For the 120 years or so prior to the emergence of “Earnest,” a comic work by another Dublin-born playwright, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, was probably referred to in similar terms. It was Sheridan’s first play, “The Rivals,” initially staged in 1775. His best-known work, “The School for Scandal,” came along the following year.
“The Rivals” has now been given a wonderfully agile, sparkling production by the estimable Pearl Theatre Company. It is a staging graced with a clarity sufficient to make the 228-year-old romp seem as fresh as though it had been minted a week ago.
Crystalline clarity and unembroidered accessibility could be said to have become the hallmarks of the Pearl, a company that season after season has kept the promise of its mission, namely to mount compelling items from the theater’s treasure trove, some of them frequently produced standards and others virtually unknown.
In all probability, “The Rivals” falls somewhere between the two. Seldom as well-produced as in the Pearl’s new staging, it was nevertheless the subject of a rather threadbare showcase attempt only a few months ago.
“The Rivals” bears certain similarities to Wilde’s “Earnest,” in that both plays have as heroes a pair of friends, one of whom maintains, or tries to, a “useful” second identity. In addition, both have paired heroines who are also cousins, and each play benefits from visitations from an eccentric female character who is older than the primary protagonists.
In Wilde’s play, of course, it is the comically domineering and snobbish Lady Augusta Bracknell, mother of one of the girls, while in “The Rivals,” it is Mrs. Malaprop, whose niece, Lydia Languish, is one of Sheridan’s heroines.
Malaprop’s word jumbling, a kind of literary aphasia, has very nearly become a staple of the English language itself, the most famous example being her description of a character as being “the very pineapple of politeness.”
“The Rivals,” the first of Sheridan’s plays to reach the stage, was rather coolly received when it was first seen in 1775. The writer, who was just under 24 at the time, did a considerable amount of rewriting and the work fared better two years later when it was revived at London’s Drury Lane Theatre.
At the Pearl, the play, well-cast from top to bottom, has been given an immaculate production making good use of the gleaming elements of bleached wood, which have been part of several of the group’s recent productions.
Against Sarah Lambert’s fundamentally simple set design, the rich costumes provided by Frank Champa come across with particular brilliance, with their effective use of reds, ivories, olives and grays.
Like Wilde, Sheridan, the son of an actor father who became a successful elocution teacher and a mother who was a playwright, was aware of the pretensions of the people among whom he lived and about whom he wrote.
The aptly named Lydia Languish, for example, sends her maidservant out to the lending library for examples of the period’s near-pornography, but, when visitors are due, uses more “respectable” volumes as cover.
The Pearl cast, made up entirely of company veterans, is blessed by, among other virtues, having, in the person of Sean McNall, a young actor whose adroitness with the language and movement style of the period might be the envy of many an older performer.
As Captain Jack Absolute, who manipulates an alter ego in the person of Beverly, Lydia’s lover, McNall, who has appeared in just two previous Pearl productions, gives a flawlessly incandescent account of himself, from start to finish.
Robert Hock, as Jack’s fulminating father, Sir Anthony, makes a subtle star turn of every scene in which he appears, while company veteran Carol Schultz, despite seeming perhaps a touch too young for the role, scores with Malaprop.