Molière
By Sabina Berman
Translated by Shelley Tepperman
Directed by Richard Rose
Featuring Richard McMillan and Rick Roberts
Tarragon Theatre Mainspace until December 28, 2008
By Matt McGreachy
S’il vous plaît: Art, high and low.
The comedian must be both an observer in the world and a participant in it: to remain a part of the anthill then rise above it, watching from on high the silly repeated patterns of his fellow ants. Comedy is the view of the gods, looking down at the human foibles and laughing — and letting you laugh, too. The tragedian by contrast, concerns herself with the human. Seeing that the world is filled with miseries great and small, she sets out to record human lives and relates to us on a profoundly human level.
This fundamental divide, the question of high art and low art, pleasure and pain, the sacred and the profane, is explored in Sabina Berman’s Molière, playing now at Tarragon Theatre.
Rick Roberts, Julian Richings, Gregory Prest
Molière, played by Richard McMillan, was one of the great comedians of the French court of Louis XIV. Jean Racine — played by Rick Roberts — later one of France’s greatest tragedians, arrives from the Provinces to find Molière’s theatre filled with low comedic actors, performing ribald comedies. Racine is disgusted by what he views as a perversion of serious art, and even more disgusted when he discovers that Molière is in an adulterous, perhaps incestuous, relationship with his common-law wife’s daughter Armande, played by Cara Pifko.
Racine is employed by the Archbishop Prefixe (Julian Richings) to work to destroy Molière. Though Racine was Molière’s protégé, he ultimately betrays Molière and presents one of his own tragedies to the Sun King (Kyle Horton), resulting in Molière’s replacement at court.
Roberts’ Racine is excellent throughout. His sombre, serious tone reflects the attitude of a man who takes art very, very seriously. Opposed to all frivolity in art and disgusted by the perversion his beloved poetry, he develops a curious relationship with Molière — neither friend nor outright enemy, as he cannot bring himself to destroy Molière completely.
McMillan’s Molière, however, takes some time to warm up, perhaps as a result of the script or translation. His initial nervousness and energy seem frenetic and encumbered in the first act, especially since the set and staging involved a great deal of running in circles, both literally and figuratively. Richard Rose’s direction was at times aimless and the movement seemed gratuitous. Additionally, McMillan’s relationship with Pifko’s Armande was simply unbelievable. Her character vascillates between a fiery seductress and an innocent girl; Pifko cannot commit fully to either and so does not convince the audience at all. Nancy Palk as her mother — Molière’s common-law wife — has moments of excellence as a hardened doyen of the theatre, but lacks time to show us the full range of her emotional recovery from her betrayal. One scene she is horrified, the next, behaves as if nothing has happened.
Similarly, the Archbishop is underwritten and therefore underperformed by Richings. His ascetic ideal and lusty faults could make for a much more complex character; instead he substitutes an annoying cough for actual characterization. Horton’s Sun King is just not, well… kingly. Neither his demeanour nor his voice suggested that he was a divinely anointed ruler of the French people, and certainly did not convince us that Louis XIV was as astute and intelligent as he no doubt was.
The dancing, choreographed by Jeanette Lajeunesse-Zing of Opera Atelier, worked only about half the time. The other half looked like it had been inserted just to show that yes, we learned how to dance in authentic Baroque style, which, by the way, is not that interesting to watch unless it’s done on a much larger scale a la Opera Atelier’s productions. Mike Ross, pulling double duty as musical director and the character Tully, as Baroque composer, plays beautifully.
Director Richard Rose made a curious choice at the curtain call, where the cast sang a zippy little number, “God save the King / At least until he’s dead!” I say curious because historically Louis XIV did more to solidify the power of the French monarchy than any other king. Unfortunately, the state was so centred on Louis himself during his long reign that it was impossible for his successors to live up to his standard. (It’s also worth noting that his successors — Louis XV and Louis XVI — were nowhere near as intelligent or savvy as the Sun King.) So why sing about the eventual end of the monarchy 78 years after Louis XIV’s death in 1715, when it adds little to the story and extends the curtain call?
Many of the plays failings are a result of the writing itself, which is heavy on theme and light on theatre. Exacerbated by unfocused direction, it fails to keep my thoughts from drifting to what the show means.
Richard McMillan, Colin Heath
But oh, what a theme! Two personified forces opposing each other on stage is riveting enough to forgive some (but not all) of the show’s faults. Is art a serious endeavour or is if the pursuit of frivolity? Is it about poetic suffering, or pleasure? Like Javert in Les Misérables, Racine eventually cracks, realizing that suffering does not always lead to redemption. Redemption itself can be had through laughter, happiness.
Molière demands to know why pleasure, rather than the pain wrought by men and Satan, cannot be held sacred. McMillan’s zeal in posing this question redeems some of the earlier lacklustre stuff from the first act. Yet, I remain unconvinced. Pleasure can’t be sacred; it ought to remain in the world of the profane, appropriated by each to his own liking. To sanctify pleasure removes it from our control and places it firmly in the hands of others to guard and protect whatever is sanctified. I guess in the debate about serious art, I stand firmly on the side of frivolity.
