Theatre in Review: Twelfth Night (Classical Theatre of Harlem)

	Kara Young, William DeMeritt. Photo: Richard Termine

The infinite flexibility with which the plays of William Shakespeare accommodate directors' wildest visions is on display these nights in Harlem, where Carl Cofield's revival of Twelfth Night fills the Richard Rodgers Amphitheatre in Mount Morris Park with its trippy, yet hilarious, vibe. The key to such high-concept productions is, I think, is consistency, and Cofield and his lively company are meticulous in that regard. This is the Afrofuturist version of Illyria: The melancholy Duke Orsino consoles himself with a VR headset, cueing psychedelic projections by Brittany Bland. Lighting designer Alan C. Edwards floods the stage with saturated colors, and artfully silhouettes a line of mourners against the upstage wall of Riw Rakkulchon's blue-triangle-dominated set. Mika Eubanks' costumes are strictly fashion-forward, packed with ensembles right off a Milan runway; even Sir Andrew Aguecheek gets in the game with a tragic attempt at urban chic that includes dreadlocks and a long red fur coat. And when that reprobate Sir Toby Belch calls for a love song, he gets "O Mistress Mine" in a seductive pop arrangement from composer/sound designer Frederick Kennedy.

It's a fully realized concept, adding a jolt of day-after-tomorrow flair to a production that knows where the laughs are in Shakespeare's tale of parted siblings, gender-bending disguises, and forged letters. Cofield, whose stagings of Macbeth, Antigone, and Seize the King (Will Power's updated take on Richard III) revealed his knack for starkly dramatic confrontations, here shows a taste for both sophisticated and broad comedy, aided by a nimble cast, many of whom ring changes on characters we know like old friends.

For example, Kara Young offers the scrappiest, most cunning Viola on record -- and why not? Viola has survived a shipwreck, lost her beloved twin brother, and, assuming a male persona, has ensconced herself in Orsino's court. Having been forced to live by her wits, it's no wonder she doesn't suffer fools. Her direct manner and can-do attitude are especially amusing when she gets tangled in a web of deception, pleading the case of Orsino (whom she loves) to Olivia, who loves her. Listen to the sharp intake of breath when Viola realizes Olivia's intentions ("I am the man!"); for once, the lady who plays all the angles is at a loss. Cofield makes explicit the natural attraction between Viola and Orsino, a state of affairs that leaves the latter baffled by new and disturbing feelings. (William DeMeritt, an attention-getter in Lincoln Center Theater's recent The Skin of Our Teeth, puts his booming baritone and classical technique to good use here.) Christina Sajous supplies her own brand of high-style comedy as Olivia, deep in sorrow one minute, imperious the next, then boldly flashing a leg to attract a suitor's attention. Allen Gilmore's Malvolio, eager to help himself to Olivia's heart and fortune, is the sort of pompous ass whose downfall is irresistible. His attempt at smiling -- as if being forced by the jaws of life -- is priceless; equally so is the saucy way, having turned fashion plate, he snaps his yellow garters, convinced it will drive Olivia mad. (It does, but not in the way he wants.)

Gleefully maintaining a low moral tone are Chivas Michael, one of the younger and friskier Sir Toby Belchs in recent memory; Israel Erron Ford, an imposing Feste; and Cassandra Lopez, whose Maria is the deftest of pot stirrers, duping Malvolio with fake love notes that cause no end of confusion. The irrepressible Carson Elrod, one of our most indispensable clowns, is an ideally goofy Andrew Aguecheek, whether striking would-be hipster poses or fleeing the premises with a rollerboard, gold lame bag, and a stuffed pooch. Pensively vaping, he assiduously works through this trenchant bit of self-analysis: "Methinks sometimes I have no more wit/Than a Christian or an ordinary man has: But I am a/Great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit." Truer words were never spoken.

All of the design elements come together to create this ultramodern universe, although I wish Eubanks had dressed Young's Viola and her Sebastian (a solid J'Laney Allen) a tad more attractively; yes, they are a tempest-tossed pair, but surely they could pick up more flattering looks along the way. To be clear, this Twelfth Night is just for laughs; with one or two exceptions, the play's darker, unrulier undercurrents are left alone. But this fast-moving production (in a single one-hour-and-45-minute act paced by Tiffany Rea-Fisher's choreographed scene changes) is a tonic for theatergoers thirsty for a little festivity. Go early for the jazz concert that starts at 7pm, and you can make a night of it. Don't forget, it's free; this company is a lovely gift to the City of New York. --David Barbour