Tartuffe

MOLIERE'S comedy La Tartuffe is unchallengeably a classic, and that is what the French Company, Le Treteau de Paris has given us. There is nothing fandangled about their interpretation of the 17th century comedy; it's a very faithful production, based on the conviction that Moliere is still funny.

They are right. Director Jean de Rigault carves his laughs out of the rich lines of iambic pentameter, relying very heavily on the full tone range of his actor's voices, their bodies--especially arm gesturing--and the expanse of the stage. A fine example comes in one of the very first scenes when Orgon, the master of the house, returns from a business trip and asks the maid, Dorine, what has happened during his absence. She answers that his wife has been sick, indeed had to be bled. But Orgon is interested only in hearing about Tartuffe, the religious man he has gathered into his home. There is a wonderful, almost song-like exchange between the two as Dorine tells of her mistress' suffering, and Orgon answers over and over with the refrain "What about Tartuffe?" And as Dorine describes his glutonous feasting, Orgon answers with "Poor fellow!"

And then there is some very fine slap-stick. The credit here belongs wholly to de Rigault as Moliere has left vitually no stage directions. The greatest moment comes at the climax of the play when Orgon discovers that the trusted, devout Tartuffe is a hypocritical lecher thirsting after his wife. As Tartuffe lunges forward to embrace her, the virtuous lady steps quickly aside and Tartuffe lands in her husband's no longer quite so fond embrace.

But some of the play's funniest and most important moments come as Moliere is pointing out what stupid situations people get themselves into when blinded by pride.

Orgon's daughter Marianne and her fiancee Valere, the play's romantic young couple, almost lose each other in a bull-headed argument. Finally it is the common-sensical maid, Dorine, who brings them back together.

The characters divide neatly into two groups: the hot-heads, and the intelligent, sensible protagonists who see the other actors and the situations in their true light. On one side are Orgon, his brash young son, and his daughter. On the other, Tartuffe, Orgon's wife Elmire, her brother Cleant, and of course Dorine. It is the forthright servant Dorine who insists on badgering her masters with the truth. And in the final act even Orgon is brought to see the light. (As if to emphasize how important he considers this, Rigault begins the fifth act by having the actors carry in lighted candles. This is also the first time in the play that the actors all appear on the stage at the same time, each revealed for what he is).

The actors rush into the play at a disturbingly frenetic rate. But they manage to slow down, with the lead of the earthy, almost scandalously irreverent Dorine (Marcelle Ranson). Miss Ranson along with the easily swayed, emotionally extravagant and insecure Orgon (Gaston Vacchia) and the very slimy Tartuffe (Yves Gasc) give their roles a credibility and life the others lack. But it is true that Moliere has left somewhat flatter other characters: the attractive Elmire (Janine Souchon), the ingenue Marianne (Francine Walter), her brother Damis (Luc Ponette), her fiancee Valere (Pierre Cpustere), and Elmire's brother, Cleante (Michael Favory).

The setting, the lighting, the costumes are in excellent good taste, as is the production in general.

Moliere's play conforms strictly to the dramatic conventions of his time. The action takes place at one point in time, in the same place, in five acts. The protagonists speak in rhymed iambic pentameter throughout. Within these limitations Moliere, assisted by Le Treteau de Paris, has managed to create at the Loeb a comedy, which is at the same time so disturbing that, as Stendahl put it, we dare not always laugh.