We who regard musical comedy as the Godliest art take special satisfaction in Great Lakes Theater Festival artistic director Charles Fee’s simple but elegant rendering of William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. The reason for this giddy satisfaction is to see Fee — with one foot in Idaho — follow the template of Meredith Willson’s beloved Iowa scoundrel, The Music Man’s Harold Hill. Like Hill, Fee has ended up trading in his overwrought, houndstooth chicanery for a newborn tender sincerity.
As a matter of fact, we wish to appropriate 46 of Hill’s 76
trombones to proclaim the company’s lucid depiction of one of the
English language’s merriest gambols. Again it seems that those
benevolent theater spirits at the Hanna are exerting their tasteful
influence over the quality of performance there.
The cynics inform me, however, it is due to the intimacy and
wonderful acoustics. Because the theater allows them to speak their
lines more naturally than a less lively space would, the actors can
create more psychological nuances. The intimacy allows us to witness
the particulars, as a duke finds himself strangely attracted to his man
(really a woman), or a brother and sister are reunited. We are
finally able to appreciate every word of the “food of love” speech. We
further celebrate GLTF’s blissful banishment of past infernal gimmicks
and distractions — not a VW or a seemingly amphetamine-induced
rant in sight.
When we first encounter Gage Williams’ byzantine, aesthetically
pleasing set, we suspect there is something fragrant in the state of
Ohio. We get the impression that a Mozart opera is about to be sung
here.
The introduction of Sara M. Bruner’s nearly drowned Viola thrusts
the evening into a swirling sarabande. Even in tatters she manages to
exude thoroughbred effulgence. Put her in a pageboy disguise, and she
is suddenly the sauciest Pan since Mary Martin retired her tights.
Bruner is indeed the evening’s fulcrum, but every cast member adds
his or her own share of joviality to the proceedings. We welcome back
Cleveland’s own leading man, Andrew May, skillfully reformulated as a
padded Falstaffian clown, Sir Toby Belch. In the challenging role of
Malvolio, David Anthony Smith balances on the tightrope between buffoon
and villain. He turns outrage into soaring comic arias while keeping
his character sympathetic and human.
In a splendid ensemble, there are a few especially joyous notes:
Jonas Cohen’s Duke of Illyria, Orsino, for his princely ardor and
conflicted passion; Eduardo Placer for his cunning, fey jestering and
lovely voice; Jodi Dominick’s Olivia, for balancing screwball comedy
with aristocratic hauteur; and Ian Gould for making Sir Andrew
Aguecheek a splendid painted maypole and foil for Sir Toby.
Although Charles Fee may not have been born great, with the
triumphant overhaul of the Hanna — and particularly this stellar
season — he has most definitely had greatness thrust upon
him.
This article appears in Oct 14-20, 2009.