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The British Moliere
| Article
# : |
19872 |
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Section : |
THE ARTS
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| Issue
Date : |
4 / 1992 |
2,134 Words |
| Author
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Herb Greer
Herb Greer is an American writer and playwright who lives in
Britain and on the Continent. |
Most comedy, like certain types of light wine, tends to fade quickly with the passage of time. Wine, once its ripeness is exhausted, can never be restored; but there are rare and ancient vintages of theater that, through the alchemical magic of translator, cast, and director, can be transmuted into something as golden and live as anything new-written--even after the difficult (sometimes almost impossible) transition from one language to another. The seventeenth-century work of Jean-Baptiste Pouelin, known as Moliere, is one of the best of these vintages; it has been renewed many times over three hundred years, and, in the right hands, it still comes up fresh and funny today.
Of course, there are many species of restorative magic in the theater, some more effective than others. At any given time, several of them may be on show, competing with each other for the affection, amusement, or outright laughter of audiences. During the current season, visitors to London have been able to see one version of The Miser and one Tartuffe in London, while at Mahchester's internationally acclaimed Royal Exchange Theatre yet another version of The Miser annoyed purists and delighted full houses. The Manchester version is now touring, gathering applause in other cities around the north of England. These three productions--especially the latter tow--are interesting to compare because they furnish a contrast of what is imaginative and juicy with what is (in the worst sense) commercial about the British theater when it is exploiting the classics.
The London production of The Miser was staged at the National Theatre in a production by Stephen Pimlott, who seems to have taken his due from a remark by the French director Roger Planchon; "One…has two choices as a director--whether to steer the character towards tragedy, or towards farce. Whichever course is chosen, there is an underpinning of cruelty."
Pimlott's choice was described by The Times' critic Benedict Nightingale as "like visiting Dothe-boys Hall in the bleak midwinter," with Harpagon (the miser) played by the lean, fox-featured Charles Kay, as "a steely skinflint presiding over the funeral Olivier [theater] like Pluto over Hades." This was, of course, an example of what is now called director's theater, in which a voulu "concept" is imposed on a text whose theatrical value might or might not sustain it.
Intellectually, Pimlott's treatment of The Miser is respectable enough; comedy's tear-stained foundation is something of an old chestnut. But his puritanical under-the-surface
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