The Misanthrope

I braced myself against the chilly streets of London last night to see a theatre production about which I had - well - curiously enough, no assumptions at all.

The play is a modern adaptation of Molieres: one of his most regarded, yet possibly most unique works. Unusually for the playwright, Moliere dispenses with character nuance and trajectory, whilst almost entirely ignoring plot. Alceste, a writer who is by parts admirably honest and laughingly idealistic, abandons his moral high-horse when he meets Celimene, a beautiful young actress who jars with his ethical snobbery whilst bewitching him utterly. Try as he might to open her eyes to the shallowness of the world she immerself herself in, Celimene remains, to the end, refreshingly vain. As ghastly as her charcter can sometimes be, the pure acceptance of the reality of her situation gives her a commendable practicality that the idealist Alceste seems to lack.

The satire of French aristocrats is transformed by Martin Crimp into a expose of the hypocrisy of modern-day intelligentsia. Unlike most 'updates' of classics (any and every re-working of Romeo and Juliet springs to mind), this didn't set my teeth on edge. Voicemail messages in rhyming couplets combine the modern and ancient to humorous effect, and whilst references to modern-day are slightly overblown: think the RSC, LLoyd-Webber and David Cameron, the audience certainly seemed very happy. Fairly 'straight' parts of Alceste (Damian Lewis) and wingman John (Dominic Rowan) were played well, reciting their verse with a punch, yet avoiding overstatement. The more flamboyant characters of Julian (Chuck Iwuji) and Alexander (Nicolas Le Prevost) could, and did, allow themselves a lot more freedom, taking great delight in shaping and twisting the words.

The mise-en-scene, a hotel room conceived by Hildegard Betchler is suitably apt for Knightley's starlet 'Jennifer' (changed from Celimene), strewn with Chanel bags, silver pumps and thousands of Vogues. As Knightley is the current 'muse' of Chanel this is suitably apt, and the connections that the director continously alludes to between Jennifer's life and Knightley's own makes one wonder if the part was at all a stretch.

I'm usually the first to jump on the bitch bandwagon, taking an instant dislike to starlets for an outfit, a phrase taken out of context, a professed love for nuclear physics (see Lou Douillon and Milla Jovovich), and the always coy confession to the interviewer of their past life as an ugly duckling (I've seen Cameron Diazs' high-school photo, ok?! Come on, now.) However, despite the sometimes dubious acting chops of Knightley and her admission of looking in the mirror and seeing a 'funny face', I can't muster the strength to hate her. Strasbourg and ilk may consider great actors such as Olivier, Day-Lewis to have sprung up from a warm rock somewhere fully equipped to cry on queue, look interested in some very boring dialogue and pull off pantaloons with aplomb, but skeptics could argue that acting, like may other crafts can be learnt.

Whilst Knightley's talent in stinkers like 'The Hole' and 'Bend it Like Beckham' can be questioned, the effect of a good script and great voice coach cannot be argued. Her wasp-esque interpretation of Jennifer is a curious mix of naivete, knowing sexuality and childish manipulation, and she plays off well against Lewis' self-righteous indignation and curse of the left wing intelligentsia. Martin Crimp's updated version of Molière's play can sometimes feel overly referential: attacking LLoyd Webber, The RSC and even us the theatre goer, but the rhyming couplets and adaptation thereof are a triumph. Worth a look, especially if you are a fan of pretty chanel-strewn sets and fit gingers.