A prudent reviewer treads lightly around Richard Brinsley Sheridan's The School for Scandal, the playwright's comic poison-pen letter to journalists and critics. One after another, he has his characters complain of being "paragraph'd in the newspaper," of having their actions and motivations reported mistakenly if not maliciously. "I live by the infamy of my character," explains Snake (Ian Deakin) to Sir Peter Teazle (Brian Bedford). Says Teazle, aside, "And he's a writer and critic!"
But Sheridan's real target is falsehood of all kinds, which makes The School for Scandal a perfect holiday show. It's a stinging, satiric, completely unsentimental tribute to charity. To Sheridan, open-handedness and open-heartedness are one: though Charles Surface (Graham Abbey) is reputed a 'profligate,' it's clear he's the hero as soon as he starts giving away money he's just managed to borrow himself. "While I have," says Charles, "I'll give." Meanwhile his respected brother Joseph (Donald Carrier) refuses to give a penny, and congratulates himself for it: "It's no small achievement to have the reputation of generosity without the expense." In a society dominated by people named Snake and Sneerwell and Backbite, Sheridan suggests, 'respect' and 'reputation' aren't worth having.
The play concerns the elderly Sir Peter's efforts to enjoy his marriage to a young wife despite her infatuation with just that society. Swirling around that, though, are sub-plots and counter-plots, intrigues and alliances, as family relationships and true loves are crossed, if not by the stars, at least by the wires of gossip. It all works out well in the end but the fun is in getting there-and therein lies the problem with the version now appearing at Chicago Shakespeare.
While most of the performances-and even most of the individual scenes-are strong, the overall production doesn't quite jell. It's as if the director had decided to sacrifice momentum to precision, and present comic set-pieces instead of a comedy. This makes for a long evening whose only real reward is the pleasure of seeing classically-trained actors at the top of their form.
Brian Bedford makes a marvelous Sir Peter Teazle, with not a look or gesture wasted. He is also credited with directing, "based on the Stratford Festival of Canada production, originally directed by Richard Monette." But Bedford is a better director than this-his directorial debut, a take-no-prisoners production of Titus Andronicus, rescued that play almost single-handedly from the critical scrap-heap-and the leaden pacing of this piece betrays its true patrimony. Monette, Stratford's artistic director, has a tendency to direct actors instead of plays. The good news is, that tendency secured a number of marvelous performances reprised here, including especially Michelle Giroux as Lady Teazle, James Blendick as Oliver Surface, John Gilbert as family friend and retainer Rowley and Lally Cadeau as the poisonous Mrs. Candour. For his part, Bedford has evoked good work from newcomers Abbey, Deakin and Timothy MacDonald (as Sir Benjamin Backbite).
Whatever we don't know about Candour and Backbite from their very names we learn from Ann Curtis' marvelous costumes, featuring mobcaps and hats that would need shrinking to suit the Mad Hatter. Wendy Greenwood has lighted Curtis' serviceable set with projections of unreadable newsprint, a charming translation of Sheridan's view that words conceal and confuse as readily as they clarify.
Enough said–for, as Backbite remarks, "'Tis very vulgar to print."