Seattle has a reputation for weather that surpasses even London's perpetual gloom and damp, which makes ACT Theatre's frothy, sublimely comic mounting of Matthew Barber's 2003 Tony nominated "Enchanted April" seem more appropriate as a welcome respite from our traditional six months of winter. On the other hand, it's fitting that audiences enjoy Warner Shook's languidly paced, sparklingly acted paean to the redemptive power of beauty and love during the summer, when it is so clearly reflected in our own local version of "wisteria and sunshine".
Weather plays an important role in "Enchanted April", and Barber's adaptation of Elizabeth von Arnim's 1992 romantic novel fully exploits it as a metaphor to reflect the inner emotional states of the characters. Shook in turn gives it full theatrical expression, allowing the pervading atmosphere of gloom to dictate the pace of the early scenes, in the same way that an incessant rain can make for an interminable afternoon. Yet, there is also an almost imperceptible acceleration of time, so that when events reach a farcical gallop in the Second Act, it comes as a ray of bright sunshine through stormy clouds. By play's end, the world feels cleansed and reborn, as do the characters, now ready to embrace an uncertain future. It's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" for the Jazz Age, with nature, rather than the supernatural wielding power to "translate" the darkness of damaged souls by the light of rekindled love, and no one - least of all the audience -- is immune to its charms.
Barber's script occasionally lapses into an emotionally contrived psychodrama more appropriate to a "Lifetime" channel movie, but in its best moments also brilliantly synthesizes the dark and light elements of von Armin's novel, set in the aftermath of WW I, when the world was eager to move beyond the tragedies of the recent past, but which was equally fearful of an unknown future. In this regard, there are obvious resonances to current events, especially in the play's several references to "war widows", the first mention of which stills the audience into a palpable silence. And, while story is entirely predictable, and the inevitable transformations come as little surprise, such predictability in no way prevents us from feeling a sense of satisfaction in taking this journey beside such enchanting characters.
Lotty Wilton (Julie Briskman), is a drab housewife whose lingering feelings of dissatisfaction impel her to make the acquaintance of Rose Arnott (Suzanne Bouchard), a pious woman who so obviously wears her sadness on her sleeve that several characters liken her to a "disappointed Madonna". Both have glimpsed a newspaper advertisement offering an Italian castle "to let" for a month, and Lotty immediately latches onto this as the solution to her malaise. Rose, less convinced but no less intrigued, is eventually swayed by Lotty's insistence that she "sees" them together among the proffered gardens and ocean view. Whether her insight is based on extraordinary ability or merely from an overly stimulated imagination is debatable, but it clearly implies a psychology predicated on the idea of "creating ones own reality", a theme that figures prominently throughout the play.
Eventually, they are joined by a second pair of equally disparate women: Lady Caroline (Deborah Fialkow), a free-thinking, hard living aristocrat, and Mrs. Graves (Suzy Hunt), an elderly widow clinging to memories of an illustrious past. Each character represents a stereotype, but as the undercurrents of tragedy and despair that have shaped their respective lives begin to emerge, each actress develops a fully realized personality from the smattering of biographical information. What they give us are women trapped in circumstances not of their choosing, each longing to ease the burden of maintaining undesirable situations to which they nevertheless feel a grudging obligation. By the time the play reaches its conclusion, they, along with the men who follow them to their picturesque rented villa, will be transformed in ways they never dreamed - or perhaps only dreamed, but never believed possible.
Much of the joy of "Enchanted April" comes directly from the outstanding performances of the four leads, all of whom expertly play their seemingly incompatible personalities off each other to great comic effect. Briskman and Bouchard in particular lightly shoulder this burden; the progression of their relationship, at first stifled by a somewhat preposterous premise, blossoms in such a natural and unaffected manner as to compress the experience of a lifetime's friendship into a two hour twenty minute span. Fialkow and Hunt match them with ease; Fialkow's sophisticated, freewheeling "modern" sensibilities comically contrasting Hunt's Victorian conservatism. Yet, all four find ways to fill emotional gaps in each other, pointing to future friendships as bright as the light on the Italian slate of Robert Dahlstrom's ingeniously devised arena setting.
Although subordinated to essentially supporting roles, the men -- David Pichette as the social-climbing solicitor Mr. Wilton, Michael Winters' disaffected writer Arnott, and R. Hamilton Wright as the charmingly unpretentious landlord, Wilding all bring considerable skill and polish to their roles. Pichette's natural fastidiousness provides a delightful counterpoint to Briskman's effusiveness, while Winters gives a more subtly shaded performance as a man driven to desperate measures because of his wife's fear of intimacy.
That the two marriages are eventually reconciled goes without saying, and even the pairing of Lady Caroline and Wilding comes as no shock, but what "Enchanted April" lacks in dramatic surprises it more than compensates for with unrelenting optimism and joi d' vivre. It is pure and simple a celebration of life, filtered through the gossamer of an old-fashioned romantic comedy, guaranteed to delight even the most jaded theatre-goer.