G.B. Shaw's beloved comedy is so engagingly light-hearted that it no longer plunges us into any serious thought. That's partly because its satire against war, "heroism," and social pretense was never especially unconventional anyway. To try to make a philosophical tract of this almost-farce would be deadly, and misguided. Arms and the Man deserved to be made into a musical called "The Chocolate Soldier." And it was. (I saw a Chocolate Soldier with banal choreography by George Balanchine.)
But some of the people I talked to at the Shaw Festival -- including cast members -- professed that this generally delightful revival would raise purists' ire with its considerable slapstick. Let's forget about Shaw's revolutionist's intentions: the slapstick is clearly inherent in his script.
The plot is almost silly: a naively romantic Bulgarian girl's bedroom is invaded by a Swiss mercenary fleeing from capture; she hides him and gives the starving soldier her last chocolate creams. Months later, he shows up again, supposedly to return a borrowed coat and thank the girl and her social-climbing mother (proud of having the only home with a library in Bulgaria), and he turns out to be recently acquainted with the girl's father and pompous fiance, both majors in the Bulgarian army and obviously helpless incompetents. Farcelike secret involvements all around lead to a happy conclusion with the "chocolate cream soldier" revealed to be heir to a hotel empire.
Director Jackie Maxwell's lively production downplays some of the obvious farcical elements (one hardly notices that the much-discussed, unprecedented "library" turns out to have only a half-dozen books) but emphasizes personal slapstick. As Nora McLellan, playing the ballsy mother, and Mike Shara, playing the posturing Bulgarian handsome hero, continue to develop in their roles, I'm sure much physical comedy would emerge anyway. White-haired but boyish, Patrick Galligan looks odd as the Swiss Captain but plays him with dry wit. Peter Hutt plays the usually pot-bellied and boorish paterfamilias, Major Petkoff, as a trim, quizzically comic, older man, quite aware of his shortcomings and bewildered by his dominant wife. I like his approach and think the generally quirky rethinking of some of the characters not only effective but nicely meshed.
The one jarring performance is Diana Donnelly, playing Raina, the lead ingenue; it's a star turn without any star quality. Catherine McGregor's sexy maid Louka is exactly the too-smart soubrette she should be. And Peter Millard's deferent servant -- nominally Louka's fiance, but smart enough to prefer to be her trusted accomplice if she can marry upward -- is a slyly understated scene-stealer.
Sue LePage's tricky stylized sets are more amusing than opulent, but William Schmuck's costumes are both.
