From the pit up pops a spiked-curled, tux and black-tied, shaking conductor who bounces to recorded music, as up spring formally attired "violinists" to surround him. It's a zany start to one of the funniest plays ever, witnessed throughout and catered to by two zany-like servants. When the pit is vacated, the stage fills with a curtain (one of many to come) suggesting the Parthenon on mountains, being put there by a painter on a scaffold on wheels.
The curtain parts and out comes Monsieur Jourdain, embossed in brocade, followed by a gilded piano. Soon it's being played, a silly song "with a lamb in it" is sung, the dance master is on his back doing a biking exercise, and the music master is keeping time with an umbrella. To cap off this supremely silly "ballet," Jourdain swishes into a center spot to Hitchcock's theme song and almost gets carried away as singers and musicians, having fled to the pit, exaggeratingly mime him and the "masters." Yet, in his quest to be a great gentleman, Jourdain will endure more lessons: from the dance master on how to bow to a marquise (that he's dying to meet and will, of course, flub up on); from the fencing master (whose lesson will leave him vulnerable when he tries to best his servant Nicole); and from the philosopher (who's hampered by a bloody nose).
Though one might think Jourdain couldn't look sillier, a master tailor comes to do him up like a Turk (sort of), all the rage. Rage is what Madame Jourdain registers when she sees him (and as she sees through him and those who take advantage). Martine Chevallier, solid and naturally good looking, makes a wonderful contrast to the others.
Director Jean-Louis Benoit, no stranger to the role of Monsieur Jourdain, makes sure Michel Robin remains sympathetic despite the character's excesses. Perhaps it's because he always seems so bewildered. In addition to a variety of music from different composers and periods led by the "mad" conductor, who appears like a caricature of Berlioz, there's modern joking with the very curly redhead marquise, Dormene, all in white with jewels in every clothing fold, ready to marry to stop her suitor's extravagance. As Jourdain's daughter Lucile, Emilie Lafarge really seems to love Jerome Pouly's Cleonte, though he's rather grim. Jourdain's three "teachers" do justice to their funny roles, though the music master seems more agile than the dancing master. Laurent Montel, however, is just right -- strong and menacing as the fencing master. As for spectacle and silliness, it would be hard to beat Jourdain's initiation as a Turk, complete with whirlers and the translation of pseudo-Turkish. But what would one expect from a man who's just learned he's been speaking prose all his life?
Nice to see the Comedie-Francaise in such good form, respecting Moliere's work. Exceptional, these days, to see such a large cast and extravagant production -- certainly the equivalent of a musical. And with such a terrific book!
