Barbs from a 17^th century satire find their mark in nouveau riche Auckland   

Director Shane Bosher definitely makes some waves as he plunges into the pristine space of Q Theatre with a raunchy adaptation of Moliere’s 17th century satire against religious hypocrisy.

The extravagant production has exquisitely costumed actors tumbling in and out of a real swimming pool, the centrepiece of designer John Verryt’s brilliantly conceived riff on the garish excesses of Auckland’s nouveau riche. 

The original play was considered so dangerous that it was banned by ecclesiastical authorities. [more] 

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The scene is set with matriarch Madame Pernelle (Cameron Rhodes as a kind of upper-class Marjorie Dawes), storming through the shagpile-carpeted backyard swimming pool area of the opulent, well-appointed household presided over by Orgon, a bullish, uncouth bigot (also Rhodes).  As Madame expresses her demands to her in-laws, grandchildren and hired help, her plot-establishing tirade is upstaged somewhat by the unhygienic behaviour of her large black poodle – heralding a plethora of such visual distractions to come. 

The plot is simple enough as a framework in which to illustrate the convoluted contradictions of human nature through the time-honoured theatrical instrument of satirical farce:  Orgon is a tyrant to all but his mother and his esteemed houseguest, the charismatic and prosperous Christian evangelist Tartuffe, to whom he is desperately obsequious.   His insistence on creating a diplomatic bond between them via the marital union of Tartuffe and his only daughter is slightly hampered by the rest of the family’s patent mistrust of Tartuffe’s patronising and disingenuous manner. 

Orgon’s larger-than-life brood comprises: a beloved wife, image-obsessed neurotic though surprisingly astute Elmire (Theresa Healey); Elmire’s spirituality-obsessed effeminate brother Cleante (Edwin Wright); spoilt, idealistic romance-obsessed daughter Mariane (Sophie Henderson); and his son and sole heir Damis (Tim Carlsen), a volatile, combat-obsessed angry young man.

Nathan Whitaker’s Valere, the object of Mariane’s true affections, is the classic boy you couldn’t take home to meet Daddy – a hip-hop rhyme-spitting breakdancing Muslim whose crumping swagger is so cool he looks retarded.  Tavai Fa’asavalu does more than his share with his four incidental roles, primarily Tartuffe’s silent bodyguard Laurent, as well as Madame Pernelle’s pool-poohing black poodle Flipote, bailiff Lionel Loyalson, and a climactic cameo of Biblical proportions. 

In exemplary Moliere fashion, the most erudite and ostensibly sane characters are those at the lowest socio-economic level – witness Mia Blake in her star turn as outspoken Tongan housemaid Dorine, a viper-tongued champion eavesdropper whose voice of reason occasionally breaks the fourth wall, if only to inform us that she is indeed the voice of the common people.

It’s hard to imagine a more fitting match for the condescending, slimy charm of the title role than Paolo Rotondo’s despicably ruthless and conniving Tartuffe, whose eventual, much-anticipated sensational entrance alone is greeted with virtual rapture by the audience.  His rousing sermon at the opening the second act (‘Give! …And you shall be given to!’), complete with glitzy glowing ‘Tartuffe’ sign and lurid lime-green robed disciples wielding loaded eftpos machines, is delivered with more saccharine smarm than John Key and less subtlety than the Mad Butcher. 

The ensuing events and climactic catastrophe are largely born out of Orgon’s own hubris in the form of his delusional refutation of the obvious facts, all leading to a sudden contrived conclusion, intervening from left-field just as all hope seems utterly lost. 

Director Shane Bosher takes full advantage of his tremendously talented players. Together they create a rich cross-section of exaggerated modern archetypes that are rooted enough in the real world to avoid becoming a mere cartoon pastiche. 

Moliere’s Tartuffe was written entirely in alexandrines (twelve-syllable lines) and rhyming couplets.  Such poetic stanzas frequently resonate through Australian playwright Louise Fox’s accomplished variation (rejigged with local references, from the dawn raids to Don Brash et al), lending a heightened level of both playfulness and profundity.  If the script is entirely in rhyme as the original was, it’s not at all obvious in the style performed by the cast but either way there’s a definite rhythmical lyricism underpinning the intense verbosity of this histrionic gaggle of caricatures. 

It’s evident the design team has had as much of a field day as the cast on this relishable project.  Not least, Elizabeth Whiting’s first-rate costume selection hits every stereotypical nail on the head, from Flipote the poodle through Elmire’s Ab-Fabesque chav getup (plus Charlotte Dawson DIY botox kit) et al, to Tartuffe’s own comparatively stylish tailored black suit.  There’s really too much awesomeness to comprehensively describe, as is the case with the other areas of production.

John Verryt has made maximum use of the versatility of Q’s Rangatira stage, placing the action on the floor with a three-quarter round seating arrangement; the opening up of the gallery and gods adds a kind of post-modern sense of the operatic-style theatres of Moliere’s day.  The white shagpile floor compliments the gaudy pseudo-class of the pink, lime green, yellow and orange plasticity of the décor – including a functioning swimming pool and offset by the feature wall of the main entrance, papered with oversized fleur-de-lis emblems.

It’s uncertain exactly where Verryt’s set ends and Brad Gledhill’s splendiferous lighting design begins, given the presence of hundreds of tiny colour-shifting LED lights creating a path from the entranceway across to, and all around, the pool, defining further the questionable aesthetic taste of the aristocracy.  More definitively in Gledhill’s jurisdiction is the actual theatre lighting, which is to a fair degree perfunctory but prone to explode into disco showpieces with the assistance of sound designer Jason Smith, and choreographer Tairoa Royal. 

Smith’s semi-eclectic sound design willingly exploits any artist provided it’s modern, cheesy and/or entirely lacking in subtlety.  Mixing up original recordings with karaoke variations, AC/DC, Coco Solid and the Choirboys offers an idea of the musical cross-section on display.  The highlight for many will be Orgon and Tartuffe’s cringeworthy take on ‘Up Where We Belong’, itself possibly the most pretentiously earnest duet of all time. 

All told, the experience is a veritable frottage of the senses, given the florid pizzazz of the production design combined with an array of sensory effects as audience members are prone to being splashed with pool water, propositioned, or otherwise molested – though never beyond a momentary suggestion, rest assured.    

The classic premise of a corrupt religious authority figure shafting his hapless, small-minded minions is one that transcends time; it was old when it premiered (after a literally royal struggle) in 1669, and it’s as relevant today – Brian Tamaki anyone?  Any debate about original local vs. adapted foreign work is academic given the timeless and ubiquitous nature of the social and cultural issues addressed/explored/attacked in the name of entertainment and exposing the hypocrisy of the ruling classes. 

In light of this production, it is as clear as ever that a well-structured old-world narrative can sustain an extra level of impact in the way it speaks to us here and now in spite of its distant, archaic origins.  It also proves that rapid-fire dialogue dripping with derisive satire coupled with brilliantly timed slapstick is powerfully entertaining anywhere, any time.  

Theatre in Auckland hasn’t seen such unabashed lowbrow slapstick irreverence as this since ATC’s ostentatious production of the controversial Le Sud in February 2010.  Admittedly Tartuffe has the advantage of being a proven classic, and doesn’t (quite) plumb the depths of bigotry and toilet humour of that contentious work; nevertheless it’s a comparable cathartic escape from the increasingly conservative mores of present day society. 

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