Theatre in Review: Twelfth Night (New York Shakespeare Festival/Delacorte Theater)

	Sandra Oh, Lupita Nyong'o. Photo: Joan Marcus.

To celebrate the return of the Delacorte Theater after its top-to-bottom renovation, the New York Shakespeare Festival is throwing a party. It's a chic bash, complete with a cheeky set design, an onstage string quartet, contemporary couture, and enough stars to keep any red carpet well-trod. The occasion is Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare's unruly tribute to love's quicksilver nature, and, under Saheem Ali's direction, everyone onstage appears to be having a ball. Bringing back free Shakespeare in Central Park, The Public Theater has scored a major win in a troubled time for the arts, and a celebration is in order.

Ali's Twelfth Night is largely geared for laughs, focusing on a web of deceptions, impersonations, and mix-ups so tangled that, in the climactic recognition scene, a character faints, undone by the sheer weight of revelation. Amid this whirligig of gags, two cast members stand out: Lupita Nyong'o is a scrappy, spirited Viola, a shipwreck survivor, who, for safety's sake, disguises herself as a young man. This stratagem lands her in the role of emissary between the preternaturally attractive Duke Orsino (for whom she pines) and imperious Olivia, the unwilling object of his affections. Sporting a natty pinstriped suit and working hard to pass herself off as one of Orsino's all-male entourage, Viola undergoes endless mortifications, whether uncomfortably giving the duke a massage, fending off Olivia's increasingly brazen advances, or reluctantly going mano a mano with a dissipated rival. Lest we think she is only a desperate masquerader, she effectively changes the temperature onstage with a lovely song in Swahili, a language occasionally employed here to establish Viola's African heritage. Loaded with warmth and possessing the lightest of comic touches, Nyong'o provides the action with a solid emotional anchor. As a bonus, her real-life brother, Junior Nyong'o, is on hand as Viola's twin sibling, Sebastian, lending a rare authenticity to the plot's mistaken-identity aspect.

The evening's big surprise, however, is Peter Dinklage as Malvolio, Olivia's humorless, social-climbing steward. Officiously attired, ostentatiously moustached, his hair arrayed in exquisite spit curls, he skitters around like an out-of-control Roomba, speaking with all the charm of a chatbot offering highway directions. Finding a forged letter, ostensibly from Olivia (the object of his ambitions), commanding him to smile, he requires both hands to force his features into a rictus that is the opposite of delight. Dinklage is hardly known for his gifts as a farceur, but this performance left me eager to see him running around one of Georges Feydeau's seedy hotels. One can only dream.

Spreading mischief around this beleaguered pair is a first-class company of mountebanks and self-deceivers. Sandra Oh's Olivia, wielding a fan to maximum coquettish effect, is only too ready to dispense with mourning her late father and brother and get busy with the boyish Cesario (Viola in disguise). John Ellison Conlee's Sir Toby Belch, delivered in a wheelbarrow lavishly decorated with beer cans, is a creature of rude impulses, flashing the ladies of Olivia's court if only to prove he can. His partner in crime, Andrew Aguecheek, is, in Jesse Tyler Ferguson's hands, a played-out playboy, spouting nonsense a mile a minute and seductively opening his skimpy robe to reveal a figure less than Greek. (Hang on for the sight of Toby and Andrew in a hot tub, enjoying themselves with a bong and bags of cocaine.) Keeping them in line, barely, is Daphne Rubin-Vega as Maria, Olivia's servant, who, driven by a thirst for revenge, engineers Malvolio's downfall. Adding some countervailingly soulful notes, especially when delivering Michael Thurber's often-exquisite melodies, is the stunning, statuesque Moses Sumney as Feste, fool-for-hire and all-purpose troubadour.

Indeed, Sumney's presence is much needed if only to provide some tonal variety. If I have any reservations about this Twelfth Night, it's because everyone involved is a tad too devoted to clever staging and well-executed gags. Under the farcical surface of Shakespeare's text lurks a sense of anger and loss, along with darker thoughts about human fickleness and cruelty. These are only hinted at here, most notably when Malvolio, accused of being a mental case, is imprisoned inside a cell shaped like a red neon cross and tormented by his enemies. It's an infernal bit of staging, complete with pyro effects, and, arguably, more than this production can bear. Unlike most Malvolios, who exit furiously vowing retribution, Dinklage makes him genuinely wounded, baffled at the meanness shown to him; it's the moment when one realizes that, for all the comic gold, Ali has taken a rather superficial approach to this endlessly knotty comedy. There are other, occasional missteps: Khris Davis' preening narcissistic Orsino, despite many amusing moments, may be too much of a joke, leaving one to wonder if Viola isn't getting the shorter end of the stick in the final scene.

Then again, Twelfth Night is like a Rorschach blot, open to a multitude of interpretations, and this production strikes a note of festivity that is hard to resist. The fun is underlined by the production design. Maruti Evans' paisley-patterned set spells out the play's subtitle ("What You Will") in ten-foot-tall (or more) letters, allowing many inventive staging touches. (Wait for the sight of Malvolio, hideously dressed in the play's infamous yellow stockings and cross-garters, curled up in the onstage "O," making like a lounge lizard.) Oana Botez's costumes are the height of fashion, climaxing in a catwalk finale that, as a friend remarked, would do RuPaul's Drag Race proud. Bradley King's lighting effectively reframes the stage for scenes both intimate and crowded; other touches include some gorgeous, saturated color washes and an exciting chase that uplights Evans' scenic letters. The sound design by Kai Harada and Palmer Hefferan is crisp and clear, even managing to overcome the noise from overhead aircraft.

After a bleak summer last year without Shakespeare in the Park, this Twelfth Night is a sterling reminder of what we've been missing. If it isn't the last word on this evergreen comedy, it exudes a spirit of generosity that is irresistible. The renovated theatre, a freshened-up version of the original with a more attractive exterior, a reinforced structure, and improved backstage facilities, seems to guarantee that this long-running gift to the city will continue for years to come. And what a way for this fine company to come home again. --David Barbour