Liz Lauren
Phoebe González in a hot pink 17th century gown.
Phoebe González plays Clarice in 'The Liar.'
American Players Theatre is reveling in silliness this season, first with its fresh, light take on the slightest of Shakespeare's comedies — The Merry Wives of Windsor — and now with The Liar, a newly updated version of a 400-year-old French comedy that looks like a technicolor candy store, sounds like a Dr. Seuss book, and plays like a raucous delight. The relatively small cast of The Liar is packed with the next generation of APT all-stars, who are on point and on fire, racing from one fantastic misunderstanding to the next at breakneck speed. Directed with panache by Keira Fromm, the production runs through Sept. 29 at the Hill Theatre.
The backstory of the story
Contemporary American playwright, screenwriter and novelist David Ives was commissioned to write a “translaptation” of Pierre Corneille’s comedy The Liar to make it clearer to modern audiences, not to mention funnier, with a more durable plot and fuller characters. The result is a thoroughly silly 17th century French farce (borrowed from a Spanish source) updated with 21st century language in a classical format — rhyming pentameter. Ives created a show that’s more than simply accessible; it’s designed for today’s audiences, complete with a host of anachronisms and lots of clever contemporary wordplay. It’s the best version of a sitcom — stuffed with mistaken identities and ridiculous circumstances.
The superlative result
This production of The Liar wears its heart, its double entendres, its jealousy, rage, passion, devious schemes and convoluted matchmaking broadly on its sumptuous, gaudy sleeves. As the titular storyteller Dorante, Daniel José Molina is simply inspired. With a malleable face and galloping tongue, he infuses the perpetual perjurer with a vivid, unbridled imagination, an earnest guise and a blameless philosophy — that those who embroider the truth are simply trying to make the world a more interesting place. A master fabulist, he dispatches facts quickly and easily without a thought of the repercussions. Dorante and his flights of fancy are finally grounded when he faces the truth of his affection for an enchanting woman named Lucrece.
Dorante’s perfect foil is his newly hired valet Cliton, who cannot utter a lie, for better and worse. Josh Krause revels in the part, expressing the audience’s confusion and amazement as his master constructs one epic falsehood after another. As the two men get to know each other they marvel at the other’s nature, but when the servant tries lying to woo an amorous maid he immediately realizes that honesty is the best policy for him.
At the same time, Dorante’s childhood friend Alcippe (a fiery Casey Hoekstra) learns the danger of believing far-fetched tales too easily. A preemptively jealous and quarrelsome lover, Alcippe is incensed when his old acquaintance confesses to a fictional dalliance with his fiancee. Hoekstra channels a roaring, explosive and ridiculous rage in response to his character’s perceived wrongs throughout the play, ranting red-faced accusations at his love and swearing oaths of revenge.
Finally his anger turns physical in the most exquisite duel I’ve ever seen onstage. Hoekstra and Molina charge at each other with invisible swords, accompanied by fanciful narration that somehow becomes reality. Kudos to the combatants, fight choreographer Jeb Burris, and good natured audience members who participate in this truly inventive and hilarious battle of the imagination.
Samantha Newcomb and Phoebe González play the ingenues Lucrece and Clarice — a similar study in contrasts to the liar and his hired man. As a beautiful, preening lady of fashion Clarice is accustomed to the games men play to get her attention, while Lucrece is slightly plainer and much more plainspoken. One leans into artifice and the other refuses to engage, but they are both quickly caught up in Dorante’s machinations, adding in even more misleading charades of their own. Both women shine in elaborate, jewel tone gowns and entertaining wordplay, proving once again that the truth will out.
One step behind their mistress is the pair of Clarice’s house maids — the aggressively randy Isabelle and the bespectacled, humorless taskmaster Sabine, both played to perfection by core company member Kelsey Brennan. With the same costume and two entirely different accents and attitudes, her split personalities threaten to steal every scene. Isabelle’s interactions with Cliton are particularly fun, filled with innuendo and cheek.
La Shawn Banks also gives a great comic turn as Dorante’s somewhat gullible father Geronte, who wants the best for his child, but cannot help meddling in his love life. When his own “big lie” is finally revealed, the results feel Shakespearean and symmetrical.
Designer Holly Payne outdoes herself with fanciful costumes for The Liar’s cast, putting characters in fuschia, turquoise and pink. And just like the script does, she sneaks modern references into the look of the show. Payne maintains a historically accurate silhouette while outfitting actors in gold high top tennis shoes, goth leather boots and argyle socks. The result is outlandish and extra, evocative of both the 17th century and today, just like the play itself.
