New York Magazine

Skip to content, or skip to search.

Skip to content, or skip to search.

The Rose Distilled

Midsummer in the park is dreamy indeed.

ShareThis

If any play yields more kinds of delight than A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I cannot wait to get to Heaven and see it. Though some plays here below offer funnier bits than the knockabout comedy of the four young lovers chasing each other through the woods, and some offer lovelier poetry than the fairies’ speeches, and a few even leave you as dizzy from the force of the ideas about love and art swirling beneath the fun, none combines the three the way this one does. Oh, right, I usually think after Puck bids the audience goodnight and we head for the exits, This is why I love the theater.

To cap its winning season of Shakespeare in the Park, the Public has entrusted the play to Daniel Sullivan. You have to feel for the guy. If he delivers a straightforward rendition of a play so popular as to be almost ubiquitous, he risks boring some of the audience (including, say, colleagues of mine who grumble about how often they’ve sat through the play). Conversely, if he starts getting all high-concept, he might ruin a story that needs no gilding. There’s really no way to improve on hearing Oberon’s marching orders for Puck, “I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, / Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,” as they’re rumbled forth here by Keith David, the majestic voice of Ken Burns’s documentaries.

That Sullivan opts in the end for a straightforward approach is hardly a surprise: You don’t build a reputation for having the steadiest hands in New York by having Theseus and Hippolyta roar onstage naked in a yellow Camaro (or whatever). Still it comes as a relief. Though the show falls down here and there, material this good makes even a somewhat muted production feel like Christmas morning. Well, a Christmas morning where you awake to silly magic tricks, kids in Victorian dress playing fairies, and Martha Plimpton under the tree.

Plenty of worlds collide in this play—the young lovers, the amateur-thespian rude mechanicals, the fairies—but the pivotal figure is Helena, a character that Plimpton has, in a way, long been fated to play. Long ago in Goonies, she drew the thankless assignment of sharing the screen with Kerri Green, object of untold million teen-boy crushes. Is this not more or less the predicament of smart and gawky Helena next to her button-cute, loved-by-all best friend Hermia? Plimpton gets Helena’s desperation as she chases after her beloved Demetrius, who goes to the woods seeking only Hermia. “Use me but as your spaniel,” she pleads, lovesick and funny. She also has a nice way with Helena’s speeches—the soliloquies which prove her to be more observant, more articulate, and just plain more interesting than the other lovers. (You would expect no less from the author of the all-time best 21 Questions published at nymag.com.) In a world where everybody fixates on appearances—the words “eye” and “eyes” are spoken obsessively during the play—only Helena understands that sometimes “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”

Plimpton’s handling of Helena’s big reconciliation with Demetrius isn’t as moving as some I’ve seen, but the young lovers remain this production’s strong suit, and the source of its best scene: the mêlée in which the boys get hopped up on love potion and pursue Helena at the expense of poor Hermia (excellent Mireille Enos, all smiley cheer and petulance). Otherwise the show abounds in sturdy, unsexy competence. The early scenes in the court of Theseus (Daniel Oreskes, sporting an improbable Rollie Fingers–style handlebar mustache) are a little studious. Though the mechanicals’ performance of “Pyramus and Thisbe” is, as ever, hilarious (thanks especially to Jesse Tyler Ferguson’s doomed maiden), the rehearsal scenes tend to clunk along. As Bottom, Jay O. Sanders may be most memorable after Puck (Jon Michael Hill) turns him into an ass, and he begins talking like a hee-hawing bumpkin. “Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow,” he brays. Maybe the fact that Sanders played President Bush in Stuff Happens last year explains Bottom’s sudden resemblance to him.

Sullivan may lose some little filigrees of humor or pathos with his understated approach, but he does gain clarity—lots of it. The delight of the show, for me, is getting to listen as Shakespeare puzzles through two deeply irrational human pursuits: falling in love and seeing a play. Of the former, he has little good to say throughout the story, showing us all the ways that we foolish mortals make ourselves ridiculous, shallow, and petty for the sake of love. All the same, he rounds the story off with a happy three-way wedding, one compromised only slightly by the fact that one of the grooms remains under a love potion.


Advertising
Current Issue
Subscribe to New York
Subscribe

Give a Gift

Advertising