On Russell Hall’s main stage, there is a Greek palace of sorts, complete with pillars and multiple levels, done in pastel pinks, blues and purples, the curves and strategically centered door a clear metaphor for the female form. An effeminate man with a flowing white beard approaches the audience, introducing himself as Aristophanes, then proceeds to remind us of standard audience protocol-no cell phones, flash photography, note the emergency exits-before cautioning that the following is not a play for the timid.
A moment later, actors file onstage from the back of the theatre, a flute and guitar their only accompaniment. Two separate groups, one on either side of the stage, carry a woman above their heads, set her down and the dance begins.
And what a dance it was.
The basic premise of “Lysistrata,” in case you missed the show, is that all of the women of Greece team up to end war by withholding sex. Ariel Francoeur’s direction wisely left little to the imagination: “Lysistrata” is not a play about subtlety. To that end, the men in the cast were each outfitted with their very own artistically rendered phalluses, one of which even expanded in girth according to the character’s level of sexual frustration, ultimately developing cornflower-colored testes that had the entire audience applauding. Another memorable moment had the women of the cast swearing to uphold their vow of celibacy while feverishly stroking a chalice of wine. Did I mention it’s not about subtlety?
The cast handled the humor well, the women lusty and generally witless, the men making the transition from empowered soldiers to sex-starved imbeciles with conviction and enthusiasm. Mia Perron, as Myrrhina, was delightfully playful, proving the perfect foil for the painfully over-stimulated Cinesias, played with convincing ardor by freshman Nick Cyr. Chorus members Anthony Treixera and Josieda Lord did a great job of physically embodying their masked characters, simultaneously conveying the show’s humor while still doing an impressive job musically. Michele Lee was the embodiment of tranquility as Peace, and though his role was relatively small, Travis Curran as the male slave was winsome and entirely sympathetic. The big twist in Francoeur’s interpretation of “Lysistrata” was that the title character was played by a male actor in drag. Ian Carlsen, who was just a shade prettier than the prettiest girls in the show, portrayed Lysistrata with an intriguing mix of calculation and irony. He also walked much, much better in heels than I ever will.
The costuming for “Lysistrata” was a tribute to the ever-talented costume designer Jodi Ozimek, who created a fanciful world in which classical Greece met uptown dominatrix: togas were complimented with fishnets, spiked heels and leather. The original score, composed by music major Angus McFarland, was well suited to the mood of the show. The score never overwhelmed the action and complimented the tone quite well. The set, designed by Professor Charles Kading, was at once fanciful and practical, providing not only tie-ins to the themes of the play but a multi-level structure that served the action well.
Francoeur did a good job of capturing Aristophanes original anti-war message; unless you were deaf, dumb and hidden in someone’s trunk, there’s really very little way to miss the pro-peace theme in this adaptation. If I hadn’t gotten it before the end of the show, I was pretty sure by the end, when the men ogled, raped and ultimately killed Peace. So, what with Peace lying prone on the stage floor amidst all the shiny drunken penises, it was hard to miss the message: War is bad, men are pigs. Say it with me now. What’s that, Michael Moore? You want to join the fight? Sorry, dude, not ’til you get rid of that pipe cleaner between your legs.