Tartuffe
By Adam Langer
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Yet today Tartuffe–written more than 320 years ago–seems more relevant and insightful than the 1939 Philadelphia Story, because it critiques class immobility while The Philadelphia Story is just a symptom of it. Though Tartuffe is clearly a liar, a creep, and a hypocrite, Moliere manages to suggest that these are the very qualities that allow him to rise in this society; though the audience may be heartened by his defeat, at the same time that defeat is rather sad, just as Malvolio’s is. But when Kittredge suddenly decides he’s had enough of aristocratic idiosyncrasies, it’s little more than a plot device that allows like classes to remain together. Tracy Lord is left to try a second marriage with old-money C.K. Dexter Haven, the working-class newspaper couple Liz Imbrie and Mike Connor remain together, and the presumptuous, dunderheaded Kittredge winds up an object of mockery, forced like Malvolio to figure out for himself that some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them, and some should never try for it in the first place.
This Tartuffe reveals its depth slowly, gradually stripping away farcical comedy in favor of reasoned, relevant social commentary. Court Theatre’s staging may begin with Rick Jarvie’s hilarious punk-rock wigs and pancake makeup and Kaye Voyce’s over-the-top courtesans’ outfits, suggesting the worst excesses of slapstick Moliere productions. But by the play’s climax the makeup, the ridiculous wigs, and the outrageous costumes have disappeared and Tartuffe has become a deeply complex and human comedy. When Tartuffe pursues Orgon’s wife, Elmire, with unbridled lust as the concealed Orgon watches, the scene isn’t a mere game of cat-and-mouse gymnastics but an alternately hilarious and terrifying battle between predator and prey, beginning as light sex comedy but concluding as a harrowing scene of near rape. The final moment of Fish’s staging, in which the fallen Tartuffe begins to devoutly utter a prayer–a moment that does not occur in the Richard Wilbur translation–may go a bit too far, suggesting either a sudden conversion or a new form of hypocrisy. But refreshingly it reflects a philosophical take all too rare in Moliere productions, seeking to make this 1669 comedy more than a period piece, more than a respectful but pointless resuscitation.
One of the play’s themes comes from a proverb that the writer Mike Connor quotes to the unattainable Tracy: “With the rich and mighty, always a little patience.” Which is fine when the wealthy concerned are the immensely charismatic Hepburn and Grant, but not when they’re the adequate but not overendearing Kate Fry, Christopher Donahue, and the rest of the Court cast.
