Although Pierre Corneille (1606-1684) is credited with writing the first important French tragedy (The Cid), the poet-playwright was destined to be replaced as the premiere French dramatist by Racine and virtually eclipsed a few years later by Moliere. It is a shame we don't see more of his work being produced, but comfort may be taken in that at least one of Corneille's plays, out of a considerable canon of comedies and tragedies, has been deemed worthy of resurrection. In 1990, Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Tony Kushner (Angels in America 1993), breathed new life into one of Corneille's late comedies, The Illusion ("L'Illusion Comique"). His adaptation has popped up at regional theaters for the past 12 years. The result is a gift as welcome for its inherent pleasures as it is an example of one writer's respect for another.
In this incarnation, The Illusion contains quite a bit of new language as it does Kushner's own philosophical and sociological musings on the various ways people love and lament. It also contains (in Kushner, we trust) the sum and substance of Corneille's intention. Praise to the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival for presenting this enjoyable and unexpectedly bright and magical comedy. The magic in the play is quite literal, approached with a sly and humorous touch by director Paul Mullins. Mullins, who has numerous credits as both an actor and a director for the Festival, stages with panache but also with an eye for what will keep audiences intrigued and unwittingly committed to the darkening and diverging components of the play. If one may assume that Kushner's intent was to free the original from the formalities of its neo-classical prose and pretensions, he has succeeded. We may also laud Mullins' staging, as it cleanly skewers the play's irrevocable French spirit. The 17th century fairytale like fable must have been a puzzler and a dazzler in its time, but it more than expends its own mystique in this major re-shaping and re-telling.
A magician's powers are sought by a father to answer questions about his long estranged son. Pridamant (John FitzGibbon), an autocratic, stiff-necked and wealthy lawyer of Avignon facing old age is tormented by the sad reality that he banished his only son and heir from his home fifteen years ago for a minor offense. Pridamant desperately wants to reunite with his wild and incorrigible son (Robert Petkoff), who has not been heard of since. Pridamant goes to the cave of Alcandre (Edmund Genest), a magician, to seek out his help. Alcandre's methods lead Pridamant down what seems to him like blind alleys. But these are instead a trio of strange eye-opening illusions and romantic triangles, including some exciting sword fights, in which two brave adversaries, played with brio and buffoonery Lorenzo Pisoni and Paul Niebanck, vie for the love of three young maidens (all played delectably by the luminous Margot White).
Bright-eyed Amanda Ronconi is excellent as the handmaiden/confidant who offers some perceptive and by-no-means selfless observations. If Pridamant isn't necessarily happy with the means by which his questions are answered or with the answers themselves, the result is both touching and funny and affords him a chance to see that there are other worlds as real as his own.
It is for us to see how much more there is to love and discover in the world when we forgo what has been fixed and made rigid by society. As the magician, Genest, another familiar Festival player, gives a beguiling performance filled with wry and sly nuance. Variously known as Calisto, Clindor and Theogenes, Petkoff is making an impressive Festival debut as the estranged son. The stolid FitzGibbon earns our sympathy if not our empathy as Pridamant as he learns of his son's amusingly revealed fate. Paul Niebanck gets the laughs he works hard for as the cowardly and dim-witted rival Matamore.
Moving heavenly bodies loom over the dark and wondrous world conjured up by set designer Michael Schweikardt. Except for Alcandre's deaf and dumb servant (Craig Wallace), voices echo eerily, thanks to sound designer Jason A. Tratta. The atmospheric lighting design by Michael Gianitti and the audacious 17th century haute couture by costumer Jacqueline Firkins, are splendid enhancements.
