Frank Cossa's play, a dramatization of events that actually took
place in
16th-century France, raises questions that go to the core of identity.
Who
is an individual, really, and to what extent is that predestined?
Is it a
worse crime to create a full and meaningful life that goes against
the
mandates of society and religion, or to go through life without
questioning
such mandates? A man returns after a long absence to his village
and is
welcomed by his wife and neighbors. Then questions begin to arise
as to
whether he is, indeed, the man he claims to be. His relatives,
who stand to
gain if he is exposed as an imposter, denounce him and prompt
an inquiry and
two trials. His wife, who loves the man who returned as she never
did the
man who went away, cleaves to him. The play reveals, by the end,
who is who
and who knew it all along. But the question of what motivated
the players,
and whether they were wrong, is left to the audience to ponder.
The story lends itself beautifully to such thought-provoking questions,
and
Cossa's play does a fine job of presenting and exploring them
through vivid
and compelling characters, a nice balance of expository dialogue
and
dramatic action, and a masterful weaving of personal quandaries
and larger
political and theological issues, both specific to the era (one
of
controversial Protestant insurgence) and timeless.
Director Mark Bloom brought out fine performances all round. Thomas
McCann,
as the portentous yet thoughtful Ferrieres who alternately participated
in
(as the Crown's representative at court) and narrated the story,
had
wonderful stage presence and polish that lent gravitas to the
production.
Joseph Kamal, in the pivotal role of Jean de Coras, a leading
magistrate of
the day who tried the case with unusually deep involvement and
interest,
gave an appropriately intense, if not entirely passionate, performance.
Jeff Berry, as the putative Martin Guerre, combined strength
with
tenderness, and brazen duplicity with emotional honesty, to create
a
believably complex central character. Susan E. Matus shone
as Bertrande,
the wife of Martin Guerre, expressively (though with few words)
conveying
her struggle between passion and fear and her intuitive understanding
of
things supposedly beyond the scope of peasants' concerns. Dudley
Stone, as
the town's priest, was particularly good as a dogged, didactic,
unwittingly
ridiculous man of the cloth. H. Clark Kee as Pierre Guerre,
the denouncing
uncle; Lorree True as Jeanne de Guerre, Pierre's wife;
and Eric Hanson, as
the man claiming to be the real Martin Guerre, all gave solid
and highly
watchable performances, as did Peter J. Coriaty, Rachel
Lyerla, and
Christian Todd as the villagers.
The intermittent flashback scenes, in which the actors pantomimed
particularly violent or strange episodes, were occasionally confusing.
At
times it was unclear what was happening; at other times, it was
unclear why
something we already knew about was being reenacted. Regardless
of their
dramatic merit of these scenes, their music (by Arhoolie Productions,
Inc.)
and lighting were effective in conveying the moods and creating
the
transitions.
The costumes (designed by Billye Roberts) and set (designed
by director Mark
Bloom) were very effective, suggesting much with little.
At times, the
actors called attention to this minimalism, such as in the first
moments
when they came on stage out of character and self-consciously
played with
props and got into costume. Perhaps this was intended to make
the audience
think about why the performers were choosing to reenact this particular
story for us, rather than accept it unquestioningly. A good idea,
but, in
execution, too cloying. Fortunately, the performances that followed
were
strong enough to override this weak opening note.
Box Score:
Writing: 1
Directing: 1
Acting: 2
Set: 1
Costumes: 1
Lighting/Sound: 1
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Copyright 2000 Jillian Perlberger