Why, a comedy, of course! A farcical play is just the right medicine to drive the blues away. Heaven knows how we have been thrown into the pits by politicians, rebels, kidnappers and terrorists of various persuasions and doomsday prophets. We deserve some respite from their threats.
The Roman comic master mixers of medicine for melancholy knew the formula. Donate the Roman togas to the Salvation Army or sell them to Eloy’s, but the foibles and fancies of the men and women who wear them have remained the same through the centuries.
Take a tenor. You know this type of opera singer. When his voice rises to a high C fortississimo, or even D, it can shatter a wine glass to smithereens. His female fans – stalkers all – pursue him relentlessly and you can be sure they do not lust for his vocal cords.
The tenor gets ravenous after a performance. If he is Italian – and tenors usually are – he stuffs himself with pasta which he washes down his gullet with a jug of wine. This explains why tenors have bellies.
The tenor has to have a wife – preferably also Italian – who can nag him silly in his native tongue and gesticulate fiercely according to her volcanic temper. She needs to be around to remind him of schedules for rehearsals and performances, and to drive off predatory females, or even an adoring male fan, as well.
Then, there is the opera house manager, producer, impresario or what-have-you, who needs to put the tenor on stage at any cost, or there will be the devil to pay. He needs to have a factotum, a secretary, a man-Friday, somebody he can yell at. His problem about having the tenor at the right time and the right place is shared with the chairperson of the opera guild, who is preferably a female as it may lead to further complications in the plot.
Put all these characters in a big bowl in situations of intrigue involving the use of disguises and mistaken identities as in a farce by Plautus, shake the mixture a few times, spice it up with a few bars of Verdi tenor arias – and presto! You get Ken Ludwig’s Lend Me a Tenor – a cure for nerves, depression, schizophrenia and angst. Caution: A possible side effect of this medication is flatulence caused by excessive laughter.
With this play, Repertory Philippines opens its 66th season at the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium at the RCBC Plaza on Ayala Ave. in Makati City.
Rep doyenne Zeneida Amador directs this farce with a steady hand that squeezes every ounce of comic fun from the concoction, and she has assembled a superb cast who can deliver all the joy juice.
Tito Merelli (Miguel Faustmann), the world’s greatest tenor, is engaged to sing Otello with the Cleveland Opera Company. He is expected to fly in from Italy with his wife, Maria (Joy Virata). The hour is late and Il Stupendo has not shown up.
Everyone directly or remotely involved in the production is on tenterhooks waiting for their Venetian Moor: Tension mounts as Henry Saunders (Arnel Carrion) harasses his shy secretary, Max (Michael Williams), whom he threatens to put on stage as a replacement if the celebrated tenor fails to come. You see, Max is a tenor, too. With black make-up on and a wig, who can tell an impostor?
Max is in love with his boss’ daughter, Maggie (Liesl Batucan) but the girl isn’t quite ready for Wagner’s wedding march. She fantasizes about a grand fling before she retires to married life, and she has her sights on Il Stupendo no less.
Almost as eager for the arrival of the tenor from Italy is the bell hop at the hotel (Rem Zamora), the idol’s fanatical fan.
In the meantime, the chairman of the Cleveland Opera Guild, Julia Leverett (Jay Valencia-Glorioso), keeps ringing up the hotel to find out if Tito has finally arrived. Even more anxious is Diana (Ana Bitong), the Desdemona of this Otello. This designing female plots to seduce her leading man and use him as a springboard to the Met, Covent Garden and La Scala.
At last, to everyone’s relief, the superstar of the operatic world materializes – with his wife, naturally. Now, Saunders has to make sure that Tito will make it to the opera house on time and in good shape. He assigns Max to keep an eye on their guest, or else….
The bell hop makes a nuisance of himself. Maggie applies her charms and curbs to vamp the tenor. Maria stomps off in a jealous rage. Max gives Tito sleeping pills, and moments later, finds the man cold and stiff. He rushes in his Moorish costume to the theater and sings a brilliant Otello. Waking up from his stupor, Tito, also in costume, follows him and is pursued by the police, who mistake him for a lunatic on the loose.
Before the evening is over, Max has won the love of Maggie and the promise of a career in opera. And Tito has had a fantastic one-night stand with Diana who must be mentally warbling "Met, here I come" before Maria returns and puts her noose around his neck again.
You might expect to hear great tenor arias in Lend Me a Tenor. You don’t really expect Williams or Faustmann to sing "Celeste Aida" or "Di quella pira," do you? Instead you’ll get to hear only snippets of recordings of Verdi, from Rigoletto, Il Trovatare Don Carlo and Aida.
Neither expect some profound insight on the human condition or moral edification. We have enough of these from the pulpit. It’s simply good, clean fun. Well, maybe not so clean, but that contributes to the fun even more. And in these uncertain days, there can’t be enough of that.
In her director’s notes, Amador declares: "In these difficult and troubled times, comedy is its own excuse for being."
When the tigers are growling at the gates, there ought to be, as Plautus says, a comedy tonight.