Playwright: George Bernard Shaw
At: Rogue Theater at The Playground, 3341 N. Lincoln Ave.
Phone: (773) 450-0591; $10
Runs through: Sept. 17
Literary purists attending Rogue Theater's production of George Bernard Shaw's Man and Superman, described by its author as 'a comedy and a philosophy,' are warned to check their academic credentials at the door. Missing is the entire third-act dream sequence featuring personnel from the Don Juan legend—a symposium so lengthy as to be often performed as a play in itself—along with the Sephardic rebels' discussion of the political situation in 1903 Spain, a dowager redundantly representing Conventional Morality, and two newfangled steam-powered automobiles. But adapter/ director Kerstin Broockmann's wholesale jettisoning of so much philosophy, however audacious, nevertheless leaves us with a delightful two hours of romantic—or maybe anti-romantic is more accurate—comedy.
It begins with one of Shaw's favorite premises: a young woman—two, in this case—must decide who to marry. Miss Ann Whitefield is expected to wed one of the two men appointed as her guardian in her father's will, but her designated spouse is reluctant to relinquish his independence, and besides, Ann already has a suitor tearfully pledging her his eternal devotion. Miss Violet Robinson, by contrast, IS married—secretly, to the son of an Irish-American entrepreneur who vows his daughter-in-law must be no less than a titled aristocrat. After much argument, all ends with everyone satisfied, thanks in large part to the manipulations of the ladies, who know how to turn their 'inferior' social status to their own advantage.
Shaw's hyperarticulate prose is a delight to hear and a chore to speak. Even winnowed down to two hours, muscular verbal dexterity is required to make assertions like 'Self-sacrificing women sacrifice others most recklessly. They have their purpose, and a man is nothing to them but an instrument of that purpose!' flow trippingly off the tongue. But Lisa Stran (done up in full Gibson Girl regalia by costumer Ellyzabeth Adler) and Nate White swap repartee with an alacrity worthy of Beatrice and Benedick, supported by players likewise brimming with vigor in defiance of post-opening enervation.
The acting is uniformly excellent, transcending its low-budget trappings. But special mention is due Karin Shook, whose dialect instruction contributes mightily to keeping the characterizations distinct and the wordplay dazzling.