In a most unusual (and wonderful) way comes a typical favorite 18th century plot of game-playing with mixed-up identities and social classes.
Pledged-to-wed Silvia and Dorante decide to pose as their own servants. Thus can they observe the true natures and
desirability of their fiances at a prenuptial meeting. Silvia's father Orgon learns by letter from Dorante's servant about the mutual deception. Orgon enlists son Mario to help it along. Servants Lisette and Harlequin, meanwhile, mirror their betters and fall in
love, conflicted, too, by assumed class differences.
Though there's scarcely doubt all the actors' machinations will end in comedy's traditional dance, Silvia hazards her control over her future married life by creating suspense right up to game's end.
Dorante, ultimately as if guided by the title of a kindred Marivaux play, "The Triumph of Love," must choose whether heart or mind will win.
As Silvia and Dorante have the most difficult roles to play, so do their rightly realistic interpreters. Not only does Alicia Dawn Bullen skirt being uptight or self-important, she's unflappable
because her Silvia knows her worth and how it could be endangered. From dignified Adam Carpenter, Dorante acquires authority that's yet empathetic. Without posturing or wringing of hands or such, he projects confliction between what he perceives as family and station vs. love and a beloved's true value. He's solid, never stiff.
As the low-comedy personal servants, bawdy Harlequin (rubbery Danny Jones) and vain Lisette (gorgeous Devereau Chumrau) engage in hi-jinks ranging from frisky to boisterous. Their high white curled wigs inset with cascading yellow falls, designed by Michelle Hart, along with exaggerated makeup help bespeak their pretense and pretensions.
Straddling the male character types, Dane Dandridge Clark as Mario has half an earnest look (when dealing with his father's wishes) but also the stance and smirks of a popinjay (enjoying and furthering the crazy courtships, for example, or sneaking a kiss from a maid).
As Orgon, Ron Kegan assumes and carries age and position well, with a sense of humor that's catching. Thanks to director Andrei Malaev-Babel, moreover, this FSU/Asolo Conservatory production melds a fine play and acting into an outstanding theatrical experience. First, he has chosen to present The Game of Love and Chance in a version that's stylistically accessible. But avoided are directions and some material by adaptor Wadsworth that would supposedly improve on (read "add to") Marivaux's humor and sensibilities for modern audiences. (This is a common fate of French theater classics in the hands of adaptors who supposedly "translate" works and "flavors" of other cultures for current, indigenous ones.) In Malaev-Babel's hands, Marivaux's work itself goes over just fine.
From the moment we hear the trois coups of a white-wigged figure on center stage in formal 18th century black and white garb, we feel the curtain will rise on that time. It happens as the same young man (unidentified in the program) goes to the house left, offstage box (trou du souffler) where he will act as prompter, or souffler, whenever an actor supposedly consults him for a cue or to find a way to and from the main stage.
Lo! The principals in modern dress hustle into period costumes, yet slit or open or styled from waists down in modern mode. And through Rick Cannon's design, that of the 18th century Italian theater in which we sit is extended to surround the stage. Thus we and the play are in two times and shared spaces enjoying characters and plot that are timeless, universal.
In four of the upstage boxes, first year Conservatory actors watch as servants and react silently to their masters' fancies and foibles. When called for, they move props, adjust scenic elements, and in general act as they might if really in Orgon's house. As we depart after the dance and curtain call, we feel we too are high-stepping. It is a feeling buoyed by our visit to an age and experience so well planned, presided over, presented.
