Torrid lighting! A thin gushing of water from the mouth of a lion's head fountain. A soprano's thick operatic intro, soon to be matched by the ravings of Domenico Soriano, master of the Neopolitan house. Or is he?
Imagine being deceived into marriage by Filumena (seemingly serene Kate Alexander), now miraculously risen from her "death bed," smirking in an atrium chair. Domenico's mistress of 25 years -- or "prostituto," as Martin LaPlatney's Domenico rolls off his tongue -- rises again, imitates his circular gesture, claims it's all hers. Illiterate but intelligent, she feels she's earned it dealing with the workers there and in his businesses while he traveled the world, sporting and whoring. For sure, she's not about to be displaced by that young "cow" Diana (Kelly Mares), a pompadoured tootsie in technicolor makeup.
This triangular struggle, essence of the 1946 melodrama-cum-commedia, gets embellished by Filumena revealing she's had three sons to whom she wishes to reveal herself and give the Soriano name. One is absolutely Domenico's. Because she wants them all to be treated equally, she's determined Domenico not learn which is definitely his. So will his annulment of their "marriage" last? Or will she be blessed by the Madonna of the Roses for not aborting or abandoning her children? That is, will Domenico love and marry her and adopt the sons?
Plot twists and mood shifts unite a string of set pieces, mostly humorous, like the introduction of the sons: a womanizing tailor in pinstripes (slick Jeffrey Victor), a plumber and family man (hearty Chris Page), a degreed accountant who free-lance writes (well-spoken, bespectacled Brian Graves). Wily servants (of whom, in a way, Filumena was chief) flourish. As shiny-eyed Domenico brags about his escapades, Alfredo (David Rogers, expressively looking like author deFilippo) visibly relives every racing or racy episode. Petite Megan Ross elevates her status as household scrubwoman Lucia, not only by her attractive looks but with authority, especially in handling the tailor-son's advances. Obviously wigged, gray-braided Spring Condoyan is adequate as long-winded Rosalia, saved from starvation by Filumena, and ever afterward her faithful, complicit servant. Joel Bernstein makes a stock comic lawyer hilarious (with his long bookish citations and weird pronunciations) and yet so human. Kelly Mares hits all flirtatious Diana's false notes truly. It is a tribute to Kate Alexander (most notably in her climactic expression of love but warning to Domenico) and Martin LaPlatney that they remain so central and powerful (what passion!) amidst so many scene-stealers. Director Terence Lamude deserves credit for making sure they're gesturally and emotionally Neapolitan.
Still, only Filumena seems to have spent much time under that Southern Italian sun. That almost makes up for her straggles of permanented hair (even long after her "recovery") and unflattering dresses. Symbolically important roses on her similarly colored wedding dress don't stand out. Well-suited down to his spectators, LaPlatney looks gorgeous.
The set is workable if enigmatic. At the start, an important table juts out halfway from what may be a dining room so that it is obviously part of stage scenery and not a real home. A program defines the space as Domenico's house, though most of it seems to be an atrium or court that people enter from an interior. Weird that no one seems to live inside a house that is so central a matter of dispute. The open space is, of course, a boon to both the physical movement of the actors and the "opening up" of the Italians they're playing.
