BY DAN VALENTI

PLANET VALENTI ARTS 

EDITOR’S NOTE — THE PLANET presents what we hope will be the first of periodic theater and art reviews. For the 2021 inaugural effort, we are pleased to announce the signing of the world famous critic, the Max Factor of the  footlights, the Poobah of Paragraphs. We speak of none other than the esteemed Sir Donald Turpentine, Knight of the Bath, S.O.S. Sir Donald, as every theatergoer knows, ranks equal with the likes of John Simon, Rex Reed, and the estimable Leonard Pinth Garnell. It cost THE PLANET a small fortune to get Sir Donald on board, but what won’t we do for our readers? Enjoy!

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‘Earnest’ Gets Downright Important in BTG Production

By Sir Donald Turpentine

(FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, THURSDAY JUNE 24, 2021) — “I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.”

Thus wrote that noted theater cirtic-cum-prognosticator John Winston Lennon in his song “I Am the Walrus.” Little did he know but for the importance of being earnest.

Lennon must have been channeling The Berkshire Theater Group’s current production of Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest,” now running through July 10 at the Unicorn Theater in Stockbridge. The  mix of farce and THEE-AH-TAH blend into a fine, organized madness that allows the theatergoer the distinction of entering not a maze but a labyrinth.

Maze v. labyrinth. The difference? A maze occupies one level. A labyrinth contains many levels, like a stack of hot cakes, 3D chess, or, more to the point in this adroit production, joke upon quip upon witticism, to the merriment if not the lucidity of all. Or is it ludicrous-idity?

The play wears a finely woven but veneer of humor under which one can see a devastating condemnation of England’s social caste system. It’s comedy used to demolish the rickety into ruin. Not that this production threw a complete game. More on that later.

The cast of BTG’s “The Importance of Being Earnest”

There’s no point in recounting the farcical plot. Here’s the view from 30,000 feet: Wilde uses some of the wittiest lines ever written to blow raspberries at Victorian-era hypocrisy and its discretionary squeeze on manners, marriage, social standing, and identity. This play is a brilliant example of damning with faint (and feint) praise, one productively milked by director David Auburn.

Having seen this show in several productions over the years plus read it several times as an example of crystalline prose, the major directorial pitfall is that of stressing the comedy at the expense of the Wilde’s steely-eyed critique of his era’s arbitrary social imprisonments. That excoriation should affect the laughing audience almost as a back door to tragedy.

Unfortunately, Act I of this three-act masterpiece fell into the trap and, worse still, the emphasis on comedy was stressed … and stressing. Somehow, the troupe came out flat. The good news is that things picked up in a sizzling Act II before settling into a split-the-difference finale.

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The play’s humor serves as the platform for Wilde’s social lamentation and not the other way around. Auburn’s interpretation reflects this, and it would have pleased Wilde, who thought it the only way into the directorial center of the play. Auburn gets it, earnestly. It’s hard to tell, but this writer’s guess would be to put the finger on the company for the curtain opener, which solicited few laughs and came out as flat as the spare on Jed Clampett’s jalopy.

Okay, some plot points for those who have never seen “Earnest” or who having seen it need a brief refresher.

To relive himself of his stifling social obligations as well as a caring for his ward and niece Cecily Cardew, duty-bound Hertfordshire squire Jack Worthing (Mitchell Winter) invents a fictitious, rabble-rousing “brother” he names Ernest. Jack creates the doppelgänger to escape his land-owing duties in Hertfordshire, where he lives in his inherited estate, Woolton Manor. Whenever he wants to venture into London for fun and frolics, Jack says he has to leave Woolton and go there to get brother Ernest out of another jam. Raspberry, we presume.

Shawn Fagan as Algernon, left, and Mitchell Winter as Jack.

The play opens in the London flat of Ernest’s friend in hi jinx, Algernon Moncrief (Shawn Fagan). Way leads to way, and after the three elipses … both Jack and Algernon pretend that they are “Ernest Worthing,” a man who doesn’t exist. They do this for the most fateful reason of all: love, respectively (if not respectfully) to win the hands of Gwendolyn Fairfax, Algernon’s cousin (Rebecca Brooksher) and Cecily Cardew, Jack’s niece (Claire Saunders).

The matrimonial intentions meet their match in the arduous Lady Bracknell, Gwendolyn’s towering mother (Harriet Harris) Suffice it to say, love conquers deceit and timidity, and by play’s end all is well, with Jack having learned, “the importance of being earnest.” Pun intended.

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The theme of doubles and double lives abound in Wilde’s canon, from Dorian’s Jeckyll-Hyde in “The Picture of Dorian Gray” to Sir Robert Chiltern in “An Ideal Husband.” Scholars and critics explain this in terms of Wilde’s homosexuality, which he had to hide and for which he suffered a life-sapping imprisonment.

