The Imaginary Invalid

In the late 1970s, The Public Theater presented the Yale Rep production of Sganarelle: An Evening of Molière Farces. It was a wonderful evening. One performer was particularly good: Mark Linn Baker. His fluidity with farce, both verbal and physical, was astonishing, and he was incredibly likeable. I knew that he would "go places." Well, go places he did: dozens and dozens of shows, movies, and TV shows, in a full, impressive career. And now he's again in a Molière farce. And, again, still, his fluidity with farce, both verbal and physical, is astonishing, and he is incredibly likeable.

The Imaginary Invalid is an old warhorse of farce, elegantly structured yet full of very inelegant characters and dialogue. Its main two topics are, arguably, love and enemas. The basic story is that Argan, a wealthy hypochondriac, has remarried, and his new wife wants him to disinherit his daughter. The daughter is in love with a sweet, vacuous, good-looking guy. However, her father wants her to marry a doctor, to save on his medical bills. Various charlatans wander in and out with terrible medical advice. Argan's wry maid attempts to add some sanity to the goings-on, but often utilizes less-than-sane (and quite funny) methods. 

The solid Red Bull production currently at the New World Stages features a funny, effective adaptation by Jeffrey Hatcher, which largely follows Molière's play, but slimmed down and with some contemporary language. The direction by Jesse Berger is generally good, but at the performance I saw, certain moments hadn't gelled yet. A weakness is the ostensibly madcap section of people running around and slamming doors; it lacks clarity of why they're running around and who's after who, which actually does matter, even (especially?) in a farce.

Sarah Stiles, Mark Linn-Baker
Photo: Carol Rosegg

The cast is great. As Argan, Mark Linn-Baker (he added the hyphen after some years as Mark Linn Baker) is fabulously silly while completely committing to his character's wants and needs, as absurd as they mostly are. Sarah Stiles, as the cheeky maid, relishes playing her character's sardonic-ness as much as the character relishes being sardonic. Emilie Kouatchou gives a nicely balanced performance as a young woman both self-indulgently emotional and sincerely in love. Russell Daniels manages to make his ludicrous character actually kinda likeable. The other cast members, all also really good, include Arnie Burton, Manoel Felciano, Emily Swallow, and John Yi.

I am so very grateful that Red Bull exists. It's a tough world for theatre these days--even tougher than usual--and we've lost too many theatre companies. Red Bull's contribution is unique--and excellent. Long may it thrive!

Wendy Caster

Arden of Faversham

Red Bull's fabulously entertaining production of Arden of Faversham, directed with a wry hand by Artistic Director Jesse Berger, tells the story of Alice (the terrific Cara Ricketts), a young wife who wants to trade in her boring husband for a hunky steward. Being as it's the late-16th century, divorce is not an option. But Alice has a plan!

Cara Ricketts, Thomas Jay Ryan
Photo: Carol Rosegg

Jeffrey Hatcher and Kathryn Walat have done a smooth job of adapting this Elizabethan farce, believed to be one of the earliest "ripped from the headlines" plays and possibly coauthored by Shakespeare. Hatcher and Walat compare Arden of Haverham, with its gruesome version of farce, to Coen Brothers movies. In their adaptation, they have leaned on the noir and expanded the women's roles. 

Tony Roach, Joshua David Robinson, Cara Ricketts
Photo: Carol Rosegg

In the Red Bull production, the farce wins out over the noir, as the characters aren't real enough to care about their lives or deaths. But that's not a problem--Arden of Faversham is completely satisfying as farce. The show is great fun from start to finish. The performances are calibrated in that wonderful realm of overacting-just-enough, and each character is beautifully delineated with quirks and particularities. Outstanding in addition to Ricketts are David Ryan Smith and Haynes Thigpen as two breathtakingly useless miscreants; Zachary Fine, as a goofy lovelorn suitor; and Joshua David Robinson, fabulously funny in three different roles. But the whole cast delivers. (Though a little better enunciation from the Widow Greene would have been appreciated.)

The set is by Christopher Swader and Justin Swader; the costumes by Mika Eubanks; the lighting by Reza Behjat; the music and sound by Greg Pliska; and the props by Samantha Shoffner. All are excellent.

[spoiler] As for the play possibly being cowritten by Shakespeare: (1) I am no expert; and (2) Red Bull's production is an adaptation, so it would be difficult to ferret out Shakespeare's voice. However, the only facet of the play that struck me as Shakespearean was the body count.

Wendy Caster

The Alchemist

Robert Frost once said, "Poetry is what gets lost in translation." To this I add, theatre is what gets lost in streaming. Please don't misunderstand: I am totally grateful for all the theatre-related material available during the covid-induced shutdown. I loved, eg, the Sondheim 90th birthday celebration, the plays that The Mint shared, and new work such as PCP/NYC's Standing on the Edge of Time and MasterVoices Myths and Hymns. And I don't know what the ticket price would have been if Meryl Streep, Audra McDonald, and Christine Baranski sang "Ladies in Lunch" in person, though I do know I couldn't afford it.

Manoel Felciano, Reg Rogers
Photo: Carol Rosegg

But: theatre is about being there, in the moment, with those wonderful living people on stage in front of you, sharing their talents and working their butts off. Eight performances a week they are shot out of a cannon and expected to be perfect--every time, with no pauses, pratfalls, or do-overs. Live performance is in many ways the bravest of arts, and perhaps the most human. It's all of us, in a room, interacting in real time, having an experience that will never be--can never be--repeated.

All this leads me to the rollicking Red Bull Production of Ben Jonson's The Alchemist, as adapted by Jeffrey Hatcher and directed by Jesse Berger. It is that most theatrical form of theatre, the farce, full of schemes and changing identities and bawdy humor and pointed satire and greed and hypocrisy and, yes, doors swinging open and closed as near-miss follows near-miss. 

Hatcher's adaptation is first-rate--clear, funny, and witty. In one aspect I think he actually improves on the original (it would be a spoiler to say anything more). There are some disappointing facets to his work. For example, there is no good reason why one female character spends much of the first scene wearing so little clothing that she is in danger of flashing the audience. For another example, having the one Black character, a full-out fop, suddenly spew a "Goddamn motherfuckers!" is, if not racist, at least racially uncomfortable and cheap. But the play's strengths far outweigh its weaknesses (which actually makes the disappointments that much more disappointing).

Berger's direction is as madcap, quick, and fluid as one could wish. And, oh, that cast. Reg Rogers as the alchemist delights with a performance that boasts the stamina, speed, and reflexes of an Olympian. Also delightful are, well, everyone else: Nathan Christopher, Stephen DeRosa, Carson Elrod, Manoel Felciano, Teresa Avia Lim, Jacob Ming-Trent, Louis Mustillo, Jennifer Sánchez, and Allen Tedder.

The design elements are attractive, appropriate, and hard-working. Alexis Distler provided the handsome, clever set, Tilly Grimes the splendid costumes. Cha See and Greg Pliska (lighting and sound design, respectively) also contributed richly.

The Alchemist was the second show I saw after that long, painful covid entertainment desert, but the first one was mediocre, and this one was so  much fun, and so thoroughly theatrical, that I consider it my real first time back. Thank you, Red Bull. Missed you a lot.

Wendy Caster