Un Misanthrope

"Il faut parmi le monde une vertu traitable;
A force de sagesse on peut être blamable;
La parfaite raison fuit toute extremité
Et veut que l'on soit sage avec sobriété."

Philinte from Le Misanthrope: Molière, Acte 1, Scène 1.

I can hardly believe that it's forty five years ago when I first opened the pages on Molière's Le Misanthrope. At that time, as a grammar school sixthformer studying A level French (before we threw the towel in completely on reading great European literature in the original in schools) it seemed a million years away from my experience. Nevertheless, even then I could see the wry elevated humour in this classical comédie "qui fait rire dans l'âme."

For those of you who don't know the play, the original is a comedy of manners written in 1666, poking gentle fun at Alceste who perpetually rails against what he sees as the hypocrisy, lying and appalling flattery endemic in and around the court of Louis XIV. Alceste's personal problem however, is that he is hopelessly in love, against his better judgement, with the beautiful Célimène, the emodiment of everything he despises in other people.

What an experience then to see recently The Misanthrope in a version by Martin Crimp at The Comedy Theatre in London. Despite the vertiginous seating, the exceptional performance by Damian Lewis as Alceste and a good show by Keira Knightley as Jennifer (Célimène) carried by the witty updated script gave a memorable evening. In fact the script is superb, much of it written in rhyme with a nod to the original alexandrines and so faithful at times that I could actually remember snatches of the French. Martin Crimp places his Misanthrope in the modern London world of movies, script writers and actresses, full of luvvies and air kisses.

Two things struck me as strange though. Firstly, that while keeping so close to Molière's play, Alceste should be the only character to retain his original name and perhaps more fundamentally that Martin Crimp should have changed the ending subtly. The updated version has Alceste offering Jennifer a way out of the embarassing mess by fleeing society and sharing a life with him out of the media glare in quiet suburbia. This is a passably faithful play on Alceste's entreaties to Célimène to join him in his désert. However, in the updated version, Alceste is allowed to stomp off looking ridiculous and seems gone forever, pursued by Ellen's remark to John "Don't you see we're better off without him". Molière on the other hand has Philinte say to Eliante right at the end

"Allons, madame, allons employer toute chose,
Pour rompre le dessein que son coeur se propose."

In the one he is condemned, in the other there is a hope of salvation for the man who has taken virtue and a moral sensibility to ridiculous extremes.

These points aside, the script itself published by Faber is worth a read, even if you have missed the enjoyable theatrical experience.