Review: Diivat
THE CLOCKWORK OF THE FARCE IS BUZZING ON
STADSTEATERN
The City Theatre’s obligatory autumn farce on the main stage is, as so often before, American, carefully acquired barely a year after its premiere in Houston, Texas.
Not that speed matters much for a piece that, apart from the costumes (1950s) and a few interchangeable place names, completely lacks references to time and place. This, in turn, belongs to the genre. A farce is what it is, just a clockwork, a music box, a tightrope walk between meticulous preparation and sudden improvisational art that places great demands on the footwork.
Ken Ludwig’s play and the City Theatre’s staging begin in full auditorium light with an embarrassing audience dressage monologue followed by a short, tentative stage.
But then director Neil Hardwick and set designer Hannu Lindholm take revenge with a big, glorious American night train that thunders into the darkness on the revolving stage, and there Esko Roine and Asko Sarkola sit in a compartment and are two mediocre actors who tour with a Shakespeare collage without making ends meet.
Roines Leo, the optimist, now gets an idea from a newspaper notice, and Sarkolas Jack, the pessimist, allows himself to be persuaded. And so the clockwork of the farce begins. They both pretend to be the wanted heirs of a seriously ill millionaire, and when they realize at the last moment that it is a question of two sisters, it is too late to back out. They are forced to present themselves in women’s clothes, of which they have a selection in their Shakespeare opera.
The further plot will not be revealed here. But since the gentlemen act alternately as themselves and as female relatives, and there are also six other characters who stare at them on a scale from devoted worship to deep suspicion, it is easy to realize that the combination possibilities of the farce are almost endless.
A comedy of confusion, as so often in the classical tradition, and men in women’s clothes, just like in Shakespeare’s time. Esko Roine and Asko Sarkola know this kind of thing, to put it mildly. With obvious authority, they form the center of the performance.
Still, there are a couple of “real” female role producers who above all contribute with what I find important in a farce game, namely warmth and heart. Satu Silvo portrays Meg, a beautiful luxury wife who unrealistically dreams of a theatrical career and throws herself into the arms of the professional actor Leo, with a violent and contagious acting mood. And Vappu Nalbantoglu sweeps on roller skates through the train corridor, a tall, happy girl whose fate after many misunderstandings is to be reconciled with Jack’s.
All ends well, all is well, said Shakespeare. And Ken Ludwig, who this time picked a remarkable number of crumbs under his rich table, nods and agrees.