Review: TARTUFFE

Kicking off the CUB Malthouse Theatre's 2008 program is Louise Fox's contemporary adaptation of Tartuffe, Moliére's savage satire of faith, power and hypocrisy that scandalised Parisian society when first performed in 1664. Set in the home of the wealthy Orgon and his second wife, Elmire, the play sees the household fighting and falling apart due to the presence of Tartuffe, a seemingly spiritual figure whose devious machinations trick Orgon into banishing his son, Damis; breaking off his daughter Mariane's engagement to young Valère; and handing over control of his assets to the charismatic villain.

Wednesday night's performance of Tartuffe left me cold, indeed bored; at least initially - so much so that I seriously contemplated leaving, as my housemate did, at interval. After interval, however, the production's disparate elements suddenly clicked together, leaving me delighted.

Read on, and I shall explain.

Upon entering the theatre, the first thing one sees is Anna Tregloan's superb set, which instantly evokes the Palace of Versailles, with its lawns and balconies and reflective pools. Versailles was both a palace and a secret setting for Louis XIV's amorous trysts - an important reference to keep in mind given the direction Tartuffe's relationship with Elmire (Alison Whyte) the lady of the house, takes as the play unfolds. Simultaneously, the set reminds us of the wrought-iron lacework of Victorian Melbourne's grand terrace houses, in their day the palaces of the rich and powerful - at least until the depression years of the late 19th century.

This production of Tartuffe however is set firmly in the modern day - which too many ham-fisted references to Facebook, etc, painfully reminded us.

As if it were a Bell Shakespeare production, Fox's Tartuffe hammers its contemporary references home with all the subtlety of a Ray Martin interview. Whether it's a ham-fisted rap sequence performed in exagerated wog-lish by Exekial Ox as a Muslim Valère; or dated references to a 'non-core promise' by Orgon (Barry Otto), Fox's adaptation took every chance to remind us that it was too, too modern. In doing so, it felt trite, strident and simplistic.

This painfully earnest aspect of the production wasn't helped by some of the performances. Speaking with an extravagantly exaggerated accent, Rebecca Massey as the servant girl Dorine delivered her lines so rapidly they were sometimes difficult to decypher; while Laura Brent as Orgon's daughter, Mariane, lacked projection.

On the positive side, Tregloan's costumes instantly gave us a sense of who these characters are. In their tight, white, minimal garb, aided by their fashionistic introduction, we instantly saw that these people were as shallow as the catwalk styles they aped; inhabitants of a transient world in which today's high ideals are tomorrow's pop culture detrius.

Adding to this impression were the array of trapdoors around the set: a physical reminder of the shallow, gossip-riddled world our rich and idle characters inhabit.

Of the central performances, Barry Otto's Orgon was both audible and almost three dimensional, no mean feat given the exaggerations inherrent in Fox's script; while Marcus Graham's corrupt Tartuffe was well-cast physically - giving evil a handsome face - though unconvincing both emotionally and spiritually. At no time could I believe his character's Rasputin-like qualities, for good or ill. He was pretty; and toned; but he displayed no depth - none of the apparent spirituality that in the play wrongly convinces Orgon of Tartuffe's higher calling; while his villainy seemed cartoonish.

Like Bratt Pitt in Thelma and Louise, Graham appeared to have been cast because of the way he looks - including his ability to attract middle-aged heterosexual women to the production, judging from a discussion I eavesdropped on at interval: not because of his dramatic abilities.

Yet somehow, despite all these flaws, post-interval I found myself enjoying Tartuffe immensely. I finally started laughing, instead of wincing.

Perhaps the first night nerves had settled, because performances seemed sharper; more intuitive and less contrived (although I am still suspicious of any production that demands Tartuffe reveal his true villainy by reverting to an Ocker accent, while the exaggerated wog-lish of Valère is played so obviously and patronisingly for laughs); while Matthew Lutton's direction seemed more confident, and more in keeping with the play's farcical nature.

Further enriching the production is the ambiguous presentation of Tartuffe, whose actions when we first meet him recall Peter Sellers' final film, Being There; an impression enriched by the play's final moments; while the deus ex machina ending is both hilarious and fittingly enigmatic. Has Tartuffe truly been punished, or is he inflicting a Job-like test upon Orgon and his clan?

Ultimately, however, this Tartuffe struck me as a stablemate of the Malthouse's Sleeping Beauty of last year: potentially great, but ultimately unfulfiling; let down by its performances and its direction; a blunt object which could have been sharp and deadly. Perhaps with time it will improve. For its cast's sake, I certainly hope so.

Tartuffe
At the Malthouse Theatre until March 8.