|
|
The Buffalo News, 3-1/2 Stars (out of 4)
"Mandrake" concocts ribald brew of Machiavellian machinations
by Ted Hadley Nicia Calfucci is what Italians vernacularly call a mamaluke — that is, silly, often stupid, prone to make dumb decisions. Well, he pulled a dandy this time, an event told in Niccolo Machiavelli’s short, ribald, 500-year-old comedy “The Mandragola,” better known down through the centuries as “The Mandrake.” Nicia is wealthy and living proof of that old adage of a fool and his money. He’s married to Lucrezia, a Florentine beauty much younger, restless and, so far, childless. Nicia wants an heir, and so does Sostrata, Lucrezia’s checkered-past mother. Enter Callimaco, the handsome expatriate smitten from afar with Lucrezia. With Ligurio, a scoundrel, and Friar Timoteo, a money-hungry priest, the lad hatches a preposterous plot—but one that might work with the dim bulb Nicia — to woo and win the girl, the sooner the better. First, Nicia must be recruited to finance the caper. Posing as a doctor who is expert in matters of fertility, Callimaco suggests giving Lucrezia a drug — mandrake — results guaranteed. One problem: Callimaco says that the next man to sleep with Nicia’s wife probably will die within a week. Even Nicia draws a line. But, the plot thickens. The conspirators propose to abduct a derelict, targeted as an “expendable,” to bed Lucrezia, then Nicia may resume where he left off. So to speak. Of course it’s Callimaco in the disguise. Nicia is now a clueless cuckold. Machiavelli — yes, that Machiavelli, author of how-to books on power politics, the inspirer of ends justifying means, a great fan of lying and deception — wrote this play while in exile. It probably includes satirical pot-shots at groups and individuals. But mostly, it seems to have been written for the fun of it, as sly commentary on social and political practices of the day — circa 1518 — particularly dishonesty rewarded, not punished, and that old favorite: if there are good intentions there is no sin. Friar Timoteo loved that one. Irish Classical Theatre Company, so adept at these costumed romps, has assembled just the right director—Fortunato Pezzimenti — and cast to tell this foolish tale, one full of Italian Renaissance stock characters and one so faithfully translated by the scholarly Peter Constantine. Giggles aplenty here from David Autovino as Callimaco; Gerry Maher as Siro; the slithering, sinister Brian Riggs as Lugurio; Peter Palmisano, superb as the dupe, Nicia; newcomer Morgan Chard as Lucrezia; Lisa Vitrano as Sostrata; Tim Newell as Friar Timoteo; and pristine-voiced Emily Tworek-Helenbrook, who eavesdrops, then musically explains and updates; these minutes don’t add or distract but they are pretty and melancholy. “The Mandrake,” its longevity amazing, is full of fraud and fun, difficult to sustain, truth be told. But, a wise director and a cast of zanies can remedy shortcomings. Theater Review, Buffalo Rising
Review by Neil Garvey
Florentine Follies: The Mandrake opens at ICTC
Niccolo Machiavelli's masterful farce THE MANDRAKE had a rousing opening at the Irish Classical Theatre (Thursday, March 3). This production features a boisterous and talented cast, a super set design, not just a little bawdy humor, and the voice of an angel as the cherry on top.
Machiavelli may be better known to most of us as the author of the 16th century political treatise "The Prince", a ruthless, cut-throat theory of political domination, long favored by absolute monarchs and the occasional governor of Wisconsin. You may remember "The Prince" from your 6th grade World history class.
"It is far safer to be feared than loved if you cannot be both."
"The Mandrake" is a good deal more loved than "The Prince". It is remarkable because it works on so many levels. Not the least is Machiavelli's withering commentary on both the church and Florentine society. The play was written just a couple of years after Martin Luther posted his "95 Theses".
Machiavelli was literally playing with fire, as people were being burned at the stake for less offensive statements than his unflattering portrait of the indulgence-selling monks. The anti-clerical, book-burning Savonarola made a short trip to the stake only about 20 years earlier, right in Florence, no less.
The social and political elite of Florence get a good slap upside the head in The Mandrake, and it is that social satire which fuels the play.
The basic plot involves Callimaco (a hyperactive David Autovino), a wealthy and callow young Florentine, recently returned from France. Callimaco explains to his servant Siro (the irresistibly funny Gerry Maher) that he has the "hots" for Lucrezia (the lovely Morgan Chard) who is the beautiful, but devout wife of Nicia (the charming Peter Palmisano) an older, and somewhat dense lawyer (even the Renaissance had lawyer jokes).
