From left: Tora Nogami Alexander as Cecily, Christine Pedi as Lady Bracknell, and Kelly Mengelkoch as Gwendolen in Alice Scovell’s The Rewards of Being Frank, a follow-up to The Importance of Being Earnest.
A sequel to The Importance of Being Earnest? It’s a tall order, given how frequently Oscar Wilde’s 1895 masterpiece returns, and how beloved it is. Alice Scovell’s attempt, The Rewards of Being Frank, gets a few things right and several things wrong, and it’s not the strongest production that New York Classical Theatre has ever done. But if you’re curious about what happened to Ernest and Algernon and Gwendolen and Cecily, and are willing to suspend a fair amount of disbelief, you’ll have a decent time.
Among the things Scovell has right: the rhythm of the dialogue, and the dressing of lower pursuits (sex, money) in high-flown language, no cursing allowed. And the rather deft recycling of themes and asides in Earnest, though at times she overdoes that. Cucumber sandwiches, fleetingly referenced in the original? They get maybe 10 pages of dialogue, and they open the show. Cecily (Tora Nogami Alexander), in the Montcrieffs’ slightly worn morning room, is laying them out, and devouring them, in anticipation of tea with best friend and sister-in-law Gwendolen (Kelly Mengelkoch). They’re awaiting Frank Teacher (Moboluwaji Ademide Akintilo), who wanted to be an architect but felt his surname dictated his profession. In that capacity, he’s applying for the position of tutor to Cecily’s 6-year-old son, whom, perhaps fortunately, we never meet, nor do we encounter Ernest and Gwendolen’s son, also a potential pupil, and infant daughter.
James Evans (Algernon) and Jeremy Dubin (Ernest) play Wilde’s characters after marriage.
Frank is meant to be charming and seductive, and Akintilo isn’t altogether persuasive; for one thing, his accent veers from Hackney to Mayfair to mid-Atlantic, and he tends to face downstage and declaim rather than interact with the ladies, perhaps a miscalculation by director Stephen Burdman. In fact, none of the accents, save one, are quite there.
It’s a good while before Ernest (Jeremy Dubin) and Algy (James Evans) show up, and what precedes their arrival is largely girl talk among Gwendolen, Cecily, and Lady Bracknell, who, thank heaven, is played by Christine Pedi. You may long in vain for her to launch into the Liza or Angela or Patti she essayed so hilariously in all those Forbidden Broadway shows, but she’s far and away the most accomplished presence onstage. Her timing and accent are aces, and she makes Scovell’s Wilde-influenced rejoinders land with a force the other actors just can’t muster.
The plot dutifully follows the Wilde model, traversing from London to the country and trafficking in unknown identities, wild Wilde coincidences, and shifting affections. But where Wilde gave us double and triple entendres about privilege, sex, money, and the failings of the Empire, Scovell mostly doles out neat, shallow epigrams. She does get off the occasional good one: Interviewing Frank for the teaching job, Lady Bracknell offers, “We are not interested in the boys being prodigies and, thereby, becoming social outcasts. We want them to have lots of informational breadth, but absolutely no depth.”
Frank (Moboluwaji Ademide Akintilo) professes his affection for Gwendolen, among several others. Photographs by Mikki Schaffner.
But what’s largely lacking is the satire. Where are the barbs about the arts, the crown, religion? The best Scovell can do is have Frank lust after everyone, including, eventually, Algy and Ernest. (Which, aside from lacking credibility, is, given Wilde’s fate, in questionable taste.) Algy and, surprisingly, Ernest have relatively little to do, which is unfortunate, as Dubin and Evans exhibit a good deal more liveliness and personality than their spouses. The whole condition of those two marriages, incidentally, remains ambiguous, the husbands and wives variously prizing and despising one another. A late plot twist involving Frank and Lady Bracknell simply dodges credibility. And the resolution, a series of “Oh, I forgot to give you this note” contrivances, each bearing a new unlikely revelation just in the nick of time, takes Wilde’s spoofing of theatrical clichés a bit too far.
Samantha Reno’s sets do well enough on New York Classical’s limited budget, while Rainy Edwards’ costumes, aside from a swell yellow suit for Algy, lack the Victorian fripperies that the gentry in this class would wear. Justin N. Locke’s lighting is attractive, and with the actors happily unmiked, Alex Brock’s sound design is barely noticeable.
It’s no great sin to fall short of the Wildean level of wit, and it’s evident that Scovell respects and even adores her source material. The Rewards of Being Frank passes along amiably, and one applauds New York Classical’s ambition in attempting a sequel to basic theatrical literature as revered as this play is. See and enjoy, and if you’re somewhat disappointed, focus on Christine Pedi.
New York Classical Theatre’s production of The Rewards of Being Frank runs at A.R.T./New York Mezzanine Theatre (502 West 53rd Street) through March 26. Evening performances are Tuesday through Sunday at 7 p.m.; matinees are at 2 p.m. Wednesday. For tickets and information, visit nyclassical.org/frank.
