Emilie has been corresponding with a young man who wishes her to come and live with he and his family, in service as a governess. Their letters have taken a distinctly, if subtextually, romantic turn. When she arrives, neither the Lord of the manor, nor her young charge, are anywhere to be found. There are the two sisters, Agatha and Huldey. And a maid named Marjory. Agatha is cold, disingenuous and evasive. Huldey is vain and superficial. Marjory is petulant and terse. Despite very strange circumstances, Emilie’s questions do nothing to enlighten her, or illuminate the actual reasons she’s there. Her reception is by turns hostile and convivial, confounding and reassuring, disorienting and beguiling.
Stage comedy would seem to be a constant source of enigma and the inexplicable. Christopher Durang can manage hi-jinks that could never work for Moliere (or anybody else). Neil Simon and Samuel Beckett might share worldviews, but not the same methodology. Albee and McDonagh may be writing comedy for themselves, but not the rest of us. It’s not always easy to gauge why a comedy takes flight or crashes, even if the verdict itself is undeniable.
Jen Silverman’s The Moors is unquestionably brilliant, taking the considerable gravitas of The Bronte Sister’s milieu, and turning it on its head. Confessing up front a disgraceful lack of exposure to Jane and Emily’s oeuvre, I can freely attest that Silverman’s masterful script makes the absurdity of Emilie’s experience quite salient, while in the context of a novel, we might be lost in the miasma of metaphysical paucity and ennui. The Brontes’ make starvation of the soul palpable, yet absorbing, evinced in the merciless desolation of the moors, and famished discourse to be found in the households they depict. In Silverman’s comedy, the moors have crept into the living room (Thank you, Ian Loveall) though nobody seems to notice. Or care. What might normally pass for verisimilitude arises under Silverman’s skillful hand. The ridiculousness of endless introversion (the animals are more evolved than the humans) the indulgent petulance, pops, and we find ourselves laughing helplessly. Silverman has created a fusion of homage and spoof. We see Agatha’s pretentiousness and Huldey’s narcissism (or is it the other way?) but we’re celebrating, rather than mocking, The Brontes.
Under the sure hand of director Garrett Storms, the cast is deliciously sly and nimble. Emily Scott Banks is the essence of cool detachment, and Mikaela Krantz’s Huldey might sabotage her own dinner party, just for the attention. Jenny Ledel’s angry scullery maid is two steps removed from Lizzie Borden, and Vanessa DeSilvio’s governess is charming without making us cringe. Thomas Ward and Felicia Bertch are engaging as The Mastiff who ponders the imperatives of the cosmos, and The Moor-Hen, who’s content with more banal distractions. Please do make a point of seeing The Moors, a comedy as restorative as a tonic and giddy as a goose.
Theatre 3 presents: The Moors, playing October 25th – November 18th, 2018. 2800 Routh St, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201 (214) 871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com