The 39 Steps

The 39 Steps hits comic heights; Ophelia is all wet

No matter how many steps it takes, get to the Huntington Theatre for The 39 Steps, an evanescent comedy that's lightly landed in Boston on its way from London's West End to Broadway. This bare bones spy spoof is loaded with more cleverness and ingenuity than you'll see in half a dozen bloated Broadway touring companies, and more laughs than you'll find anywhere outside of a Gold Dust Orphans show.

The show closely follows Alfred Hitchcock's 1935 thriller about an innocent man accused of murder who must evade the police long enough to prevent state secrets from reaching enemy hands. Although the film has joined the hallowed ranks of the Criterion Collection thanks to Hitchcock's masterful direction, the corny story doesn't hold up so well. The main character's leading characteristic is that he's British, and with upper lip suitably stiffened and a faint aura of tweedy smugness, Richard Hannay tries to foil foreign spies because it's the right thing to do, dash it. Why does he believe the femme fatale who sets the plot in motion? Why doesn't he go to the police? Why does he fall in love with the young woman he meets on the way? These are just a few of the improbabilities the film skirts.

In other words, the movie is ripe for parody, and the Huntington production spoofs it mercilessly, but also affectionately. The play is true to the underlying themes of performance and changeable identities, and seems to take inspiration from the music hall scenes that bookend the film. Here the entire show is a zany vaudeville revue full of quick verbal and visual humor. Part of the fun is the witty economy with which a cast of just four players, with minimal sets and props, faithfully recreate the film. Writer Patrick Barlow and director Maria Aitken have meticulously crafted all this clever stagecraft and flawless physical comedy, but the cast make it look so effortless that the show has the feeling of a brilliant improvisation; it seems anything could happen, any theatrical problem can be deftly solved, and each gag feels freshly minted, even the groaners. It's about as deep as a paper cut, but it's marvelous fun.

Can Ophelia exist without Hamlet? Shakespeare left much unsaid about the sad Danish damsel, seemingly more interested in using her as a mirror to hold up to Hamlet than a character unto herself. Steven Berkoff gives the maiden her own voice in The Secret Love Life of Ophelia, but there's no pulling her from the Melancholy Dane's orbit. The two-hander consists of letters between Hamlet and Ophelia, dueling monologues in faux-Elizabethan language. Beginning with Hamlet's return to Denmark following the death of his father, the correspondence begins with talk of renewed friendship, moves to flirtation, and quickly progresses to amusing but improbable mash notes. (Hamlet begs Ophelia to "ride me hard" and she speaks of "furrowing my fields.") How this idea of Hamlet as an angry and besotted teenager can jibe with Shakespeare's portrait of a worldly and philosophical prince is no clearer than how the modest Ophelia acquired so much sexual knowledge (she longs to tickle Hamlet's frenulum and be rewarded with a string of pearls.)

Just as Hamlet can't commit himself to action, Berkoff can't commit himself to an interpretation. With the focus on sexuality, it seems the show is heading towards blaming Ophelia's madness on horniness; I think that would be wrongheaded, but at least it would be interesting. But by plumbing Ophelia's despair at the loss of Hamlet and Laertes, and her guilt over the death of her father, Berkoff basically takes the most obvious approach to the character, making explicit what is implicit in the original text. Shakespeare's editorial instincts were more on target than Berkoff's belabored what-if scenario, which feels more like a literature class exercise than a fully formed play. The grace of the Nora Theatre production is the performances of Stacy Fischer and Aaron Pitre. Fischer is too jittery at first, as if she can't wait to get hysterical, but she brings a fascinating ferocity to Ophelia's operatic emotions, nicely counterbalanced by Pitre's quiet intensity.