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N (Bonaparte); Closer
BY LIZA WEISSTUCH
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There’s a thin line between the illusion of power and having actual domination over the physical. Pilgrim Theatre’s N (Bonaparte) (at the Boston Center for the Arts through October 8) walks that line with comic grace and lyrical agility. Laura Harrington’s play is a phantasmagorical pastiche that yanks us back to 1815 on the island of St. Helena, where the conquered emperor (Kermit Dunkelberg) sits in exile, accompanied by a trio of admiring, loquacious rats; a small camp of lackeys; and a few guests from the spirit world, including his beloved Josephine (Belle Linda Halpern) and Joan of Arc (Jenn Pina). The fluid scenes present Napoleon as he oscillates between the heights of maniacal power and the panicked realization that he is "like the rats, responding to hunger, lust, smell." As he becomes energized by thoughts of his past triumphs and further inflated by his once-held hopes for the future, "N" is thrilled (and Dunkelberg thrilling), a politician before a rallying crowd. But power is an illusion on the island, and N’s reality is purely bodily — a fact reinforced by the demure Irish doctor who is his primary contact. N reminds Joan of Arc’s ghost, with whom he engages in heated debate over which of them is more likely to achieve immortality, that he’s the father of propaganda, having stage-managed his image in the public eye. But in exile, he is driven mad as, like Caliban in reverse, he learns the pitfalls of biology from the natives. The discrepancy between a ruler’s public and private selves is an age-old source of intrigue. Shakespeare’s kings were always trying to align their two sides, and the corporeal desires of modern officials have at times become a public predicament. Granted, Harrington does flog us a bit with the thematic thread. But instead of coming across as an anemic idea play, the work, in the hands of director Kim Mancuso, attains a dancelike sensibility. Moreover, N is written with lyrical persuasion and spoken by actors who possess their characters so fully that you become rapt in their rapture. The power of the flesh and its psychological traps are more candidly and brutally explored in Devanaughn Theatre’s fiery production of Patrick Marber’s 1997 play, Closer (at the Piano Factory through October 9). In this unflinching story of sexual musical chairs among two couples, cowardice and maliciousness liquefy into a single venom. Writer Danny leaves Alice, a stripper, for Anna, a photographer, who leaves her dermatologist hubby, Larry. Then Larry pursues Alice (Cristi Miles, donning a tough shell to hide inner vulnerability). There’s a betrayal for every flash of desire, a tender gesture for every bruising ploy. And Dani Duggan’s whip-tight direction is as probing as it is unsentimental. You almost want to duck as emotions are hurled like icy daggers. Marber’s script doesn’t shed much light on the characters’ histories, but the cast infuses their emotional extreme sport with Method-style introspective tension.
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