The Underpants (Portland Center Stage)

[October 24th, 2007]

Why do American theaters continue to produce the plays of once-genius-comedian now-hack-actor Steve Martin? And why do otherwise sane critics continue to praise them? Picasso at the Lapin Agile is one long, clumsy and not especially funny joke for history nerds. His one-acts are the same: “WASP,” for example, is a bumbling sendup of suburban family life written with all the maturity of the average Will Ferrell flick.

The Underpants , Martin’s 2001 adaptation of German playwright Carl Sternheim’s formulaic 1910 sex farce, Die Hosen , is not an improvement on his previous efforts.

Presented with Die Hosen ’s unpromising premise—young housewife Louise Maske’s bloomers fall off while a royal parade is passing, attracting unwanted suitors with a variety of neuroses—Martin chose to leave the plot alone, focusing instead on adding more double-entendres and shifting the play’s critical focus from complacency to gender inequality.

Unfortunately, it’s not much of a critique. Martin flies through philosophical and political questions as if he has a “serious topics” quota to fill. “Have I mentioned antisemitism? Adultery? Realism versus aestheticism? OK! More dick jokes!” The result is a 90-minute comedy that is too ponderous to be funny and too rushed to be very interesting.

The cast members of Portland Center Stage’s modestly designed production do their best with what they’re given. The imported lead actors are annoying when they aren’t boring, but local Sharonlee McLean is endearing as Gertrude, the nosy spinster upstairs, and Third Rail Rep member John Steinkamp turns Benjamin Cohen, a Mel Brooks stock caricature (nervous Jewish barber, insists his name is spelled with a “K”), into a lovable character. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to overcome the play’s essential lack of meat.

It’s a shame, because Rose Riordan’s direction has some good stuff going for it. The best moments here are highly stylized sequences of slapstick and melodrama, which achieve the humor and humanity the script lacks. Had PCS boldly drawn more from distinctive performance styles—kabuki, commedia, vaudeville, etc.—it might have a worthwhile production on its hands. For now, you’re probably better off renting Roxanne .