Moliere sez: don't hate the players, hate the game

The Yale School of Drama's The Misanthrope at the University Theater pulls off a difficult feat. Molière's plays are more complicated than they may initially appear—his farces, brilliant in and of themselves, mask both deeper social themes and literary complexity. The Misanthrope, directed by Lisa Channer, DRA '00, is no exception—beneath the hysteria of its scenes lies a moving tragedy. This duality is always challenging to achieve, and Channer's production does justice to the playwright's alternately comic and somber genius.

KATHERINE ALDRICH/YH Big, brash, and brassy-buttoned, Brennan Brown, DRA '00, bemoans banality.

The play tells the tale of Alcest (Brennan Brown, DRA '00), a man who lives amidst the excesses of Louis XIV's court and who cannot bear the falseness and pretensions of those who surround him. Alceste is, as he says, "unfashionably sincere"—he insists on the necessity of honesty in both speech and behavior and condemns the social trends of a "fawning age" in which all interactions are based on appearances, performance, and deceptive flattery.

Yet within Alceste's inflamed, comic rantings about his society the audience sees not only his self-righteousness but also his hypocrisy.

Alceste is in love with the beautiful Celimene (Kathryn Hahn, DRA '01), a woman who embodies the falseness and vapidity which he so disdains. He condemns her social pretensions but is entranced by her charm, and so proves himself to be little better than the obsequious suitors who fawn over her.

Molière's play, then, beyond being a farce, brilliantly depicts the complicated interplay between human passion and reason, as well as the folly of pretensions in any form—whether they are Celimene's social affectations or Alceste's didactic ones. It is also a fascinating exploration of French court culture at its most grandiose.

The set, designed by Stuart Polasky, DRA '01, is appropriately lavish and impressive—the stage is dominated by an enormous mirror covering the back wall, toward which the characters frequently turn their gaze. The costumes, likewise, are ridiculous in their gaudiness. The elaborate dress, though exaggerated, is not too far from our conception of the style of the age. The costume and make-up alone give one the sense that, except for the few honest characters in the play, these people are practically caricatures of themselves.

In this sense, The Misanthrope is also a play about acting, and therefore deeply self-referential. It is more than a condemnation of the social trends of the time. Alceste is trapped not simply by a society which he despises, but also by the tragedy of the human condition—one which finds us delicately poised between appearance and reality, reason and passion, fated to act out our lives on a stage, surrounded by actors whether we like it or not.

What is necessary in a play like this is versatile actors who can portray simultaneously the lighter appearances and the darker realities of their characters. The actors must reveal both the obsequious and false sweetness of public behavior and the baseness of what really lies underneath: scorn, contempt, jealousy, pride. Almost all of the actors in this ensemble do this with impressive agility. Despite their hysterical behavior, they communicate the social complexities behind the humor. Cilamene's two suitors, Clitendre (Brandon T. Miller, DRA '01) and Acaste (Richard Bank, DRA '00) are laughably doting and deferential in her presence. When Cilamene is offstage, however, we see that they are viciously competitive, self-serving, and proud.

It is Brown, though, who clearly steals the show in his portrayal of Alceste. Molière's hero, like his play, is far more complicated than the title might suggest. Brown alternates gracefully between playing the comic and tragic figure. He is at once scornful and passionate, reasonable and idealistic, hardened and meek. He condemns his surroundings though he is entrapped by them, creating a character oblivious of his own pitiable position.

Channer does a wonderful job bringing out the play's uproarious humor and poignant tragedy—the truest elements of any type of theater.

Back to A&E...