Peter Barnes' tragicomic romp about the Black Death calls to mind some of the choicest episodes of Black Adder, with the hilarious plague humor of Monty Python's The Holy Grail thrown in. "Bring out your dead!" begins the play. A woman stumbles out with a dead cat. Flagellants with bloody clubs mill about whapping themselves until a fight breaks out between a flagellant and a monk, who then attempt to club each other to death. Already we know we are in the dark, sickly, crime-ridden world of Europe in 1348--Auxerre, France, to be precise. We also know the play is going to be brimming with irreverent levity. Characters stop and sing showtunes, juggle, stutter, and trip.
Amid the surrounding pestilence, small-town monk Father Flote (a perfectly cast Andrew Leman) has a realization at the beginning of the play: God wants joy, not misery, "Peacocks not ravens... red noses not Black Death." Flote's plan is to form a comedy/vaudeville troupe called the Red Noses to travel the land and bring happiness--and a bit of moral reflection--to the plague-ridden people, who are dropping like flies. He assembles his troupe of oddball performers, and off they go.
A dynamite cast and Sean Branney's very thorough, skilled direction keep this quip-and-gag-packed show tripping along. Excellent performances abound. Leman is wonderfully buoyant and loveable as well-intentioned Father Flote. As the stubborn priest, Josh Thoemke is Hugh Laurie in the best possible sense--not to take anything from Thoemke's own distinct, enormous talent. Matt Foyer is brilliant as the corrupt and highly idiosyncratic Pope Clement VI, and Jennifer Taub delights as the bawdy nun.
The main problem here is length. It tripped along for nearly a full three hours on the night I attended, and, naturally, slowed to a fatigued and fatiguing trot in the second act. The play could stand a few obvious nips and tucks, as the second act feels as long or longer than the first. Too many jokes and all relevant moral points--about the corruption of the church, the selfishness of aristocracy, the desperation of the poor, the transformative powers of enlightening entertainment--are made not once but twice or thrice. By the play's end we are feeling somewhat flagellated ourselves.
Still, there is much to recommend this piece. Other red noses offer equally hilarious turns: Barry Lynch as the blind juggler, David Pavao and Jason McCune as a pair of one-legged dancers, Lance J. Holt as a mute who communicates by shaking bells. Indeed, the production contains enough fabulous performances to prove that Theatre Banshee is an abundantly talented company with exciting work in them; this is just too much of a good thing.