Moliere’s durable 17th century satire must have
seemed an ideal candidate for adaptation to an Irish setting. It follows the fortunes of a
wealthy family where the head of household has fallen under the influence of a
manipulative charlatan using the language and garb of a priest. Despite the family’s
objections, the father believes the man to be a virtual saint, so much so that he
determines to break his daughter’s engagement and marry her to him. Meanwhile
Tartuffe himself has designs on the old man’s young second wife, not to mention the
family estate. The play raises many questions about the nature of power, especially as
embodied in religious figures. It is also concerned with a mixture of sexuality and
domestic politics which is as potent now as it was when the play was originally banned
within twenty-four hours of its first performance in 1664.
Declan Hughes, co-founder of the Rough Magic Theatre Company (with Tartuffe
director Lynne Parker), has updated the setting to Dublin of the 1970s: post Vatican II
Catholic Ireland in the household of a wealthy businessman with political connections. In
theory, this is an excellent conceit. It allows Hughes to explore some of the differing
belief systems (and levels of susceptibility to chicanery) of the generations involved.
This is embodied in the opening scene by Mrs. Purcell’s (Joan O’Hara)
pronouncement that Tartuffe is a man of the ‘old school’, not one of these
"jumper wearing, folk song singing post-council priests," (even though, as is
constantly made clear, he is not an actual priest). It also offers the potential for a
more in-depth exploration of how the religious, personal, and political structures of 17th
Century France might really relate to those of Ireland in the 1970s, when change seemed
everywhere but simply couldn’t break through.
But Declan Hughes’ Tartuffe is not quite the heady
concoction that the project of adaptation might suggest. Though the author has done a good
job of translating the linguistic rhythms of the characters to the Irish idiom, and
includes the fact that Tartuffe speaks in rhyme. The play itself is relatively intact and
thus as good as ever it was. Yet this is really a Christmastime farce played for broad
laughs rather than incisive political commentary. When the 1970s analogy finally
disintegrates in the final act with a plethora of contemporary political references, it
has become clear that though there is challenging material in here, the audience is meant
to simply enjoy themselves and not think too deeply about what they see.
As such, Tartuffe is terrific entertainment. Parker directs with an eye
for broad pantomime-style characterisation and pacing. Characters bluster on and off stage
wearing costumes which are as likely to simply evoke laughter as indicate the time period.
Tartuffe himself is seen wearing ghostly white make-up which contrasts with his black
priestly outfit. A giant Christmas tree decorates the stage for most of the running time,
and, as appropriate to the original text, there are many passages of dialogue directed
towards the audience rather than towards characters on stage.
The performances are adeptly attuned to the production. Each actor
demonstrates both discipline and comic flair, playing the characters as the archetypes
they are without losing sight of their place in the story. Bennett is actually quite
menacing as Tartuffe, and plays each of his scenes with a deliciously vile collection of
facial expressions and vocal mannerisms. Owen Roe strikes a wonderful contrast as the
ebullient but gullible father who falls for every trick the villain plays. His performance
is characterised by a restless energy which Bennett deliberately off-sets with his slow
movements and still demeanour. Michael Devaney consistently generates howls of laughter
with his South Dublin voice and open-shirt-and-medallion look, and even gets to play a
moment of affecting pathos when he, as the old man’s son, is ejected from the house
in favour of Tartuffe after attempting to expose the latter’s venality. Cathy Belton
gets to play the chain-smoking young wife, and relishes the scenes where her character
expounds on the nature of female power. Eleanor Methven is commandingly skeptical as the
housemaid who sees all, and the silent role of Tartuffe’s henchman is played with
scruffy ease by Patrick Leech.
This is really a splendid production (with an effective live music
score arranged from classical period pieces by Helene Montague) which is intended to
amuse and entertain rather than seriously challenge. Something interesting has been lost
in the decision to run with this, but you can’t argue with the result.
