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Shakespearean hippies and lusty love trianglesBy Nikolai Slywka
Adapted in 1971 from Shakespeare's play by John Guare (of Six Degrees of Separation fame), this rock 'n' roll musical follows two friends, Valentine (O'Donnell) and Proteus (Joe Zanetti, JE '99), as they leave slow-paced Verona and drift into the heady and complicated world of Milan. Valentine falls in love with the worldly Silvia, whose father, the Duke (Giacomo DiGriglio, DC '99), has engaged her against her will to a lackluster but wealthy suitor. Ignoring his pledge of loyalty to his friend and his professions of love to his hometown sweetheart Julia (Brecken Armstrong, PC '99), Proteus also falls for Silvia. Carried along by the momentum of its slapstick and lively score, Two Gentleman resolves its raggedly developed storyline in the familiar reconciliations of classic Shakes-pearean comedy. Late in the first act, Oliveras appears, prowling and strutting on and around the scaffolds of the set. In a double-slitted gown and stiletto-heeled vinyl boots, she's a dervish of fishnet-stockinged thighs and frizzy hair, searching for someone or something to consume in a blast of lusty energy. In one of her many scene-stealing moments, she commandeers the center platform of the stage and lets loose her grand voice. The production's flaws—the slow interludes between songs, the half-hearted verse diction, the muddled identities of the secondary characters—are salvaged at times like this. As the show goes on, Oliveras' Silvia combines her steroidal-puma physicality with a sweet authenticity of emotion, in compelling contrast to the scheming shiftiness of Proteus and the one-dimensional authoritarianism of her father. The demure, fresh-faced Julia provides another, richer foil to Silvia's ferocious verve. Two Gentlemen of Verona doesn't oppose reserved and loyal Julia to wanton Silvia; rather, it makes the characters different expressions of an innocence embattled by the pressures of courtship. As good as Armstrong is and as much as one would like to see Julia's personality fleshed out, her performance is harmed by the production's wildness. In the middle of one of Julia's songs, the chorus explodes onto the stage, scuttling around on all fours, and then exits, just as quickly and inexplicably as it entered. Despite such weird moments, the chorus members are a pleasure to behold. They sport sheepskin vests, buskins, jester outfits, golf pants, shooting glasses or horn- rims, berets, peasant-print smocks, headbands—everything the looter of a hallucinogenic haberdashery could possibly desire. The chorus shimmies, writhes, whirls, frugs, and electric-slides from one end of the stage to the other in the campy choreography of debauched hippies. Campy, debauched hippies are fun to watch, and they help Two Gentlemen make good on the debts its sketchier moments incur upon the audience's goodwill. One suspects, however, that in 1971, debauched hippies cast in a Shakespearean framework were not only more fun but also freshly satirical. In the future, the Dramat should seek out more contemporary work for its mainstage productions. As it is, Two Gentlemen's freshness relies entirely on the talented efforts of Oliveras and her fellow leads. | ||||||||||||||||||||
