It's a Wise Man . . .

BLACK-CLAD DEVILS hang from a lattice-like set, the Seven Deadly Sins stalk the stage holding papier mache animal masks and a blueleotarded Good Angel sits perched on a platform above a placarded face that radiates heavenly sincerity. It's an impressive spectacle, a testament to the superb technical direction that characterizes the Leverett House Arts Society's production of Doctor Faustus. Unlike most Houses, Leverett has its own theatre, and director Evangeline Morphos has made the most of its facilities, skillfully transforming the entire room into a three-dimensional world where the forces of evil clash colorfully with the forces of good for control of Dr. Faustus' soul. There's only one major problem with this production: the soul of this particular Faustus doesn't really seem worth all the trouble.

Christopher Marlowe's Faustus is an imposing figure, a supremely learned scholar whose pride leads him to seek knowledge and power normally denied to mortals. Both wise man and fool, he scoffs at the moral givens of his age and experiences the inevitability of divine punishment as a result. Having bartered his soul to the devil, Faustus undergoes a gradual spiritual degradation--a degradation whose dramatic impact depends on the demonstrable grandeur of his initial aspirations. When that grandeur is lacking--as it is in this production--the proud doctor is debased to the level of a foppish magician whose downfall is pitiable but hardly tragic.

Unfortunately for Marlowe's dramatic scheme, Derek Pajaczkowski, an otherwise competent actor, is badly miscast as Faustus. Visually wrong for the part--Faustus is a mature scholar, not a brawny youth--Pajaczkowski plays the doctor as a brash, young man who struts around the stage with a sustained smirk. While this approach works adequately in the comic sequences, Pajaczkowski lacks the dramatic range necessary to convey the full gamut of Faustus' tormented self-questioning. In addition, he experiences no minor difficulty reciting Marlowe's verse, placing his emphases seemingly at random--as though he knew some accents were needed, but neither he nor Morphos could figure out just where. In his last soliloquy, Pajaczkowski finally captures some of the agony of impending damnation, but the emotion he manifests here is insufficient to redeem the shallowness of the rest of his performance.

The shortcomings of Pajaczkowski's Faustus are thrown into sharper relief by the masterful performance of Greg Landis as Mephistophilis. The embodiment of controlled torment, Landis remains sympathetic even while hissing damnation. When the memory of his own loss of grace moves him to warn Faustus of the devil's snares, Landis projects a dignity never fully attained by his victim.

Also excellent is Nancy Abrams' rendering of the Bad Angel. Sinuously tempting and later sneering with triumph, Abrams is so much more convincing that her heavenly counterpart that it's easy to figure out why this Faustus opts for hell. Jenny Marre is enticing in several cameo roles--she plays everyone from Belzebub to a lisping, pregnant duchess--but she's a bit too pudgy as Helen of Troy.

Despite some fine acting, Morphos' Doctor Faustus is uneven and often unsatisfying. While some scenes, like the parade of the Seven Deadly Sins, are theatrically effective, other, potentially more dramatic sequences, like Faustus' encounter with Helen, are pallidly executed. The balance of this production is tilted toward comedy, both because of Faustus' posturing and Morphos' own inclinations as a director. The farcical sequences mirroring the main action of the play are all deftly performed, and the scene in which the clown Robin inadvertently conjures Mephistophilis is an especial gem.

The Leverett House Arts Society is billing this Doctor Faustus as "a unique adaptation." Nevertheless, Morphos has shown almost too much fidelity to Marlowe's text; while she has shortened the ending, she retains all the original Latin--hardly a boon for a contemporary audience. The uniqueness of this adaptation lies, if anywhere, in the staging, which is unusually inventive. Even here, however, Morphos has made some mistakes; for example, she divides the chorus part among several speakers, each spotlighted in turn, thereby sacrificing Marlowe's poetry to theatricality.

And although theatricality can heighten drama, it cannot replace it. Ultimately, the chief problem with Doctor Faustus resides in the casting of its lead. While, ironically enough, almost every actor except Pajaczkowski wears white-face make-up, it is he, who by neglecting the role of wise man, ends up playing the fool.