The Fairy Queen

THIS month marks the 276th anniyersary of the first performance of The Fairy Queen before the London rabble. Only Restoration England, as yet uneducated to the subtleties of durchgesungen Italian opera, was capable of producing such an amalgam of song, dance, pagentry, stage effects, and the spoken word--a truly bastard form of entertainment. This particular work is a castrated adaption of A Midsummer Night's Dream liberally interspersed with incidental music in the form of solo songs, ensembles, choruses, and instrumental pieces. With taste and dramatic rectitude thrown to the winds, extravagance is its only excuse and sole salvation--co-authors W. Shakespeare and H. Purcell notwithstanding.

In Harvard terms, the greatest virtue of the production which opened at Lowell last night was its lack of pretension. Simplicity reigned throughout: one-piece, monochromatic costumes; a symmetrically arranged set composed of unbroken, speckled, pastel rectangles; small musical forces; restrained staging. The result unfortunately, was a complete contradiction of the medium. Spectacle was non-existent, and in spite of many moments of real humor, the production was about as uplifting as a grade-school Flag Day presentation. Conductor Brian Davenport and director Warren Goldfarb have resuscitated a period piece with all the respect but none of the imagination it deserves.

In any cast as large as that of The Fairy Queen there is bound to be a bit of talent, and the Lowell House production is no exception. On the the Thespian side, elocution reigns supreme in Linda DeCoff as Hermia, while rich voices can be heard from Margaret Santi (Titania) and Ray Healy (Oberon), both of whom, though lacking subtlety, look every bit the patricians they are supposed to be. Mary King Austin plays Helena as a dumb blond with her hair done up--a sort of cross between Judy Holiday and Sandy Dennis.

ON the musical side, signs of haste were very much in evidence. Mistakes, poor ensemble, and terrible intonation were rampant, especially in the second half. The conductor wisely restricted himself to keeping time, judging by the total failure of all attempts at flexibility of tempo. General unfamiliarity with the score resulted in embarrassing silences between the many discrete sections of music, destroying whatever pace this already tenously organized potpourri might have had.

Nonetheless the music had its bright spots. Sensitive playing from violinist Richard Hamm and cellist Steven Gates sparked an otherwise lack-lustre orchestra. Sopranos Jane Devitt and Made-laine Rembock displayed powerful but well-controlled voices, while alto Gail Feinberg sang everything with a pubescent, lower-class tone that was instant comic relief. Tenor Larry Bakst, looking more embarrassed than most in his sparse neo-Athenian garb, nonetheless gave out a pure, well-modulated Russell Oberlin-like sound that was the surprise joy of the evening. The chorus acquitted itself energetically, though its acting and stage deportment matched the sophistication of dollar-a-day extras in Italian gladiator flicks.

The production at Lowell House has its moments of interest and even excitement, but is hopeless against the forces of boredom. When Helena moans "O weary night, o long and tedious night," she means it.