Play Almost Rings True Yet Fails to Shoot the Moon
By Aidan Doherty
Editor-in-Chief

"Has anybody ever seen a dramatic critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good."

Thus spoke P.G. Wodehouse, creator of the world's most famous fictional butler, Jeeves, and British master of the comedy of manners. With a certain reluctance I venture to join the ranks of the despised with the following review of Ring Around The Moon. Worst of all, I find myself reviewing a play directed by the grand old man of Pomona College theatre, Leonard Pronko, the sole American sufficiently distinguished in the art of Kabuki theatre to be granted royal honors by the emperor of Japan. This is a man who was already a successful and accomplished director when I was still in diapers. The cast, moreover, consists of a number of the 5-C's most beloved actors. Nonetheless, I humbly submit my two cents.

The French answer to P.G. Wodehouse, Jean Anouilh wrote Ring Around the Moon (originally titled l'Invitation au chateau) late in his career, combining the social satire of his pieces noires (Dark Works) and the charming wittiness of his pieces roses (Rosy Works). Pronko's October 4th performance evidenced both the dark and comic. Although I can't in all honesty say that the performance was consistently funny throughout, some strong individual performances and the strength of the script delivered a lot of laughs throughout the evening.

It became clear within minutes that the details of the insanely complex plot were not of any particular importance, but the basic gist of it is as follows. Identical twin brothers, Hugo and Frederick (both played by Raza Ahmad (CMC '04)) live it up on the hard work of their forebears at an estate owned by their aunt, Madame Desememortes (Rachel Sandel '04). In an archetype well known to fans of Spanish language soap opera, one twin, Hugo, is witty, outgoing, and evil, while the other, Frederikc, is shy, bumbling, and good as gold. Hugo schemes to steal Frederick's delightfully spoiled and wealthy fiancee, Diana Messerschmann (Emily Altschuler, SC '05), by having him fall in love with a common girl, Isabelle (Alexandra Cohen-Spiegler '06), disguised as a ballerina.

Although performances were pretty good throughout, the lion's share of kudos goes to the ladies of the cast. Diana's Mme Desmemortes succeedes simultaneously at being gleefully crotchety and ultimately sympathetic. Leslie Barnard '04 steals scene after scene as Isabelle's mother, an obsessive social climber of the petty bourgeoisie, with a character reminscent of the neurotic Hyacinth on the BBC comedy of manners Keeping Up Appearances. Emily's Diana is the very picture of spoiled aristocracy, at one point declaring, "I don't want to break anyone's heart - that wouldn't amuse me at all!" Alexandra showed a great deal of promise in her Pomona debut, and Christina Hurtado '06 and Lynn Trickey (PI '06) also gave strong performances as Lady India and Capulet, respectively.

The men strived mightily, but suffered all along from a certain stiffness on stage which could not be entirely explained by the stuffiness of their characters. Nonetheless, Raza Ahmad deserves praise for the sheer stamina required of his two roles, at times taking a stage-right exit and emerging only moments later as the other brother from stage left. Jack Rosenfeld '04, a veteran student-actor familiar to many Pomona students from last year's Studio 47 film "The Poolboy" with Frank Bedoya, had at least one very striking moment as the melancholy millionaire Messerchmann, pulling franc after franc from his wallet and tearing every one to pieces with the aid of Isabelle. The strange ways and the great power of the rich, primary concerns of the play, are demonstrated nowhere so vividly as in this scene.

Although overall an enjoyable experience, the play's major deficiency had nothing to do with the cast, crew, or director. At about three hours in length, Ring Around The Moon was just a shade too much swing era comeday of manners to take at one helping. PBS's Jeeves and Wooster series had it right: delectable, easily digestible episodes of 45 minutes each. For Hamlet I will sit three hours, for Braveheart I will sit three hours, but for any work of entertainment not punctuated by at least moderately savage medieval violence my patience wears a bit thin. Towards the end of the second act, I began to imagine myself as a sort of game animal, trapped in the sharp interlocking teeth of an epic length French comedy and on the verge of gnawing off my own leg.

And with those words I slink back under the rock where dramatic critics go at the break of day.