Callimaco enlists the assistance of Ligurio (a wonderfully creepy Brian Riggs, who literally creeps about). Ligurio is a conniving hanger-on, always on the prowl for a free lunch. It is he who devises a plot to dupe Nicia and thereby allow Callimaco to bed Lucrezia.
Ligurio realizes the key to the scheme lay in the fact that, after six years of marriage, the couple has no child. Therefore, Ligurio suggests that Callimaco, posing as a doctor, concoct a potion (made from the mandrake root) which will guarantee the wife's fertility.
Ah, but there's a catch (insert best dead-pan pharmaceutical TV commercial voice-over :) "Side effects may include the death of the first man to make love to the recently mandrake-dosed woman."
Although he is desperate for an heir, Nicia, understandably, is reluctant to kill himself in order to reproduce. The solution? Kidnap some unsuspecting young fool to romance Lucrezia for one night, absorb the poison, and clear the way for Nicia to thereafter procreate in peace.
Aside from the toxic sex, Nicia is not thrilled with the prospect of some hot shot young stud bedding his wife either, but, convinced that "Doctor" Callimaco has prescribed the same course of action for no less than the King of France, (never mind the Bourbons were congenital dunces,) the duly impressed Nicia is all in.
But wait! How to convince the religious Lucrezia to go along with this immoral scheme? Why, bribe a monk, of course. Fortunately, the predatory Friar Timoteo (the deliciously wicked Tim Newell) is open for business and, for a considerable donation, the miserly monk convinces Lucrezia of the correctness of the plot. Assisting in this wicked deed is Lucrezia's mother, Sostrata (the excellent, excellent Lisa Vitrano) who presses her daughter to submit - "Think how happy you will be with a baby next year!"
In a very funny scene, Friar Timoteo, citing the Bible chapter and verse, explains to Lucrezia that one must merely balance the certainty of a good thing (motherhood) against the uncertainty of a bad thing (the young stud, after all, may not die). Premeditated absolution for pre-meditated murder. It's astounding that Machiavelli got away with it.
The plot comes off without a hitch, except, of course, there was no Mandrake potion (it was a cup of spiced mulled wine) and there was no kidnapped young stud, it was merely Callimaco in disguise, satisfying his lust for Lucrezia. And after all was bed and done, Callimaco confessed his love for Lucrezia, who falls for Callimaco and was thus transformed from the prudish spouse into the Tuscan version of an over-sexed desperate housewife.
If it all sounds a little too convoluted to be followed, it isn't. Fortunato Pezzimenti's direction is clear, the actors are all coherent, the characters fully realized, and in case you missed something along the way, Machiavelli tosses in enough exposition to fill the Crystal Palace.
The production is helped enormously by designer Ron Schwatrz's magnificent set. It is truly inspired and may be his best set yet. The intricate tiled floor and screamingly funny sculpture capture both the high renaissance look and the bawdy sensibility the play craves. Lights by Brian Cavanagh and a sound design by Tom Makar compliment the set, and the beautiful costume design by Kenneth Shaw and the period wigs and make-up by Susan Drozd add yet another dimension of coordinated quality to the depth of this production.
Would that the translation had done as much. Peter Constantine's translation is fine in itself, it is in fact very clever, but in this traditionally clad staging, the modern phrases can seem somewhat incongruent, even jarring, especially the more risqué material, which become borderline profane. The effect is to shock, and, losing the subtle touch, it risks losing some of the humor (though honestly, it could also be laugh-out-loud funny at times.)
This translation, with its modern vernacular, might be better suited to a modern dress version, such as the one which served the Wally Shawn translation, produced by the National Theatre in the early '80's, a production which came complete with motorcycles and a hip outdoor café.
If there is a bit of the profane here, however, it is well balanced by a touch of the sacred. Young soprano Emily Tworek- Helenbrook not only appears angelic as she graces the stage in the role of The Singer, she sings with a heavenly voice that will sweep you away. The Singer interposes some moral sustenance between the scenes of ever more debauched behavior. Miss Twoek-Helenbrook's voice is of such subtle power and clarity, I kept looking to see where the body mike was hidden. But there was no amplification, what one hears is unplugged purity. A great job here. Look for good things to come from this talented young lady.
This is a highly energetic presentation, the few rough edges will smooth out quickly, and one hopes the more maniacal characterizations will also soften a bit and allow for a little modulation of the cadence to charm our ears. Overall, the audience seemed happily engaged throughout the performance, which, wisely, has no intermission.
There are some terrific comic chops to be enjoyed in this clever staging. The Mandrake remains a remarkable play and all the more so because Machiavelli hits so close to our own society, even five centuries later.
The Mandrake, directed by Fortunato Pezzimenti, Translated by Peter Constantine, an Irish Classical Theatre Company production at the Andrews Theatre, through March 27.
|
