On the surface, the Victorian era was a time of repression and strict morals. But surfaces can be misleading. In the case of the Victorians, there was often considerable eroticism lurking underneath.
That disparity is at the heart of "Twelfth Night," which may be why director Christopher Marino has chosen a Victorian setting for the Baltimore Shakespeare Festival's production of this Shakespearean comedy.
"Twelfth Night" is the festival's first public production in nearly two years and also its first to toy with the time period of one of Shakespeare's plays. The result is a mostly commendable production that makes good on the festival's promise to produce accessible and affordable classical theater.
FOR THE RECORD - Two names were incorrect in yesterday's review of the Baltimore Shakespeare Festival's production of "Twelfth Night." John Bowen is the composer; Pamela Hay portrayed one of the gentlewomen.
The Sun regrets the error.
The play's characters project a plethora of deceptive surfaces. Mournful Countess Olivia (Lisa Rothe) appears to be in love with grief. Claiming to spurn romantic love, she nonetheless quickly becomes besotted with a boy named Cesario, unaware that the lad is actually a lass named Viola (Kim Martin-Cotten). Viola, however, is smitten with Count Orsino (Wayne Pyle), who thinks he's in love with Olivia, though in truth, he's merely in love with the idea of being in love.
In other words, this is a comedy about people who are deluding themselves -- as well as each other. Marino -- who is also the festival's new artistic director -- accentuates the play's foolishness by giving a madcap air to the proceedings, which move along at a jaunty pace and include a degree of slapstick.
These high jinks reach their peak in the reluctant duel (choreographed by Jamie Cheatham) between Cesario and an aristocratic numbskull named Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Played with fluttery fussiness by rubber-limbed Michael Larson, Sir Andrew shakes so uncontrollably, he can't get his sword out of the scabbard on his belt. Finally, in desperation, he wriggles out of the belt, cutting himself in the process.
Larson's performance is typical of Marino's nearly over-the-top approach, which threatens to become excessive but rarely is. For example, when first seen, Pyle's Orsino is swooning with unrequited love, his unbuttoned satin shirt and exaggerated gestures suggesting a spurned lounge lizard -- affectations that are almost, but not quite, too much.
Meanwhile, Rothe's Olivia is so enamored of the trappings of grief that not only do her serving women festoon her garden shrubs with black ribbons, they trail behind her singing sad songs (composed by Tom Bowen and beautifully delivered by Kirsten Alise Haimila, Pamela Kay and Jennifer Limon).
