The Merry Wives of Windsor (review)

Broadly speaking, there are two ways in which one can produce a performance according to some kind of historical parameters. In the first, every attempt is made to reproduce every detail—from costuming to staging to acting—as nearly as possible to the original based on the surviving evidence. Through the employment of all-male companies, the other productions reviewed here possessed, to some extent at least, a desire for such a historically "accurate" production. Ultimately, however, the goal of historical reconstruction is impossible to meet fully, as there is one element that even the most careful of production companies cannot reproduce according to historical specifications: the audience. The audience is inextricably situated within its own historical milieu and cannot but bring its own unique interpretative faculties to the performance. Given this consideration, many production companies strive to present a production faithful to the "spirit" of the original, one that elicits a response from its audience which is essentially analogous to the response of the original audience. This second view of production is historical insofar as it conveys the play's central themes in an idiom that results in proper, contemporary audience response.

Such a desire for comprehensibility to a modern audience seemed to be, implicitly at least, the driving force behind the Oberon Theatre Ensemble's adaptation of The Merry Wives of Windsor. Though faithful to Shakespeare's text, the play was set in the present day United States, in the fictional Windsor, California. As the only production reviewed here with an explicit, historically situated setting, it was also the only one in which the most complete translation into a modern idiom was attempted. The producers used the contemporary television show Desperate Housewives as a model, noting in the program that Shakespeare's wives were a natural predecessor to the show, a concept which seemed viable at least theoretically. The mischievous and conniving "housewives," Laura Siner (Mistress Ford) and Kate Ross (Mistress Page), were altogether quite winning in their respective roles, and in this respect Shakespeare's text translated quite well to a modern audience. When the wives had to hide Falstaff to escape Ford's jealous anger, they effectively engaged the audience that was privy to their deception through nods and gestures, carrying out these scenes with great aplomb. M. Eden Teagle as the ubiquitous gossip and plotter Mistress Quickly was similarly charming.

For the most part, however, the male characters were significantly less captivating, as their adaptation was more often than not over-the-top, frequently causing the play to descend into farce. Falstaff as a pot-bellied, has-been rock-and-roller was a concept with potential, but Brad Fryman's portrayal was frequently ludicrous. Nearly every single one of Falstaff's appearances on stage was accompanied by him swilling liquor, snorting cocaine, or taking hits of what was presumably acid. In his attempt to portray the character as continually under the influence, Fryman's lines were too often garbled and almost incomprehensible.

The portrayals of the French physician Doctor Caius and nephew to the Justice Slender had similar problems. Not only was Caius (Stewart Walker) the formulaic and clichéd Frenchman of early modern drama, but in this production he was also a would-be ninja, replete with headband, a black gi, and excessive karate-chopping that was particularly overdone in the fight with Sir Hugh Evans. Exactly what in the original text would produce this portrayal in a modern idiom is unclear. Most incomprehensible of the male characters was Slender (Zak Risinger), whose curly hair and too-short pants made his appearance reminiscent of the title character of the recent film Napoleon Dynamite, a translation that did not fit with the Desperate Housewives concept, and, even more problematically, which in its portrayal bordered on the offensive. While it certainly was appropriate to depict Slender as a fool-figure, Risinger's delivery made him seem mentally disabled.

It was hardly coincidental that the success or failure of the translation of characters into a modern...