THEATER
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troupe's point of departure. In 1960, it began concentrating on six–
teenth century commedia dell'arte, drawn to its "popular, free, engaging,
and adaptable" style. Since then, in a repertory that has included
Moliere, Machiavelli, Bruno, Brecht and de Ghelderode, the troupe has
proven just how free and adaptable an antique form can be.
For its New York engagement, the Troupe presented an adaptation
of Goldoni's
L'Amant Militaire.
It was stunning - for me the single
most exciting evening of the year. Nor was I disappointed when I went
back for a second visit to test my reactions. Like so much else that was
best this year on the off-Broadway scene - Lanford Wilson's
Untitled
Play,
Al Carmines'
In Circles,
the Bread and Puppet Theater, Michel
A. Schulz's production of
The Lusitanian Bogey-L'Amant
was in–
fused with a joyous disregard of conventional categories and boundaries
(the same attitude, incidentally, which can be seen in the new genera–
tion's eclectic choice in clothing, and the New Left's in ideology). Peter
Cohon of the S. F. Troupe plays Pantalone, the Mayor of Spinachola,
in a broad Brooklyn-Jewish accent. Others interject Southern white or
Negro dialect into their sixteenth-century roles with sudden and deliber–
ate irregularity. And
twentieth-cent~ry
allusions are sprinkled at random
throughout the script ("I have come to water the flower children";
"As Julius Caesar said to Thorn McAn: 'I March' "). Styles, accents,
costumes and references hilariously intermingle, turning anachronism into
art.
The artificial structure of the commedia form serves as an effec–
tive foil for the earthiness of the performance. Stylization of movement
and gesture collide with, and by contrast heighten, the explicit obscenities
of the script ("that's not my daughter, that's a trampoline"). Occasional–
ly, they are too explicit, teetering on sophomorism (like the lyric "if at
home, you beat your meat" to the tune of Irving Berlin's "This is the
Army, Mr. Jones" ) . But because the pacing is swift, with nothing be–
labored, these lapses are quickly obliterated. They become, in memory,
insignificant excesses in an evening of pungent iconoclasm, overwhelm–
ing fun.
The actors themselves seem to enjoy the affair as much as the
audience - and this is the key to their success. For what they com–
municate, in essence, are their own attractive personalities. Within the
formal structure of
L'Amant Militaire
they are, finally, playing
themselves, or rather, not playing at all, but being themselves. And those
selves come across as so wonderfully open, humane and authentic, that
despite the evening's furious indictments of the United States, I came
away full of hope for the country - it has, after all, produced this
marvelous new generation.
Martin Duberman
