Intended as a post-modern fairy tale, a magically-real fable about the impact of fate on love and sex, Beatrice tries awfully hard to dance on elfin feet. But thanks to weak, silly dialogue, over-the-top acting and directing, the play keeps taking elephantine pratfalls instead. Circle X, the company responsible for the production, reveals a possibly fatal weakness for arch, twee material (such previous productions as The Rover and In the Sherman Family Wax Museum suffered from the same ailment). Set in a lush garden populated by twittering birds and La Figura (Jole Hjerfeid), a mute, mythical female who plucks flowers mindlessly, the play deals with Beatrice (Wendy Abas), a nubile young maiden in love with Samuel (Karl Bury), a hot-blooded and Italian (natch) gardener. Her maid (the very butch Jayne Taini) won't let them marry because she has betrothed Beatrice to a rich fop (Charlie Dell), who of course speaks with an English accent.
The triangle is worked out with much shouting, groping and thumping. It's commedia del arte -- without the comedy. Or the art. I'd rather eat ground glass than sit through this one again.
