Tartuffe, Theatre Royal Haymarket, review

Set against a backdrop of contemporary LA’s susceptibility to rapacious belief systems, Gérald Garutti’s reimagining of Tartuffe is let down by distressingly substandard execution – in a frequently baffling, bilingual production at the Theatre Royal Haymarket.

Relocating Moliere’s satire to modern-day Los Angeles, director Gérald Garutti interprets Tartuffe as a mercenary evangelist – tapping into the city’s infamous susceptibility to ‘alternative’ belief systems. The target of his deception, Orgon (Sebastian Roché), has become a French billionaire – with all the money in the world, but none of the ‘spiritual guidance’ (he’s been led to believe) he needs.

On paper, the concept’s not a bad spin on a 17th-century, often dusty, text at all. You assume Garutti’s intention is to emphasise Tartuffe‘s enduring relevance – and there’s clearly nothing wrong with that. The problem with focusing what is supposed to be a fairly biting satire on a ‘fad religion’, though, is they’re already the subject of so much parody. I’d argue that ridicule is already an intrinsic part of Scientology’s identity – for instance; it’s very rare that the mass media, even, portrays it in any other light. Trump (who gets a particularly unsubtle look-in during the fresh translation’s concluding scenes) is in exactly the same boat. And for that reason, satire here seems more than a little futile. It’s actually very difficult to work out what the production’s trying to say about belief systems, conservatism or gender politics anyway; you, unfortunately, come away assuming the answer is ‘very little’.

The precise reasoning behind the production’s bilingualism is equally hazy, though a lot of affluent-looking French speakers – sat around me on opening night – suggest it’s maybe just a smart marketing decision. The billionaire’s family switch between languages seemingly randomly (with surtitles provided in the alternative language throughout), and the registers clash (presumably intentionally) between English colloquialism and far more archaic French verse – without clear reasoning for such a distinction. On a very granular level, constantly having to divert your attention away from the action to the captions is fairly disorientating. Equally, the speed at which you’re expecting to read the French allows little time to actually appreciate the ‘acting’ – it’s impossible, in the way it’s been staged, to have sight of both concurrently.

On the subject of the acting: staggering around like a slightly low-rent Yosemite Sam, Paul Anderson plays Tartuffe with baffling restraint. He seems more or less devoid of the charisma necessary for the situation to be conceivable, and this makes everything a little silly in a non-‘funny’ way. Much of the supporting cast are well-known French stars, and perhaps have a slightly different way of carrying themselves and delivering lines than we’re used to in the West End – but it comes across, to English eyes like mine at least, to be fairly stilted and mechanical. It’s as if they think they’re constantly on a stills photography shoot, transitioning between poses seamlessly – but without any ‘humanity’ or naturalness in the movement that links one to the next.

Directorial decisions, on the other hand, could benefit from a touch more subtlety: it seemed cheap, for instance, to get Orgon on his knees to Tartuffe, staring at his groin with an expression of awe. I assume the punchline was meant to be the underlying eroticism, but man-on-man sexual tension surely isn’t that funny in the 21st century? 

More than anything else though, this Tartuffe really isn’t as funny as it ought to be. You wonder if the director deliberately wanted all humour to come purely from his concept/interpretation of the source material, rather than the text itself. Which begs the question of really whether the production is proving Tartuffe‘s enduring relevance – or Garutti is just utilising it to try and prove his own.