Another triumph for the sole traditional Italian theater in France, and, because roles are so evenly distributed, a triumph for each actor of the spunky troupe! If anything should act as a cure for the post-September 11 gloom that enveloped Paris theater, let it be Carlo Goldoni's satire ridiculing the corrupting rich, greedy middle class and corrupted servants in mercantile Venice. So period funny, yet so timeless.
A framed title fills the curtain. It opens on actors "interrupted," so they must rearrange themselves to be introduced, as commedia so often was, by Pantalon. Fitting a tale of two "houses," scenes then shift from that of Countess Rosaura by switching framed portraits to that of scheming Marquise Beatrice. Just as she beats up on her valet Arlequin, the Count, smitten with her and her wealth, picks a fight with his wife. Though he smashes a painting she's worked on and gets violent with her father Pantalone, Rosaura commits to patience. (Helene Lestrade captivates as she shares her dilemma with graceful assurance.) Mirroring the heroine is Coralline, wife of valet Brighella, who chides him for carrying the Count's message to Beatrice. So the always-flustered valet reads it to us (one of Goldoni's neat devices).
Count Ottavio is thickening his plot to return his wife to her father's house and align his own, along with himself romantically, to Beatrice. If she were not so hotheaded in concern for her own beauty, wealth and power, along with beating up on the hapless Brighella and browbeating her own valet Arlequin, Beatrice might well stand a chance of getting her way. Two crises must be surmounted. First, Pantalon is actually drawn into negotiating with Ottavio over agreeing to marital separation. Finally, he conspires to poison his wife. (When life handed him lemons, he made lethal lemonade.) Between the sly, sexy, and sinister nobles' plots come hilarious lazzi involving the servants. Especially memorable: Arlequin like a cock flirting with Coralline like a chicken, followed by a "cock"-duel with Brighella. (How well their personifiers have mastered their "types"!) And, of course, they have to do their masters' dirty work as well as clean it up.
True nobility wins out when the Count at last bows to "fate" and begs Rosaura's pardon while she, in turn, saves Beatrice from drinking in death. Still, can we blame the other characters for booing the Marquise's reconciliation speech? Hardly, but we can praise the troupe's relative newcomer, Carole Monceau, for thoroughly incarnating ill temper and temptation. Her beauty helps even up her match with Lestrade, fragilely lovely even in an eagle-like mask.
Jean-Paul Lahore accomplishes the difficult task of making us want Rosaura to win back her husband despite his dark temperament and violence. As usual, his diction is superb. He can be understood no matter how limited your French and admired no matter how proficient it is. You wonder how Isabelle Pradeau twists her torso so easily and enjoy the agility of Nicolas Tarrin and David Clair. Surely Michel Denis is the consummate Pantalon.
Goldoni got pretty serious when he wrote this comedy, but in director Maggiulli's hands, it's also seriously funny and stands out among Paris theatre offerings this season.
