for example) which are accompanied by a shrug to the audience. That idea, which is too close to mugging, works less well.
Bottom line: A humorously instructive way to kick off the new season at The Gladstone.
The School for Wives
SevenThirty and Plosive Productions
at The Gladstone Continues until Sept. 27. Tickets: 613-233-4523, thegladstone.ca