The Busy Martyr

Moral hypocrisy and human selfishness are no less favorite subjects of writers today than in other corrupt ages. Yet so often variations on this theme lapse into ponderous, and therefore ineffective, moralizing. But when our grosser sins, not only our foibles, are presented to us with wit and grace we take notice. Often the barbed needles of the comic writer pierce far deeper than the heavy blows of the ostensiby more serious dramatist.

Thus a new comedy, The Busy Martyr, which had its New England premier at the Tufts Summer Theater Wednesday, is a droll play, full of verbal gems and a number of funny slapstick scenes. At the same time, one is unavoidably pricked by those barbed needles--needles which are nothing more than unanswered, unanswerable questions.

George Hitchcock's play, the 1960 winner of the Stanley Award from the New York City Writer's Conference, is a simple, almost fable-like tale. The citizens of a small French town, Sandaraque, are reknowned for their virtue, a reputation which was "more than they could bear" since it was so unjustified.

Into this quiet town comes an unkempt young man, an Obscure Poet by profession, who announces he is responsible for several mishaps that have lately disturbed the town--an unwanted pregnancy, a burned barn, the disappearance of some wine and three chickens. He also admits to several heretofore unpublicized attacks on local women, and is promptly clapped into jail by an outraged populace.

This poet, the future martyr Jean-Baptist Hippolyte Marie-Henri Muscari, is visited by the local priest and frankly admits he did not commit any of the crimes. He has done it to gain notcriety, a condition quite unknown in his dismal career. "You do not know how bitter it is to be ignored," he tells the priest.

Finally Muscari promises the priest he will not die for the sins of the townspeople if one of them will admit the crime for which Muscari has accepted the blame. This never happens, and Muscari goes to his death. The local grocer sells salami and seat cushions to spectators at the execution.

Later, however, one woman does confess and all the truth comes out. Muscari is hailed as a great martyr "who taught us all to tell the truth."

Action returns to the present and a townsman, gazing up at Muscari's statue, says "People now are much more honest than 70 years ago." The statue, in a final gesture, shrugs his marble shoulders in dismay.

Hitchcock's dialogue is consistently well-paced (if not delivered with consistent smoothness) and often piquant with dry wit. "You have the sensitivity of an artichoke" Muscari tells his jailer soon before the execution, and then is told he has visitors. "Are they publishers?" he asks quickly, but they are only advocates.

John Davis as Muscari is magnificent. His sense of timing is superb, and greatly enhances Hitchcock's best lines, which are his. His movements are graceful and stylized just enough to lend the air of a fable to the play. And his eyes give a performance all their own: sometimes soulful, sometimes brilliant, often haughty.

John Peakes as the mayor of Sandaraque has one excellent scene, the rest of his performace is solid but unimaginative. Naomi Pearlman as the mayor's wife, Linda Avitable as his aunt, and Jamie Frucht as the aunt's servant Clothilde are more than adequate.

Director Donald Mullin uses five entrances from all sides of the theater-in-the round, and at first the technique is disquieting and the action disconnected. Soon one adjusts, though, and good lighting complements his generous employment of the entrances, especially for various characters who assume the temporary role of narrator. Mullin is particularly adept at staging the few slapstick scenes, and would probably do an excellent job on a play with more of them.

Hitchcock deserves his award. The Busy Martyr is welcome relief from much of the insipid summer fare often presented at straw hat theaters, and is well worth a trip to Medford.