Irwin Was Made For Moliere - And Vice Versa

-------------- THEATER REVIEW --------------

"Scapin" by Moliere. Adapted by Bill Irwin and Mark O'Donnell, directed by Bill Irwin. Produced by Seattle Repertory Theatre, Seattle Center. Tuesdays-Saturdays through April 8. 443-2222.

A theater should only produce Moliere's knockabout farce "Scapin" if it has an actor who'll do justice to the irrepressible title character - a bamboozling servant with a merry prankster's genius for mischief.

Moliere portrayed sly Scapin back in 1671, when he introduced his comic romp, "Les Fourberies de Scapin" ("The Tricks of Scapin") in Paris. But Moliere's ghost must be beaming with approval over Bill Irwin's nimble handling of the role at Seattle Repertory Theatre - and his generally brisk, mirthful staging of the play, too.

In this lively new "Scapin" co-adapted by Irwin and Mark O'Donnell (who also did the congenial French-to-English translation), our hero is still the fast-talking, quick-thinking, double-dealing manipulator conjured by Moliere - who inherited him from the commedia dell'arte clowns and ancient Roman farceurs who invented the trickster-servant archetype.

But Irwin the brilliant New Vaudevillian fills in a time-honored outline with his own primo stuff: rubber-legged dancing, facial telegraphs ranging from an eyebrow-lift of incredulity to a full-head crumple, graceful dodges and deft triple takes, nifty sight gags, and a direct rapport with the audience that

trashes all notion of a theatrical fourth wall.

Though Broadway veteran Irwin is definitely the star of the show (amazingly, it's his first gig in a Moliere play), he's in excellent company and shares the stage (and the laughs) generously.

Every funnyman needs a foil, every Laurel a Hardy, and Christopher Evan Welch functions superbly in that slot as Scapin's lumpen but game sidekick Silvestre - a part that's been plumped up to serve his talents.

Every con man must also have his patsy, and John Aylward as Gerote, Scapin's skinflint master, is just begging to be duped. We've seen Aylward in this guise often, but here his saggy pudding face and whiny creepiness play off Irwin's scheming and scamming in an especially hilarious tennis match of mug and response.

Playing with the plot

Much of Moliere's original plot remains - though its convolutions are vigorously mocked. The gist: Two stingy old Italian gents, Gerote (Aylward) and Argante (blustery William Biff McGuire), want their no-brainer sons (Kevin Carroll, and the winningly doltish R. Hamilton Wright) to wed the right people - who turn out to be long-lost relations (Peggy Poage and a loopy Katie Forgette). Irwin's meddling Scapin, meanwhile, works all the angles.

That scenario becomes a springboard for lots of choice, springy shtick. Composer Bruce Hurlbut supplies Mighty Wurlitzer flourishes on an organ wedged into Doug Stein's crumbling stone villa facade set. Two Italian policemen make like Keystone Cops, in Victoria Petrovich's outlandish costumes. And Irwin displays the boneless agility of his idol, Buster Keaton.

Via the Marx Brothers there's a Margaret Dumont-esque character (played by Mary Bond Davis), and from TV's "Three Stooges" and "Sergeant Bilko" some buddy-buddy frenzy. There's even a little drag. (In a dress, Scapin looks like an aerobicized Mrs. Doubtfire.)

Nothing is sacred

Irwin lands a few trademark postmodern jabs at theatrical pretentions (Silvestre gets an amusing crash course in Method acting). And he fires smart shots at some timely targets - Newt Gingrich, trial lawyers, talk-show hosts.

But the comic centerpiece arrives courtesy of Moliere. Irwin choreographs Scapin's tumbling and pummeling revenge on his master, the classic body-in-the-bag bit, very cleverly - and interactively.

Though most of "Scapin" cavorts along, the 95-minute production has a few slack patches to animate in Act I. And that massive set is too implacable to lend all the comedic support it might.

But quibbling with a show that supplies so many satisfying laughs seems churlish. Bill Irwin and "Scapin"? It's a match made in funny-bone heaven.