Perhaps, but a quick survey of 19th century literature reveals the use of doubling and double lives more as a literary device than a sigil of tortured self identity (for example, Poe’s story “William Wilson,” and Shelley’s “Prometheus Ubound”). The use of doubles furnishes an invaluable tool through which a writer can explore humankind’s bipolar nature — the Jungian split of good and evil, saint and sinner. “Earnest” bears this out, especially in the BTG production. Doubles portend a heavy element, even in this light atmosphere.

Credit can be spread thin in this production, but if there’s a thick layer, it goes to director Auburn. From the get go, we suspect, he had to work around if not solve the mistakes of casting director Alan Filderman. Cast it well, and your more than half the way there. Filderman scores with the characters Algernon, Lady Bracknell, Prism, Rev. Chasuble, and Reed/Merriman. He whiffs on Cecily, Gwendolyn, and Jack.

Mitchell Winter’s Jack, like the postman, rings twice in chimes that split in the middle of the scale. Winter injects the role with enough gusto, alright, which leads to a more than a quibble. There’s not enough of difference between his portrayal of to-the-manor born Jack on the one hand the carousing “Ernest” on the other. He plays them as the same character. The problem is that they are not. The “Ernest” we see in Act I should be as different from Squire Jack in Act II as Sonia Sotomayor is from Amy Coney Barrett of The Supremes.

As an ensemble piece, I would be hesitant to say the play revolves around Jack, but he’s clearly the protagonist. Unless the actor playing Jack can pull off a convincing Hertfordshire gentleman, his Ernest dissolves into farce — but not the kind Wilde would want, that is, farcical dismissal. Winter’s discontent as Jack/Ernest, however, comes up just short.

Shawn Fagan’s Moncrieff delivers a walking epigram, a self-absorbed lightweight whose wit prompts him to laugh at his own jokes. Unlike most people who do this, we let Moncrieff get away with it because we laugh with and not at him. Symbolically, Fagan digs out the weight of Moncrief, not in any virtuous manner but in his utter disdain for Victorian social straight jackets, similar to the cynical Lord Henry Woolton in Wilde’s “Dorian Gray.” Moncrieff can’t be cutting enough. In a comedy, this has its limits, unlike Woolton in “Gray.” Nonetheless, Fagan manages to wring out ample share of this bite without biting off more than he can chew the scenes. Well done.

The linchpin female character is Lady Bracknell. The play’s happy ending turns on her discovery that Jack is not the orphan she believes but the lost son of her late sister. Again, you have to be there for the plot twists. Harriet Harris delivers a perfectly domineering Lady, dropping bosomy crumbs from the upper crust as if she lived in a toaster. Her “Vavoom” in delivering fury shakes the rafters. Lovely. She’s a cultured broad, and the younger member of the company might want to take notes when Harris is on stage. Superb.

Gwendolyn and Cecily, the play’s female leads, prove smarter than the men. Ah, but isn’t that always the case. They figure out the subterfuge with “Ernest” and corner the guys. Yeah, dog bites man and woe be the poor bastards at the hands of these women scorned.

Fashionable, trendy Gwendolyn portends the woman of the near future, ready for emancipation and poised to go a long way, baby. Her fixation with the name “Ernest” suggests a hidden desire to label the elusive quantity she seeks in a male partner. What man could possible satisfy this Virginia Slim? Rebecca Brooksher conveys high maintenance in a low maintenance performance. Brooksher makes a perfectly reedy Gwendolyn. Unfortunately, Gwendolyn is not the role for reedy. It takes an actress who can convey more self-assuredness that Brooksher shows. She might have faded into the scenery at time, except that there wasn’t much scenery. This isn’t what you want from a liberated woman.

Claire Saunders’ naive Cecily brings the right amount of fatuousness but overdoes the girlishness.  Should we make allowances? After all, Cecily’s only 18 and fantasizes about meeting the proverbial “bad boy,” a female inclination that remains with us to this day. They think they’re going to “change” the wayward child.

Right.

Saunders needs more seasoning, including vocal work. Her delivery machine-guns too heavilyy and shrill with “little girl” innocence. Saunders doesn’t seem to realize that she needn’t sell the part in such an obvious manner. Rather than let Wilde do the heavy lifting with the radiant lines, she seems to think she must add salt, pepper, spice, and hot sauce where none is needed. Saunders comes close to ruining the dish. Fortunately, she doesn’t quite get there, saved by a dazzling smile. Now if it were possible for a transfusion — Saunders overbite into Brooksher, and Brooksher’s reediness into Saunders, we might have the correct flavor.

Saunders’ other problem occurs in pacing. She has “hurry-up-itis.” At times she races through her lines as if she’s getting paid by the word. Someone sign her up with a lifetime membership in Bob and Ray’s STA (the Slow Talkers of America).  Experience may yet bring out Saunders’ large potential; otherwise, she might want to stick with Citibank commercials.

This sheltered girl is tutored by the dull, boring Miss Prism (Corinna May). Prism, aptly named, focuses the disparate colors into a single white unification: It turns out she’s the one who made the mistake of leaving baby Jack in a satchel at Victoria Station, confiding the baby with the manuscript of her unpublished romance novel. Don’t you hate it when that happens?

