Broadway

The Play's the Thing

 (Criterion Center Stage Right, New York; 499 seats; $50 top)

By JEREMY GERARD

A Roundabout Theater Company presentation of a play in three acts by Ferenc Molnar, adapted by P. G. Wodehouse; director, Gloria Muzio.
 
Cast: Joe Grifasi (Mansky), Peter Frechette (Sandor Turai), Jay Goede (Albert Adam), Paul Benedict (Johann Dwornitschek), J. Smith-Cameron (Ilona Szabo), Jeff Weiss (Almady), Keith Reddin (Mr. Mell).
 

Even in as woefully miscast and lumpish a revival as the Roundabout offers to launch its 30th season, the third act of "The Play's the Thing" is very nearly foolproof comedy. Set in a drawing room in the "new" wing of an Italian castle, the scene revolves around the rehearsal of a short play that has been written just hours before by a pragmatic librettist hellbent on salvaging the engagement of his naive composing partner and their considerably more experienced prima donna. That it is the "new" wing is essential, for in the early hours of the same day, the writer and composer overheard through the thin walls a salacious encounter between the singer and a voice coach who has been her lover.

Devastated, the young man is determined to destroy his work -- and with it any chance that the group's idyllic retreat from "thin-skinned actors and thick-skinned managers" will be productive.

So while the rest sleep, the writer concocts a "French" scene attributed to Sardou that ingeniously incorporates the explicit exchange and forces the errant couple to "rehearse" it in front of the company. Thus the composer is duped into thinking that the early morning scene was merely a pre-rehearsal.

The act features a manic factotum serving as unwanted sound-effects man, and the total humiliation of the old teacher, who wages a losing battle with ever-longer strings of French names.

All in all, it's about 20 minutes of heaven-sent hilarity in an evening that has otherwise been sheer hell. For this, blame must lie squarely at the feet of director Gloria Muzio and casting director Pat McCorkle, for one is hard-pressed to conjure another recent event when so many good actors have looked so bad.

Worst is Peter Frechette's epicene Sandor, the writer who saves the night with his playlet; followed by Joe Grifasi's hoarse, coarse Mansky -- Sandor's writing partner -- and Jay Goede's composer, who plays dim and callow where only callowness is required.

The biggest disappointment is J. Smith-Cameron's trapped singer, a sexy role for which you'd think she was ideal, but which for some reason she plays as an ingenue (Carole Shelley was memorable in the role in a 1978 revival at the Brooklyn Academy of Music).

Paul Benedict, looking like an overstuffed Charlie Chaplin, seems to be sleepwalking through the role of an ever-helpful butler,and Jeff Weiss is a complete huckster as the lecherous teacher.

But something a little miraculous happens in the third act, when Keith Reddin , playing the nervous clerk, breathes fresh air into the proceedings.

The entire enterprise shifts into high gear for the finale. He's funny, Weiss is funny, Smith-Cameron is game, and if the production still fails to achieve the libidinous drollery Molnar suggested -- this is, after all, a European's play about sex -- at least there's a glimmer of Kaufman-and-Hart-style hijinx.

The physical production is lavish looking, but neither Stephan Olson's ornate seaside setting nor the unflattering costumes from the usually flawless Jess Goldstein are particularly attractive. Peter Kaczorowski's lighting includes some funny shadow play that doesn't, in the end, add much.

Set, Stephan Olson; costumes, Jess Goldstein; lighting, Peter Kaczorowski; sound, Douglas J. Cuomo; hair, David H. Lawrence; artistic director, Todd Haimes. Opened July 9, 1995; reviewed July 5. Running time: 2 hours, 10 min.