‘Metromaniacs’ a rhyming good time
Production stuffed with anachronisms
Asked by a friend to describe “The Metromaniacs” — yet another of his sparkling adaptations of a classic French comedy — David Ives called it “a comedy with five plots, none of them important,” adding “that’s the beauty of the play.” Sometimes, we just want to watch beautiful people, dwelling in a fantasy world of poetic possibility rather than homespun prose.
Sumptuously dressed by costume designer Amelia Strahan, that’s the world we enter upon watching Windfall Theatre’s just-opened production of this airy confection, under Carol Zippel’s direction. Originally penned and staged by the long-forgotten Alexis Piron in 1738, it’s presented here in rhyming couplets, stuffed with cheeky anachronisms.
Piron’s title refers to a poetry craze — “metro,” here, comes from “metrum,” Latin for poetic verse — that’s consuming Paris, including the wealthy Francalou (Ben George).
A scribbling amateur tired of having his verse rejected by the literati as doggerel, Francalou has crafted an exquisite revenge: reinventing himself as a female poet from primitive Brittany. Or as one character exclaims, “Brittany? That’s nowheresville, it’s outer sticks/ The chicks there carry Brittany spears! They’re hicks!”
This never-seen Breton is all the rage in Paris, where she’s captured the heart of young Damis (Joe Picchetti), an aspiring poet who regularly disparages Francalou’s verse. Not that this keeps him from showing up at Francalou’s house for a party — pretending, natch to be someone else.
Everyone in this play pretends to be someone else. “We’re sated by what seems,” Damis exclaims. “We seek the best of all possible ... words” — capable, here, of creating alternative worlds.
Hence Francalou’s daughter (Hannah Klapperich-Mueller) changes places with her identically dressed maid (Susie Duecker). Fellow servant Mondor (Mohammad ElBsat) pretends he’s a swell who’s merely dressed as a servant. Rehearsing his role in an amateur theatrical, Damis’ uncle (Howard Goldstein) becomes a different person.
Trying to sort all this out, it’s no wonder that would-be suitor Dorante (Chris Goode) is just plain lost; you’re apt to be, too, as you watch. These characters are drunk on words; whether those words add up to anything is irrelevant. Intoxicated by the liberating knowledge that they can be anybody, this crew continually defers the need to become somebody.
That sense of endless play lowers the stakes; when nothing really matters, what’s left is an endlessly running gag of delicious couplets. “The Metromaniacs” doesn’t cut like Molière; it doesn’t even have the bite of other Ives’ adaptations like “The Liar” or “The Heir Apparent.”
But it’s still a lot of fun, and there are moments — most of them belonging to Picchetti, in the plum role — that are inspired. “We’d heal if life were theatre all the time,” Picchetti’s Damis insists. Who’s to say he’s wrong?
“The Metromaniacs” continues through March 4 at Village Church Arts, 130 E. Juneau St. For tickets, visit www.windfalltheatre.com.