Theater veteran May makes the most of her lines, extracting the content like a Vitamix as opposed to a juicer. I guess you have to own a Vitamix to get this. Sorry. Google it. May sparkles in the small but pivotal role. Once again, experience shows, as it does with David Atkins and Matt Sullivan.

Corinna May as Miss Prism and David Atkins as the Rev. Canon Chasuble.

Rounding out the cast are Atkins as the Rev. Canon Chasuble and Sullivan as Lane/Merriman, the butler. Along with Miss Prism, these minor roles serve as a kind of Greek chorus for Wilde. Through them and as an augmentation to Algernon’s social disdain, Wilde can freely comment on Victorian hypocrisy as it manifests in the social caste system, religion, morality, and determining what is “proper.”

Atkins shows what a veteran can do with a supporting role. As the country vicar, he’s a Pez dispenser of platitude and propriety. Underneath it all, though, he’s flesh and blood. He has it for Miss Prism but he can’t show it, kept trapped by his turned-around collar. Atkins brilliantly conveys the subterranean roil that brews underneath the proper exterior. He also has the bizarre task of christening both Jack and Algernon with the new name of “Ernest.” Each man has a different reason for the moniker. What’s in a name? Sometimes hilarity. Sometimes confusion. Sometimes just a handy and clever plot device. Atkins bring out the “straight man” aspect of the Rev. Mr. Chausable to a level that would do Bud Abbott justice.

Sullivan fulfills the dual role (again, doubles) of manservant to Jack as Merriman and Algernon as Lane. He doesn’t have  many lines, for Merriman/Lane is a reactive role, one that Sullivan play with enjoyable effectiveness and skill. Tip to audience members: Once in a while avoid the temptation to look at the main action and watch how Sullivan reacts to the scene. Same with Atkins. It’s part of the subtle fun of theatergoing, where a camera does not confine you to only one way of seeing. You can look wherever you want, and it’s often in the “unimportant” background doings that one can sense the morale, if you will, of the production. Sullivan coughs with the best, handy, when you’re trying to alert your boss of arriving trouble.

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Is a subtle emphasis on the hidden seriousness in Wilde’s hilarious play part of Auburn’s vision for the play? Don’t know. We didn’t have a chance to ask. I’m guessing “yes.” After all, what’s a director but an interpreter of a blueprint, in this case a script? The director has a set of instructions furnished by the playwright. It’s up to him or her to put the piece together into a coherent and entertaining whole. Some assembly required. Dreaded words those, as any parent can attest. Directors, too.

Auburn set the right tones and feeling for “Earnest,” something that happens in rehearsals, especially early on — or doesn’t. It’s the only way an ad hoc ensemble can come together and work as a team, that is, a series of character-driven augmentations and supplements that act as foils for each member — perfect for a play that delves so much in reflections and doubles, each making the other and the next look good. You can see when it misses (Act I) and when it hits and clicks (Act II).

One of the challenges of “Earnest” is deciding how the characters will move on, off, and through stage. The director decides on that when he “blocks” the play — who stands and moves where, when, and how. I get the feelings that Auburn had to tinker with this right up to curtain on opening night and maybe after, for that’s where BTG’s “Earnest” again wrinkles its cravat. Isadora Wolfe is listed as the “movement director,” but the action in “Earnest” isn’t dancing. It’s farce. One senses the trouble Auburn and Wolfe had, as if they couldn’t solve the traffic flow.

Bill Clarke’s sparse set might be related to the blocking headaches. Clarke gives too much openness to the happenings. At times the characters seem to drift, especially during the faster places. Not conducive. This isn’t “Godspell.” Curtained  backdrops with lighting effects (clouds and trees for for outdoors, windows for inside), nor does a richly upholstered settee, chairs, tables, and hassocks adrift in too much space.

Not much of to be seen manor anywhere. Nor grass. Nor chirping birds. Nor swinging bachelor pad. One expects more — and less of the same, as all the settings look alike.  The lighting (Daniel J. Kotlowitz) distracted at times, calling attention to itself on the curtains, but the sound (Name Here) worked well in amplifying the mood, as did the sumptuous costuming (Hunter Kaczorowski). As a bonus, check out the music they play before, after, and during the two intermissions: “Henry the Eighth,” (Herman’s Hermits), “She’s A Rainbow” (Rolling Stones), and “All the Young Dudes” (Mott the Hoople).

It was nice being able to once again congregate for live theater. Goodbye, we hope, to COVID. The unctuous “err on the side of caution” post-COVID requirement for masks seemed a bit much, but the THE PLANET understands. The antiseptic bottles throughout the theater were a thoughtful touch.

All in all, ’twas a up-and-down night at the Unicorn. In the vernacular of the play, we might sum it up this way: “As the director sows, so shall he leap.”

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Sir Donald Turpentine, Knight of the Bath and Sissy of the Shower, is the world’s most sought-after theater critic.

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“No politician is honest, nor is there one champion of justice at whose side he may fight and be saved” — Plato, in The Republic.

“OPEN THE WINDOW, AUNT MILLIE.”

LOVE TO ALL.

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