Early on, Bernard smugly brags that "I'm choosing from a pool that's already been super-sifted." What he doesn't count on is that these women are also super-formidable. Gabriella, when riled, tends to wave around a high heel shoe like a hatchet. Gretchen may roll around in love-besotted anguish, but she proclaims that "I am passion itself," with the explosive potential that implies. Even poor servant Bertha, issuing a lengthy, vehement objection about her mistreatment, earned an ovation from the opening-night audience, thanks to Williamson's energetically convincing portrayal.
Thorne is superbly effective in his nuanced anguish throughout, whether from jealousy, frustration, or priapic fervor. Wilson is good at glee, beaming like a schoolboy set loose in a candy store. But the directorial policy here is that there is no top to go over in a farce, and some attempts to physicalize Bernard's internal contortions try too hard to replicate cartoon gleeps and freeze frames.
In case anyone is put off by the prospect of Bernard getting away with his chauvinistic nonsense, rest assured. At the end of the day, none of these women are pushovers. If anything, we can admire them for being pretty pushy themselves.
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