In a programme-note to The Miser, it was claimed that Moliere's greatness stemmed from his unique portrayal of human foibles, something which seems as relevant today as it was then the plays were first performed over three centuries ago. This is partly true; but Moliere also writes great parts for actors (how could he do otherwise, being an actor himself?), giving them the opportunity to show off their virtuosity. I well remember the late Leonard Rossiter as a particularly oleaginous Tartuffe in a 70s touring production - a performance which helped to brighten up a particularly grey Wednesday afternoon.
Ahmet Mumtaz Taylan's revival of Scapin deliberately brought out its commedia dell'arte origins. The costumes were kept simple, permitting the actors to make rapid changes and thereby keep the action moving at a brisk pace. At the end of the production they threw off their costumes and took their curtain-calls in black t-shirts and trousers, suggesting that they had been engaged in a rehearsal. Several scenes ended with the actors frozen in silent tableaux, as if the pause button had been pressed on the VCR. Sertel Cetiner's set was very simple - a large wooden platform with a large triangular piece of cloth on a mast protruding from it, resembling a ship's sail. This served as a screen for actors to conceal themselves, as well as place where they could make quick changes of costume. As in Brecht, we were discouraged from identifying with any of the dramatis personae, which in theory should have permitted us to reflect more closely on their foibles.
However, this aim was somewhat subverted by the central characterization from Serhat Mustafa Kiliç. He demonstrated an apparently limitless capacity for disguise, accompanied with plenty of verbal comedy. Sometimes it seemed as if he was out to perform a one-person comic routine: on one occasion he beat one of his dupes with a piece of rope - something that drew so much laughter from the audience that he was inspired to carry on, much to the dupe's discomfort. On another occasion I was convinced that he could not continue because he himself was laughing so much. This might have been anathema to Noel Coward (who once cured Laurence Olivier of the same fault by making him laugh on stage at any and every occasion); but seemed acceptable in this play, which basically comprises a series of comic routines. On the evidence of this revival, it would seem that Moliere himself became so enamoured of Scapin that he forgot about the play's satiric overtones.
On the face of it, The Miser would seem to offer similar comic opportunities. Cléante, the eponymous central character, is rendered the victim of several intrigues, which eventually persuades him to become more generous, particularly where dowries for his daughter are concerned. The play achieved fame in Britain in a version by the stalwart actor Miles Malleson, who rewrote it to provide a juicy leading part for himself.
I wish I could say I enjoyed Isil Kasapoglu's revival for the Adana State Theatre. The costumes were colourful, if a little garish. The actors put in a great deal of effort, and the action unfolded at a great lick (the production only lasted 125 minutes including a 20-minute interval). However, no one seemed to have much idea about how to make an audience laugh. Simply rushing on and off the stage, shouting lines at the top of one's voice is no substitute for comic timing. Tevfik Tarhal in the title role was especially guilty of this, by the end of the production he had become so irritating that we felt that he deserved to suffer for his meanness. The Turkish translation - a famous one by the academic Sabahattin Eyuboglu - had been embellished with several contemporary idioms; these predictably drew laughs, but betrayed the director's fundamental lack of confidence in the original text.
Perhaps the lack of props inhibited the actors: what else could they do but run around the stage, or jump on one another's backs, if there were no tables, chairs or other period fixtures and fittings to divert their attention? Maybe the production was under-rehearsed - particularly compared to Scapin, where the cast had obviously spent long hours with a choreographer as well as the director. The Miser's curtain-call was especially ragged, with the cast not appearing to know whether to leave the stage individually or as a group.
Nonetheless it was a pleasure to see both plays being presented as part of the Ankara State Theatre's curtain-raising season of touring productions from other State Theatres around the country. I hope the experiment is repeated in the future.
