The School for Wives

Overview

The School for Wives tells the story of Arnolde (John Adam), an egoist who buys a four-year-old girl and has her brought up in a sheltered convent in the hope of breeding a perfectly submissive wife. It turns out she has her own mind (or hormones) and falls for another man (Meyne Wyatt).

Director Lee Lewis has set her slapstick version of Molière's 1662 comedy in the 1920s. It has been translated by Justin Fleming and has been touring many corners of Australia since June this year. The adaptation is an entertaining piece of frippery.

Harriet Dyer playing Agnes stands out as a comic champion, and supporting characters Alan (Andrew Johnston) and Georgette (Alexandra Aldrich), the house help, are also a tight comic duo. Adam's performance as Arnolde is really the powerhouse of the show, driving the story with indefatigable energy and commitment. Mark Jones, providing an eclectic mix of music to accompany the shenanigans, shows off some impressive skills and gives a generous performance.

Designer Marg Horwell has come up with a scrappy, unfinished, and dysfunctional set, presumably as a joke. The joke goes a bit far though and the result is simply a ridiculous set, where a piece of enormous scaffolding which is used only twice takes up half the stage. The moveable white panels similarly clutter the space and block audience views for no reason.

Bell Shakespeare's thing is to bring Shakespeare and other classics to as many Australians as possible. It's a noble and worthy mission. The only problem with that project, in this particular instance, is that Lewis and Fleming seem to have taken accessibility to mean simple. There is no need to explain away everything for the audience, no matter who they are. Excellent theatre can also be completely baffling.

Watching this show is similar to abiding that uncle at Christmas lunch explaining each of his manifold terrible jokes. Lee Lewis has likened Molière to Ricky Gervais elsewhere, and the cringe level in The School for Wives is certainly high. I have a hunch though, that part of the cringe in this production is the good old cultural cringe we Australians are so friendly with when it comes to classics. The translation into Australian vernacular reads as shy rather than sharp.

That said, there’s nothing wrong with a piece of pure entertainment, and let's face it, the dance finale is fabulous. Tireless winking and nudging aside, it's an amusing night at the Opera House.