Words, glorious words: Cyrano de Bergerac, a captivating new adaptation at the Citadel. A review., Theater News

By Liz Nicholls,

A wave, a tide, a torrent, a veritable deluge of poetry of every kind comes at you, in glorious profusion, from the Citadel mainstage in a wonderful new adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac by Jessy Ardern.

You can float in it, surf it, make fountains and geysers with it…. Cyrano, the ultra-romantic, fiery wordsmith, and virtuoso swordsman of Edmond Rostand’s 1897 French verse drama, splashes words with expert flourishes everywhere he goes, in Amanda Goldberg’s production of the adaptation. Over all the other characters. Over us.

In hip-hop staccato, staccato, rhyming couplets, iambic pentameter with playful internal rhymes, Ardern finds a language and a cadence that are both of the period and contemporary, a playfully casual dexterity with anachronism. Hamilton‘s the big influence here. And the extra complication, to which Ardern rises effortlessly, is that “of the period” means both both Rostand’s own, the Belle Époque, and the 17th century when the play is set. Maddie Bautista’s soundscore (and original compositions) are full of allusions — the sweeping orchestral meets the rock riff, harpsichord meets hip-hop.

In Scott Shpeley’s captivating performance, Cyrano is impossible, a mad genius of a guy with a short fuse and “a formidable shnozz.” He’s a brilliant, self-destructive satirist, crazy in love with words, who wields killer rhymes with one hand, clutching a sword in the other, dispatching fools, hypocrisy, and banality with both — without breaking a sweat. And you can’t take your eyes (or ears) off him.

It is no accident that the opening scene of Cyrano happens in a theatre, with Cyrano giving a hammy actor (Noah Beemer as Montfleury) the hook, with his sword. “Cede the floor, you septic cold sore….”) Theatre criticism, I must say, at its most decisive. Acting is, after all, the axis on which the story turns. In love with his beautiful childhood friend Roxanne (Stephanie Sy), the multi-talented Cyrano, who has everything going for him but the ease of good looks, leaves his bruised heart hidden and his passion unspoken. He channels his secret courtship by proxy — sending ecstatic love poetry through the mouthpiece of her handsome, tongue-tied suitor Christian (Darren Martens). Theatre as a kind of ventriloquism.

Sy is a real sparkler as Roxanne, smart and quick on the uptake herself, impulsive, and exasperated by nitwits. Heartbreakingly, she’s the one person in Cyrano’s life best able to appreciate him and his remarkable gift of the gab. No wonder Christian, played by Martens in a sweetly perplexed performance that hits a variety of comic notes, is intimidated, and ready to sign on a ghost-writer. “I think you’re so cool,” he tells Cyrano, in one of his more articulate moments. “I just think that you’re really great,” he tells Roxanne who can’t believe what’s assaulting her ears. “But how do you love me?” she needs to hear. And he is, of course, stumped; his word horde used up.

The celebrated balcony scene, when the performance camouflage strains at the seams in the dark, Cyrano’s own voice, and his lush, sexy poetry, rouses Roxanne, as Christian climbs up to her, Romeo-style. It’s a knock-out, in physical and verbal choreography (movement director Anna Kuman).

The male dynamic of Cyrano’s circle of fellow soldiers is amusingly set forth under Goldberg’s direction, a combination of eye-rolling indulgence, and exasperation with their maddening but impressive-as-hell friend. Alexander Ariate’s Le Bret is particularly vivid. And Cyrano’s enemies, like the creepy hustler De Guiche (Brian Hamman), a wealthy aristocrat making moves on Roxanne, are daunting. So it’s gratifying to see him foiled by both Roxanne and Cyrano, the former with guile and the latter with sword and poetry.

You’ll get a kick out of Lara Arabian’s Mme Ragueneau, a no-bullshit straight-shooter. Without fracturing the framework of a male-dominated world — conjured by Deanna Finnman’s beautiful costumes — the women of Ardern’s adaptation are no delicate hothouse flowers.

Since Cyrano is an entertainer, there’s big fun to be had watching Shpeley up the ante (fight direction: Daniel Levinson). Four combatants at once, and then more and more (“one more enemy? add it to my tab”). And in Ardern’s script he undertakes a ne plus ultra coup when, in order to prove he doesn’t prepare rhymes in advance, he does what improv companies do: he asks for cues from his audience and says Yes to suggestions, while engaged in lethal swordplay. And that’s when Roxanne tosses out “orange,” the word that has stymied rhymesters for centuries. But, hey, even “Bergerac” isn’t an easy one.

It all happens on Beyata Hackborn’s atmospheric design – a beautiful, free-floating, deconstructed assortment of arches and ropes, a couple of chandeliers. The only real furniture onstage is a long rustic wooden bar, angled across the stage and spray-painted with Cyrano graffiti borrowed for the occasion from an assortment of poets, including Rilke (“go to the limits of your longing”), Joni Mitchell (“you’re in my blood like holy wine”), Dylan Thomas (“do not go gentle”). Darkness suffused by thousands of candles: that’s the look, courtesy of lighting designer Hugh Conacher, whose magic extends to the smoke and dust-filled murk of the battle scenes.

The time flies by, more than two-and-a-half hours-plus of it, in a twinkling. It’s a new adaptation that, like its exuberant hero, is besotted with language — how often does the love of words flower so extravagantly in theatre? — and knows how to use it to immerse us in seductive romance, and comedy, and tragedy. A big, full, captivating evening.

REVIEW

Cyrano de Bergerac

Theatre: Citadel Theatre, Royal Manitoba Theatre Centre, Grand Theatre

Written by: Edmond Rostand

Adapted by: Jessy Ardern

Directed by: Amanda Goldberg

Starring: Scott Shpeley, Stephanie Sy, Lara Arabian, Alexander Ariate, Noah Beemer, Andrew Cecon, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Brian Hamman, Darren Martens, Megan McArton, Siobhan Richardson, Sydney Williams

Where: Citadel Shoctor Theatre

Running: through May 24

Tickets: citadeltheatre.com, 780-425-1820