|
review Before Robert Downey, Jr. passed out stoned in his neighbor's bedroom, before Errol Flynn took to debauching underage girls, before John Barrymore sloshed his way through The Great Profile, there was Edmund Kean. Kean, the foremost tragedian of early 19th-Century London theater, was the toast of English society. Coleridge wrote that watching Kean act was "like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning." Kean was also, apparently, in constant hot pursuit of anything female that breathed, and California Repertory's sparkling world-premiere staging of Charles Higham's bright and witty play takes extreme carnal pleasure in each illicit tryst. This bawdy romp, loosely adapted from Alexandre Dumas' 1836 play, is not much interested in any historical or biographical context. Instead, Higham revels in the language, in the pointed thrust-and-parry between Kean and his wily, scheming conquests. Director Ronald Allan-Lindblom's lithe, agile cast hungrily sinks its collective teeth into this meaty text, savoring each word with lustful abandon. Matthew Southwell's Kean is dashing and debonair, gleefully guzzling and screwing his way toward an early grave. As his primary sexual sparring partner, Clarissa, Jennifer Fowler demonstrates impeccable comic timing, while Davis Mejia's pompously clueless Prince of Wales seems the genuine issue of generations of Royal Family inbreeding. Technically, Sharon McGunigle's costumes are colorful and appealing, and Holly Harbinger's choreography delightfully salacious. Only one fault to the evening: Christine Durrach's otherwise efficient set, a compact combination of rises and trapdoors, includes two decorative wooden posts bolted prominently among the seats. The result, for those unfortunate enough -- as was I -- to be sitting behind them, is a major sightline problem. It is testament to the intelligence and exuberant charm of this production that even my eyes crossing several dozen times on that damn pole could not detract from my enjoyment of the evening. |