Lend Me a Tenor

No doubt some evil genius is designing a stopwatch to gauge the effectiveness of farces on purely statistical terms: how many laughs per minute, what percentage of gags come off. Though applying such faceless data to any comedy that aspires to deep — or even facile — sentiment would surely prove inadequate, some farces, for all their doorslamming, dress-dropping clamor, have the delicate workings of Swiss timepieces, and almost beg to be meticulously metered. Ken Ludwig's Lend Me a Tenor may not be a top-of-the-line Rolex, but it deserves a more precise calibration than River Rep and director Jane Stanton give it.

Set in a 1930's, art deco hotel suite that looks remarkably like the one Tenor had on Broadway, the comedy opens with an archetypal set-up: a young couple who are meant for each other but can't meld permanently until the final curtain. This time it's pure but chafing Maggie Saunders (the efficient but unmemorable Jenn Thompson) who's reluctant to marry Max (Warren Kelley), the stammering, bow-tied, check-sweatered nobody, until he musters some degree of passion in their relationship. No, her mean old father (Evan Thompson) doesn't stand in the way of their union; he has his own problems. Opera superstar Tito Merelli (Joseph Culliton) is due to arrive for a sold-out Othello, and in true "My Favorite Year" fashion must be kept celibate and sober until after the performance - an impossible task entrusted to papa Saunders' errand-boy (and tenor wannabe), Max.

Before you can say Giuseppe Verdi, Merelli is down for the count and a replacement must be found for the evening's Othello. Of course, in blackface and regal costuming, Max doesn't look too unlike Tito...and a scheme is born. After that it's all mistaken identities, misdirected lust and generally harmless fun that reaches its peak in a simultaneous seduction scene that trucks in obvious but hilarious double-entendres. (Chris Teegardin, as an ambitious soprano sleeping her way to the middle, catches the right wide-eyed tone here, although elsewhere her Diana vamps to considerably less amusement.)

As exhibited by his inferior work in last year's Crazy For You, Ludwig can be lazy with his comedy, trusting moments of real cleverness and an admirable fidelity to the conventions and "rules" of farce (someone in the closet, bodies disappearing, simultaneous action) guide us over more labored gambits (e.g., the nasty bellhop (the equally nasty L. Michael Mundell) who exists only to kill time while the actor playing Max dons his Othello attire. Then again, when Ludwig gets rolling, he builds up an anticipatory steam crucial to farce, as in the late scene (passably handled in this production) when Max re-emerges as himself to the astonishment of all who've been waiting in a line for Tito outside the bathroom door.

After a frustratingly mild first act, River Rep does find something of a groove in the aforementioned third scene, which carries the production along pretty much through the finale. Still, the slapstick pantomime at curtain call, which recaps the action in sped-up motion, once again reminds us of the precision missing too often here. You can't run a Swiss watch a tick behind. And although director Stanton never loses control of this potentially chaotic piece, she also has trouble focusing audience attention. We don't realize Merelli has nipped a piece of plastic fruit until he's already spit it out. Only after Maggie screams do we guess that she's just looked in the mirror, noticed the black make-up on her face and needs to hide it from her approaching father. (And on the same topic, why isn't Maggie's face all smudged after her torrid liaison with the Moorish Max?)

Warren Kelley has many appealing moments as Max, but he needs an editor. He can be casually funny muttering asides and admirably playful as the pseudo-Tito, then overdo the physical stuff (his singing tune-ups). It may be too much to ask for an agile comedian and a legit singer (Victor Garber managed the trick in New York) so we'll suspend our disbelief if Mr. Kelley sometimes no singa so good; however, his first-act duet with Tito, which should be both a comedic respite and an uplifting moment of real music, is, horrifyingly, a pitch-pipe nightmare of incompatible singers - especially since Mr. Culliton, whose credits include NY City Opera's South Pacific, sounds more like a baritone. Lend me two tenors.

Otherwise, Culliton probably has the best handle on conveying his character's exaggerations without mugging of anyone on the Ivoryton stage. Only when he's forced into vulgar schtick (admiring a behind, grabbing a bosom) does he lose the inspired goofiness that makes Tito (and his Tito) more than a stock egotist.

If costume designer Jennie Cleaver dresses both Culliton and Kelley in grays that nearly match the slate-colored set, she does far worse with the ladies, all of whom come unflatteringly clad, first in black with white flecks and then, in Maggie's case, a gray gown with enough sparkles to cause dizziness, if not retinal damage. When Saunders' battle-ax wife, Julia, arrives, and he likens her (in the show's funniest line) to the Chrysler building, the joke is lost because all the actresses look like the Chrysler building - or at least Chryslers.

Ms. Cleaver fares better with Diana's black slip, which with its slit up one leg, is appreciably sexier than the one worn by virginal Maggie. Credit Cleaver and Stanton, too, with their choice regarding Othello. Depending on whom you believe, protests may have led to the cancellation of a San Francisco production of Tenor on the grounds that its portrayal of actors in blackface is racially offensive. Unlike the Broadway production, which popped an afro and brown shoe polish on Ron Holgate, turning him into a Kingfish-clone, River Rep lightens Tito's skin tone and gives him gloves and a rather attractive costume. This time, it's easier to understand why Maggie/Julia could fall for the fully garbed Tito/Max.

Falling for this Tenor is considerably more difficult, as it always seems to be lagging behind slightly or rushing to catch up, weakening too many jokes along the way. For all its moments of fun (and there are quite a few), River Rep's mounting spends too much time marking time. After all, only when the seconds are exact can the cuckoo come out.