Theatre in Review: Much Ado About Nothing (New York Shakespeare Festival/Delacorte Theatre)

	Lily Rabe. Hamish Linklater. Photo: Joan Marcus

"Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won?" The words are from Richard III but they apply perfectly to the screwball hilarity spun by Hamish Linklater and Lily Rabe in Jack O'Brien's stunning new staging of Much Ado About Nothing. This is a production in which every comic detail is worked out to the nth degree and, from the minute we see Linklater and Rabe's Beatrice and Benedick together, it is abundantly clear that they have a long, long history. She stands on a balcony above the stage, turned away from the action, spying him in a mirror. "I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick," she says. "Nobody marks you." He is unfazed by her scorn: "What, my dear Lady Disdain," he replies. "Are you still living?" The crooked smiles on their faces tell you all need to know; they are scarred veterans in the war between the sexes.

Thanks to the skills of these two brilliant high comedians, we can infer that they have long carried torches for each other yet are undone by their sharp tongues and closely held feelings of independence. (Linklater's reading of the line "O, she misused me past the endurance of a block!" implicitly contains the entire history of a love affair gone wrong.) Their constant sniping is half-sport, half-ritual, the only way they have of maintaining contact. They go about their "merry war" with a mutual air of resignation, each filled with grudging admiration for the other's wicked tongue. "She speaks poniards and every word stabs," alleges Benedick in a comment that combines outrage with deep respect. Even when a remark stings her, you can see Beatrice's small smile of appreciation at her opponent's deployment of le mot juste. And when, in the middle of a masked dance, they come together for a really spectacular dip, you suddenly see how deep their attraction runs.

In many ways, the evening belongs to Linklater, whose Benedick is all the funnier for his complete lack of a sense of humor about himself; his constantly foiled struggle to hold on to his dignity makes for irresistible comedy. "I will live a bachelor," he pronounces, giving the lie to the statement by hungrily eyeing the nearest female servant. Perched in a tree and eavesdropping on colleagues, he is so stunned to hear news of Beatrice's affections that he nearly plunges to the ground. Frantically recalibrating his intentions regarding Beatrice, he searches for an explanation for his sudden turnabout, triumphantly announcing, to no one in particular, "The world must be peopled!" -- thus justifying his passion in humanitarian terms. Whether scanning the horizon in a futile search for an honest woman, hurling a tankard of water at a lovestruck companion, or exiting in a fury of complaint about Beatrice only to instantly re-enter, bent on amplifying his point, Linklater is a delightfully deadpan fool for love.

If the production is at times nearly hijacked by Linklater's spectacular skills for throwaway gags, Rabe provides plenty of sneakily amusing moments as well. She revels in every tart comment, and cutting Benedick down to size with a laugh sharp enough to slice through glass. At the same time, she is no shrew; Rabe shows how Beatrice's wit is a necessary adjunct to her sui generis status as a thoroughly independent woman in the world of Messina, allowing her to keep at bay any unwanted questions about her marital status. She is also painfully aware that sometimes she goes too far, humiliating the guests of her uncle, the duke, then hastily backtracking. And when reduced to hiding under a table to hear news of Benedick, we suddenly see a far more thoughtful and vulnerable woman, at long last giving consideration to the notion that she might be loved.

Happily, everything coheres in O'Brien's production, which takes place on the terrace of a sun-splashed Italian villa of the late Victorian era. The director even manages a seamless transition between the high-style farce of the early scenes and the darker, more melodramatic developments of the play's second half when Hero, Beatrice's young cousin, is accused of infidelity. Indeed, these scenes are used to bring new shadings to the Beatrice-Benedick relationship, especially when she asks him to kill Claudio, Hero's lover and accuser; this exchange, which often comes off as jarringly melodramatic, here becomes a barometer of the passions Beatrice and Benedick feel for each other.

Indeed, this Much Ado is populated by a gallery of memorable characters. Brian Stokes Mitchell's enormous presence and sonorous speaking voice make him an ideal Don Aragon, Benedick's commander; he also lends his voice to a lovely duet (with Steel Burkhardt) featuring David Yazbeck's melodic setting of "Sigh No More." John Glover is a finely aristocratic Leonato, governor of Messina, especially when, enraged by the accusations against his daughter, Hero, he savagely overturns the little altar at which she is to be married. Jack Cutmore-Scott and Ismenia Mendes make an attractive pair as Claudio and Hero. Pedro Pascal exudes understated malice as Don John, the snake in this particular Eden. Kathryn Meisle is a sunny presence as Hero's governess, as is Zoë Winters as a maidservant with a mind of her own. Surprisingly, John Pankow doesn't make the most of Dogberry, the dunderhead constable, and his many malapropisms; a tad more bluster would do his performance no end of good. Still he helps unravel the plot in suitably merry fashion.

The production has the polish we've long come to expect of Shakespeare in the Park, including John Lee Beatty's ornately detailed villa, which gets the benefit of a series of Jeff Croiter's fast-spreading sunrises and moonstruck nighttime looks. Jane Greenwood has dressed the soldiers in vivid reds and blues and outfitted the ladies in bustles and leg o' mutton sleeves. (A set of costumes for a fancy dress ball includes some memorably amusing masks for the principals.) Acme Sound Design has provided its usual pristine reinforcement.

Much Ado is arguably Shakespeare's most popular comedy but it rarely gets the benefit of a production as thoroughly of a piece as this one. In his program notes, Oskar Eustis, the Public's artistic director, notes that the pairing of Linklater and Rabe as Beatrice and Benedick had been in the works for some time. They prove to be a perfect pair of warring lovers, and they also provide a solid center for O'Brien's marvelously grounded comic vision. Rarely has Shakespeare in the Park seemed more like a gift to the city.--David Barbour