'Triumph' delights the senses but not the soul

By Larry Switzky

COURTESY RICHARD ANDERSON

Susan Egan triumphs

The desire to regress--to be a kid, believe in fairy tales, laugh with abandon--can be overwhelming at Yale. The new musical at the Yale Repertory Theatre, Triumph of Love, offers the chance to do just that, while escaping to the French countryside in the process. Given its light, entertaining treatment of such "serious" topics as Reason, the poetics of love, the reconciliation between knowledge and emotion, and the imminent Broadway revival of the similarly-themed Candide, it won't leave you feeling guilty afterwards either.

The story is simple, a cross between A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum and As You Like It. Princess Léonide of Sparta (Susan Egan), accompanied by her maid-servant Corine (Denny Dillon, most recognizable as Toby from HBO's Dream On), attempts to woo Agis (Christopher Sieber), a protected young scholar and the true heir to the throne. Léonide and Corine, disguised as men, infiltrate the protective garden created by Agis' ultra-intellectual uncle Hermocrates (Robert LuPone) and priggish aunt Hesione (Mary Beth Peil), and cultivated by valet Harlequin (Kenny Raskin) and gardener Dimas (Daniel Marcus). Léonide and Corine seduce everyone present and counter mechanical reason with irrational love.

As in most good musical comedies, the real action is in the complications, and Triumph offers them with practiced aplomb; Hesione, Agis, and Hermocrates all fall in love with Léonide in different guises. The musical's many influences include French and English slamming-door farces (provided by a seemingly limitless number of entrances and exits built into the stage), Enlightenment-era critiques of reason, and even the likes of Greek Old Comedy, with its gender-bending antics and Dionysiac free-for-alls. It is also a very modern musical, as characters self-consciously address the audience and acknowledge their cues and beats. This immensely likable production endears through its open theatricality: Léonide switches personalities frequently, while Corine, Harlequin, and Dimas watch the proceedings as spectators from holes built into the walls of the set.

The actors all display such polished skill and obvious love for their tasks that it is difficult to name stand-outs. This is unquestionably an ensemble piece. Dillon's lines seemed to have a sportive spontaneity to them, although Egan is an energetic nymph and Peil plays the best dowager I have ever seen on stage. All, though, perform splendidly as cartoons with depth--especially appropriate as both Egan and Raskin hail from the New York City Beauty and the Beast.

Triumph exhibits plenty of professionalism and can compete with the very best on Broadway. Brian McDevitt's lighting creates a fantasy world where the normal rules of time do not exist. He uses mostly-bright lights accentuating the rich pastel costumes of Catherine Zuber--especially the wonderful French courtesan outfits at the conclusion. The action could take place in a day, a month, or a year; the multicolored hues of the background don't give away anything. Heidi Landesman's set also deserves praise. In a beautiful fairyland that conjures images of Golden Books, sundials and wading pools pop out of the stage, and green curlicues spiral out of doorways that function equally well as bedrooms and topiary. The contrast of the sloping curves in the foreground with the harsh cut-outs of shrubbery on the backdrop is both eye-catching and symbolic, juxtaposing the rigors of logic with the smoothness of love, the avowed masculinity of Hermocrates' Reason with Léonide's feminine wiles.

Despite these favorable points, however, Triumph sometimes falls surprisingly flat--mostly because of the book by James Magruder and, less occasionally, because of the lyrics by Susan Birkenhead. With gags ranging from the mildly amusing to the mundane, at times the book is strictly by-the-book: precocious, adequate, and often not much else. Jokes tend to be on the level of sitcoms, with anachronistic references to "Men are From Mars, Women Are From Venus," "Smart Women/Foolish Choices," and some requisite, although not terribly inventive, sexual innuendo. Little thought has been given to the idea that the story, set in Sparta (as is flashed across the backdrop at the beginning) has the acoutrements and improvisational flavor of seventeenth-century France; although Marivaux might have gotten away with it, the comic possibilities of the inconsistency are never properly explained or explored in this production.

Both the book and the lyrics are funniest and most effective when deflating the haughtiness of Hermocrates and Hesione -- and at those points they are funny indeed. The opening song, "Men of Reason," boasts perhaps the best lyrics in the show, especially in comparison to the maudlin predictability of later efforts such as "The Tree" (in which Hesione and Hermocrates compare their condition to that of a trapped plant). Unfortunately, the Harlequin and Dimas vaudevillian duet, "Henchmen are Forgotten," which should be the climactic showstopper of the second act, is all but forgotten, and not nearly as witty as it needs to be -- although it does help to save a latter half given mostly to introspective love songs that merely delay the action's inevitable conclusion. The dramatic tension has all but fizzled by the end. Jeffrey Stock's music is not very hummable, but it helps the action progress and creates a wonderful sense of place, underscoring the illusion of a grown-up Never-Never Land in the French countryside.

At its worst, which isn't bad at all, Triumph makes you savor rich scenery and skilled acting while pondering some of the unexplored possibilities; at its best, it makes its adult audience feel like a very knowing child, in on the joke behind the antics, yet still full of wonder in anticipation of what will happen next.

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