There Is No Future, There Is No Past

originally published January 24, 2007

Time marches onward. The store-fresh sheen on the yearly toy bounty has, after a mere month of steadily less enjoyable usage, worn dangerously and irreparably thin. After-Xmas sales have only recently begun boxing up the whimsically-bundled animatronic woodland creatures and candy-cane spangled Underoos that even a 90 percent markdown couldn’t move and already the itch for new entertainment is growing bothersome. Fortunately for those of us who have a handful of not-yet-returned gifts, even the scratch got from the most miserly of gifts will suffice to secure entry into fresh fields of diversion that Athens’ crafty dramaticians have chosen to stage at the height of these mid-winter doldrums.

Ahhh, Le Mot Juste: So successful was the dashing monsieur Molière (née Jean-Baptiste Poquelin) in skewering the self-aggrandized zealots with whom he shared 17th century French high society that the Sun King himself was forced to hike up his fetching silk stockings, swallow his l’État c’est moi pride, and agree to censor one of the finest verse comedies ever penned. Though certainly not aided by the official disfavor of the wiggy monarch and the snarling cadre of holier than thous around him, the sparkling poetry and rapier-through-sacred-butter wit of Tartuffe has served since as both a delight to three-plus centuries of readers and a disheartening reminder of how tenacious and pernicious hypocrisy truly is. Recast in, ahem, Washington, DC, Ranjit Bolt’s adaptation of Molière’s masterwork leaves the scathing satire and ribald restoration plot wholly intact, but renders the original’s stately alexandrines into the crisp, magnificently timed couplets that have made Mr. Bolt (nephew of famed British playwright Robert Bolt) a perennial fixture on West End marquees in London for the better part of two decades. For those who’ve somehow escaped the pleasure of reading it before, Tartuffe tells the story of the snide, wily title character who uses his sanctified veneer to take monetary and carnal advantage of a wealthy family. University Theatre is staging this justifiably lauded translation a scant year after it made its stateside debut in Chicago to rave reviews. Tartuffe plays in the Seney-Stovall Chapel on Jan. 25–27, 31, and Feb. 1–3 at 8 p.m. and Feb. 4 at 2:30 p.m. Seats for the common people cost $12 a piece with a $2 discount for students and seniors and can be had be calling the University Theatre box office at 706-542-2838.

The Cast of Rent

La Vie Bohème: Considering its historically conservative nature, trite conventions, and often dubious artistic merit, musical theatre should’ve gone belly-up ages ago. Yet every time it finally seems to have jumped the glitter shark and choked out its last vibrato’d breath, some relative unknown comes along and breathes fresh life into what seemed a moribund genre. The American musical’s most recent renaissance can be credited, in large part, to the overwhelming success of Jonathan Larson’s Rent. Based on Puccini’s opera La Bohème but reborn in a decidedly modern cast of misfits, wanna-be rock stars and gorgeous transvestites (and, gasp, homosexuals in the theatre!) eking out an existence in Alphabet City under the lengthening, fearsome shadow of AIDS, Rent took home four of the 10 Tonys it was nominated for in its inaugural season, along with the Pulitzer Prize for drama (not to mention an obscenely long list of other awards) and has been quite rightly credited with giving a whole generation of theatre professionals and theatergoers a decent reason to develop a taste for musicals. So affecting and addictive has the show been for millions of awed spectators that it celebrated its 10th straight year of performances last spring, has secured a spot in the top 10 longest-running Broadway shows of all time, and has been produced in no fewer than 20 countries. The touring production of Rent plays at the Classic Center Theater for one night only, Feb. 1 at 8 p.m. Tickets, ranging in price from $15 to $40, have already been on sale for nearly three weeks, so interested parties are sincerely and strongly encouraged to visit www.classiccenter.com or call 706-357-4444 in the very near future in order to snap up a seat or two from the dwindling pool of availables. Should, as is certainly possible, the last seats find future sitters before you’ve had a chance to call, consider visiting Detour bar downtown on Saturday, Jan. 27. Not only will there be Rent drink specials and merchandise giveaways, but a few lucky souls will go home with coveted tickets. If all else fails, the cast has agreed to perform some of the production’s choicer numbers at the Georgia Theatre on Wednesday, Jan. 31 at 9 p.m. Admission is only $10. After the performances, the night will devolve into a dance party with DJ Immuzikation wherein the lucky might get the chance to bump and/or grind with the cast. Proceeds from both of these events will go to benefit AIDS Athens.

Grands Éclats de Rire: Picking up where they left off in ’06 with the terrifyingly hilarious Turkeys on a Plane!, UGA’s resident purveyors of haywire havoc and hilarity, I Commedianti Georgiani, return with a fresh dose of dell’arte in the new scenario titled Take Your Daughter to Work Day. As is commonly the case with these commedia shows, many of the details remain obscured, but sources suggest that the aforementioned special day at the office will serve as the impetus for yet another bout of slapstick fights between perpetual rivals Pantalone and Dottore. Further, the members of I Commedianti are yet again venturing beyond the comfortable bounds of the University to bring their peculiar brew of the old improv to the community. The mayhem will be unleashed at Hot Corner Coffee on Feb. 5 at 8 p.m. Admission, as per usual, is free.

Nouvelles: The curious and those who feel the insatiable urge to plan nights on the town months in advance will be pleased to discover that the official slate for the University Theatre’s 2007–2008 season has now been posted at http://drama.uga.edu/news.php.

Brandon Waddell

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