[This is the unedited version of this review; a much abbreviated version
appeared in
Cary M. Mazer
There was an audible gasp in the audience the night I saw Georges
Feydeau's 1907 farce, A Flea in her Ear, at People's Light &
Theatre.
A quarrelsome Spaniard (Paul Meshejian) had just been shown a billet-
doux from an anonymous admirer addressed to the stodgy businessman, Victor
Chandebise (David Ingram), which Chandebise has passed on to the person he
thinks it was actually directed to - his friend, the elegantly dressed
lady's
man Tournel (Peter DeLaurier) - and which was really written by
Chandebise's
wife Constance (Marcia Saunders) to trap her husband in what she believes
to
be an adulterous liaison ... which, incidentally, she is mistaken about,
because it is not Chandebise but his nephew Camille (Kevin Bergen) who has
been leaving his suspenders at the Hotel Pussycat, where he is having an
affair with a chambermaid (Jackson Gay).
Constance, to disguise her identity as the author of the billet-doux,
has asked her friend Lucie (Kathryn Petersen), the Spaniard's wife, to
write
the letter. And so, the night that I saw the play, the audience suddenly
anticipated that the Spaniard will recognize his wife's handwriting, think
that she is having an affair with Tournel, and will follow her to the
Hotel
Pussycat, where everyone else - including the butler (Ian Merrill Peakes)
married to the chambermaid, and the suavely lascivious doctor (Stephen
Novelli) - seems to be headed, and where, no doubt, chaos will follow.
And
at that point the audience doesn't even know yet about the revolving bed
in
Camille's favorite room at the Hotel Pussycat, or that a drunken porter at
the hotel is the spitting image of (and played by the same actor as)
Chandebise.
Are you following all this? Don't worry. The whole point of farce
is
to set up as many compromising positions, misunderstood intentions and
mistakes of identity as possible, in order to create, when the action
really
gets ripping, as much of a comic whirlwind of near misses and slamming
doors
as can be imagined. Even theater scholars can't tell Feydeau's plays
apart
("A Flea in her Ear,'' one asks, "that's the one with the revolving
bed, the porter who looks like the husband, and the young man with cleft
palate, isn't it? Or am I confusing it with The Lady from
Maxim's?'').
All you need to know about the play, or about the production, is that it
all
depends on the precision of the timing and the elegance of the style; and
that the timing here is very precise, and that the style of Tazewell
Thompson's production is very elegant indeed.
There is one more thing you should know. For reasons known only to
Thompson and his cast, all of the actors speak in heavy French accents, a
blend of Jacques Cousteau and Inspector Clouseau (except the Spaniard, of
course, who sounds like Ricardo Montalban). This means that many of the
jokes (were they in the translation/adaptation by Jean-Marie Besset and
Mark
O'Donnell, or were they developed by the cast?) come more from funny
accents
than from character. And it also means that the director defeats his own
stated intention, in his program notes, to anchor the farce in the reality
of
character and events.
Still, the production is gorgeous to look at, both from Donald
Eastman's
set (the rectilinear ivory-and-gold Chandebise drawing room giving way to
the
flocked wallpaper, angular walls and myriad doors of the Hotel Pussycat)
and
from the color palate of Jeffrey Fender's costumes (Constance's dress is
lavender, Lucie's is apricot with turquoise highlights, and the pale hue
of
Tournel's trousers can only be described as the color of pistachio ice
cream).
And People's Light was able to cast even the smaller parts from the
ranks of some of its finest actors: only when we get to the hotel
pussycat
do we meet the surly owner (Mark Lazar), his aged father (Louis Lippa),
his
ex-courtesan wife (Alda Cortese, dressed in iridescent chartreuse harem
pants
and a turban), a saucy chambermaid (Alice Gatling, with a West Indian
accent), and a horny Englishman in his underwear (Leonard Haas, with a
Bertie
Wooster accent). There are wonderful actorly moments, despite the
accents:
I single out only Kathryn Petersen's body language when she describe's her
husband's sexual prowess. And David Ingram makes the most of the virtuoso
quick changes and transformations of his double role, and, as Chandebise,
does what he does best: convey a sense of affronted dignity.
You'll need to decide for yourself whether the accents propel the
play
into a world of pure, liberating, comedy, or just make it all a silly
exercise in funny voices.
A Flea in her Ear: People's Light & Theatre Company, 39 Conestoga
Road., Malvern, through June 27 (160 644-3500).