A Misanthrope

Emer Dineen and Matthew Malone in A Misanthrope. Image, Patricio Cassinoni

***

Molière’s The Misanthrope gets the Carry On treatment in the somewhat muddled A Misanthrope. Written by American playwright Matt Minnicino after Molière, the 17th century classic French comedy, reset in a 21st century Dublin tech company, views office politics through a 1970s sitcom lens. Where the sexually voracious Celimene is lusted after by misanthrope Alceste who demands her exclusive devotion. As does his rival, the poetic Oronte. Lust and business making for busy bedfellows as HR complaints, AI product launches, resurfacing tweets and sexual and professional rivals line up to take a swipe at Celimene. A woman who works hard, plays harder, and wants to live as large as she loves. If only the imploring and insecure men in her life, and one irresistibly nasty woman, would let her. Indeed, so dominant is the irrepressible Celimene, A Misanthrope’s Lover would have been a far more accurate title.

Whether Celimene enjoys multiple partners for fun, or flirting for fun, or is marketing herself to climb a corporate ladder cluttered with little boys is rather unclear. Probably a little of everything. Celimene making no secret that she enjoys sex and finds men demanding exclusive rights to her both immature and annoying. The conventional finale offering less a resolution so much as hoovering up a mess that got out of control. Beginning with Minnicino’s brilliant word play. Using rhyming couplets, Minnicino delivers a masterclass in observational hilarity. Understanding couplets are reliant on rhythm as much as rhyme, with both used to terrific effect. Not understanding that you can have too much of a good thing. A Misanthrope screaming for judicious pruning as verbal filler injects its two hour fifteen minutes with durational lag. Narratively, Celimene’s blindsiding coup de theatre confuses more than clarifies as she lectures on corporate culture. Then there’s the dreaded prudery looking dated next to girl boss Celimene. Indeed, a brilliant come to Jesus moment when Celimene tells Alceste he can like or lump her appetites only confuses when Celimene unconvincingly back pedals in her affections later on. The gesture, like their relationship, impossible to buy. Compounded by protagonist and antagonist having zero sexual chemistry.

Emer Dineen in A Misanthrope. Image, Ros Kavanagh

At its core, the fundamental relationship between Alceste and Celimene doesn’t deliver outside the friend zone. Due, primarily, to a hard working Matthew Malone in the titular role. In the era of acerbic misanthropes like House MD, or cutting drag wits like Panti Bliss, Malone's Alceste proves petulant child more than master of scathing insults. Like a modern day Kenneth Williams, camp insensitivity makes for a delightful addition to an ensemble, but it's not robust enough to carry the lead next to Emer Dineen’s fiercely consuming Celimene. He might bitch, but Alceste is more spoiled brat than bitchy queen. Less stud material so much as a dray foal convincing himself he’s a stallion. Alceste impetuously delivering his world weary pettiness without the requisite range or authority. His beta male lusting after the office bad girl never convincingly landing. Seen in a brilliantly directed office sex romp where Alceste is overwhelmed by man-eater Celimene, looking too slight to push against Dineen’s vivaciously brilliant performance. Or Fiona Bell’s superlatively comic Arsino.

In fairness, when it comes to timing, presence, chemistry and finesse; Dineen and Bell have it all and then some. Their cut, thrust and parries as they cross verbal swords in the gym a thing of vicious beauty. Dineen, like Celimene, exuding superstar quality as she slinks across stage with a wicked glint and alluring huskiness owning every scene. Dineen simply impossible to ignore or resist. Bell, like Streep, an actress who leaves you gobsmacked by the sheer breadth of her talent. Her enviable dramatic CV enriched with some of the greatest comic performances of recent years. Seen again as Arsino tries conceal her lustful venom under noble intentions, offering feedback as a friend you don't need. Naoise Dunbar, Adrian Muykanovich, Heather O’Sullivan and Michael Tient rounding out an invested cast.

Emer Dineen in A Misanthrope. Image, Ros Kavanagh

Receiving its Irish premiere, A Misanthrope's smart reimagining feels less epic poem so much as a litany of lightweight limericks. If poetry is the precise word in the precise place, of which there are many in A Misanthrope, there are far too many imprecise words that don’t have any place at all. Long and long winded, A Misanthrope is funny, insightful and sexy, but never as funny, insightful or sexy as it might have been. Where it is, Bell and Dineen are often the cause and right in the thick of it. Two magnificent talents enlivening whatever production they’re attached to.

A Misanthrope, by Matt Minnicino after Molière, presented by Sugarglass and Smock Alley Theatre in association with Once Off Productions, runs at Smock Alley Theatre until August 2nd.

For more information visit Smock Alley Theatre