The first mistake was adapting Dumas Fils' novel rather than the play he himself made from it. Why tinker with success? (It's said that Isabelle Adjani, for her return from a long cinematic career to the stage, ordered and set the tone for this adaptation of "Camille." But who would know for sure, as she declined to speak to the press before the production debuted.) No matter who determined the playing with time and point of view, it's often confusing. (I never quite figured out who one of the men was supposed to be, and the silly conception of Armand's fiance also perplexed me at first.)
This version begins as a sort of play within a play, with boxes on each side of the stage, columns, plush curtains, violin cellists in the upper boxes. A pair of white gloves and a bouquet of camelias sit on the rim before a red velveted chair where Camille first appears in a flashback to the first time she saw and was seen by Armand, her young lover-to-be. Soon she's going between box and stage - play within a theater. The major playing area consists mainly of bare boards with a few tiers of steps that run the full width - often separated by scrims backlit, spotlighted, or with projections - on which the "witnesses" to, and players in, the drama of Marguerite Gautier walk or dance back and forth. They do this almost endlessly, except for a few parlor and, of course, important four postered bedroom scenes. (Actually, love scenes often take place on the steps, with Adjani draping herself over her lover or both lying flat on the apron.)
Most of the costumes are modern-dress gowns (Aurore Clements' slick iridescent silk with huge hip-bow makes her a more stunning looking courtesan than the heroine, who's confined mostly to a V-necked purplish velvet gown that's styleless as her middle-parted long black hair.) Adjani does wear a period-like black chiffon affair with veil when she's on courtesan duty, but her gown to die in (not for) is as Victorian and white as her sheets. (The match may have been intentional, as in her final sickness, she carries one around with her like a shroud. It's almost comical, as it seems to follow her from a coughing jag down center stage in fits up to the final heavings back in her bed.)
Handsome Yannis Baraban makes a hotly passionate lover, though that doesn't excuse his rape-like treatment of Marguerite after she has rejected him at his father's request (a poignant scene). Generally, the socialites carouse and carp so much, one is never sure of their seriousness or the worth of their opinions. Anne Suarez' Olympe, the "good girl" for Armand, acts like a lush. Marguerite's last former lover is pernicious. What a set-up to make one favor "the lady of the camelias."
Finally, it doesn't work. In the flashback at the end is a vision of Adjani's pitiful Marguerite resurrected in her nightie one more time before the curtain goes down on her and sidelined Armand. Like the show, he's down and desolate, indeed.
