Anything to Declare

No wonder Veber and Hennequin's stage farces were so popular they were turned into early films, now considered classics of their time and place. In Greg Leaming's new adaptation, Anything to Declare takes place in Paris in 1912 rather than six years earlier. There's little reason for the change: This is a farce that thrives mostly on sex, and there was plenty to go around in Paris and on its boulevard stages from the fin de siecle onward. And go around it sure does in the hilarious performances by Asolo actors.

Richard B. Watson outdoes himself as the bridegroom Robert who was interupted at a crucial moment on his wedding-night trip at the French-Belgium border. An official burst into his compartment yelling the title question. Then and during the whole honeymoon, he's been unable to perform. Not that his new wife Paulette (Miriam Habib, dreamily romantic) has a clue, never having been "sex educated." Meanwhile, her sister (Norah Sweeney, smart in pursuing Lise's questions about what happens on a honeymoon) and loving fiance Gontran (handsome, sincere Brit Whittle) are under constant watch from the parents DuPont. Carolyn Michel, as the strident mother, isn't above reproving her husband -- played by a bothered Brad Wallace -- who's been more active secretly with a famous prostitute Zeze, as they speculate about the grandchildren Robert and Paulette will bring them. Then come the newlyweds and the bad news. The Duponts issue Robert an ultimatum. If he doesn't make out in three days, they'll annul the wedding and give Paulette to her former fiance, La Baule. He  (wonderfully demonstrative Ross Boeringer) is  a tearful mess, still visiting the house regularly, bringing flowers and complaining of his loss. Finding out about Robert's impotence and its cause, he sets about elaborate disguises and terrifically funny tactics to keep Robert down.

It is when family friend Philippe ( justly jovial James Clarke) suggests Robert visit Zeze to regain and confirm his power that the farcical entrances (Monsieur Dupont's being chief among them) to Zeze's studio, hidings in a closet and exits come quickly and in confusion.

A major sight gag, as well as one possible reason for updating, comes from Zeze (alluringly embodied by Leslie Dodge Crane, in many veiled splendor) pretending to be a painter. (She asks for money for art, not favors.) Her lover-partner Francois (Bryan Crossan) actually does the painting, which she deprecates as being inferior to works by established artists, like those she names her clients after. Of course, the canvases are Picasso cubist prints.

Those familiar with earlier printed translations of the play will be doubly amused by the border-guard disguise La Baule assumes, taken from an illustration. Designer Michele Macadaeg scores with various versions of a blue suit that the men force from or on one another, as well as with devilish red pajamas that Robert wears during his recovery.

Embellishments in the cast include Heather Gulling whose fright over mistaken identities of people in the DuPont house adds verve to her simple maid's role. Lisping David Breitbarth does a well-timed comic turn (similar to a Feydeau character he created seasons ago) as an Arabian camel trader looking for his wife so he can divorce her. As if from another play, Darlene Horne wisecracks and complains as Zeze's servant. Perhaps she's meant to suggest the black maid of Manet's Olympia -- only with an attitude. It doesn't work any better than the mispronunciation of "Velasquez" -- the name of an artist important to resolution of the plot. These and a few anachronisms (zippers, the mention of penicillin) are mere quibbles but do distract from a production that might otherwise have reached perfection.

Steven Rubin accomplishes that in his contrasting depictions of a silky parlor in the DuPont home and Zeze's messy atelier, with a focus on a chaise next to a door leading into a bed chamber. These sets declare how their owners behave -- when, that is, they're not on the other sides of the doors. In sum: amusant!