Perform!
Lend Me a Tenor
Music might soothe the savage breast, but a well presented play massages the savagery out of the remainder of the body. This is certainly is the case in The Lauren-Reilly Eliot Company’s latest production, Lend Me a Tenor. Set in an opulent 1930’s Cleveland hotel, the play centers on an Italian operatic tenor, mercurial Tito Morelli (Duncan Thistlethwaite), who has come to the United States to perform his American premiere, singing the role of Othello in Verdi’s opera of the same name. Morelli is lorelied to the states by a scheming impresario, the equally hypertensive Henry Saunders (Vincent P. Barras) who is aided by his mousy factotum, Max (Andrew Lee Vincent). Accompanying the singer is his hissing, claws-at-the-ready, often-cuckolded, but always (sorta’) loving wife, Maria (Katryn Schmidt). Adding grist to the mill are in-search-of-amore-with-eyes-on-the-tenor Maggie (Brandii Champagne), who just happens to be Harry’s daughter, eyes-on-the-Met local soprano Diana (Brooklyn Woods), a star-struck local opera matron Julia (Jody L. Powell), and an autograph hungry hotel bellhop (Roger Peak). Lend Me a Tenor, being a farce, also features another important performer necessary to the genre, five (count ‘em) doors.
Harry is so anxiety ridden about Morelli’s arrival that you can hear the acid churning in his stomach. He appoints Max to shepherd Tito while the tenor awaits the curtain. In a ploy to cast oil on the star’s waves. Henry directs Max to give the Italian some of his own personal phenobarbital, which the dutiful assistant pours into Morelli’s glass of Chianti. While the pharmaceutical pot simmers, Morelli is ambuscaded, in succession, by the lustful sirens: Maggie, Diana, and Julia. Agitated by all this, Morelli dips into his own supply of phenobarb, and in fairly short order, falls into catatonic sleep. Max finds the somnolent Morelli and thinking he is dead, sounds the alarm. While the pandemonium is at full throat, Maria finds Maggie behind Door #5, and, convinced that she is wronged and cuckolded, writes a Dear Tito letter, packs her bag and bids everything and everyone arrivederci.
Havoc ensues as the three damsels, in varying stages of dress and undress, enter or take cover behind the doors. Harry convinces Max to “understudy” Tito and costume himself as Othello.
Dash in and out of doors, scream, holler, drink lots of chamomile tea, slam a few doors, bellow in Italian and then Tito (really Max) mounts the stage and gives a boffo and buffo performance. The wild applause has scarcely ended when Tito regains consciousness, dons his costume, and heads out.
‘Nuff said about the plot. The fertility of your imaginations can supply the finale. Needless to say, at curtain’s end normalcy is returned, everyone’ savage breast is calmed, and they all live happily ever after.
Director Cooper Helm has given his audience a truly magnificent production, chock-a-block filled with top shelf performers. Before I move on to comment on the performers, allow me to spotlight Helm’s truly wonderful direction. Timing, especially in a comedy, was razor sharp. There was not one uninteresting moment in the whole play. Tito, Max, and Maria used over-the –edge Italian accents and did so with wonderful effect. After all, when someone is supposedly dead and the world is in exuberant reaction to his “death” and yet the late lamented continues to breathe heavily, the action, like the accents sort of poke fun at the concept of suspension of disbelief.
Vincent P. Barras and Duncan Thistlethwaite created some delightful characters. One of the things that I most appreciated by both of these seasoned Thespians is that when they both display ther hair-triggered anger, their fury was not confined to the area of simply raising volume. Their entire bodies and faces were in rage. Andrew Vincent was wonderful as the put-upon gopher. He reminded me of The Producers’ Matthew Broderick as he was thrust into a world of Operatic banshees. He also has a very fine tenor voice, which more than deserves a lusty series of Brrrravos!
Brandii Champagne, who was Max’s on-again, off-again sweetie, was equally wonderful. Her facial expressions added a luster to her performance by cementing the authenticity of her character. When I next meet Katryn Schmidt, I am going to practice survival of the species by being extra nice to her. I would hate to be on the receiving end of this lady’s ire. She was so Sophia Loren-ish in her portrayal of the very Italian Maria, that, with each entrance, the audience’s collective posture improved as they waited for the delightful inevitable. Brooklyn Woods’ Cleveland diva dripped estrogen as she manipulated Tito in order to advance her career. Jody Powell’s portrayal of doyen Julia as she was draped as the Chrysler Building, was one of the funniest parts of the show. Last, but certainly not least, let me comment on Roger Peak, the bellhop. This man deadpanned his way through the show in a way that prompted celestial bravos from Buster Keaton. Every time he made an entrance I started laughing before he uttered a word.
Collectively, may I comment on the seamless ensemble that the entire cast presented. Lend Me a Tenor will assuredly be considered the best production by a community theatre of this season. Bravos all round. It would be unjust for me to give a Georgie, thus spotlighting, one performer, so I’ll give out a bucketful to the entire cast as well as the director. Well, well done.
Break a leg.