Photo by Scott Suchman

By DCist Contributor Rachel Kurzius

In the Hans Christian Andersen story “The Emperor Has No Clothes,” two weavers promise to dress a king in beautiful cloth that only the wise, fit, and competent can see. It’s a genius con. Who will risk telling the king he is butt-naked with that kind of disclaimer? The townspeople’s silence, signifying their own doubt and insecurity, builds tension that only a young child can pierce. As adults, we’re often unwilling to speak even the simplest truths if it risks our standing.

In the Shakespeare Theatre Company’s version of Tartuffe, characters have no problem calling out the eponymous religious crank for his hypocrisy. The problem is that Orgon (Luverne Seifert), the master of the house who indulges Tartuffe’s (Steven Epp) every whim, has his fingers jammed in his ears. At least the Emperor had the decency to cover up when he found out he was parading around in the buff.

Tartuffe is an adaptation of the seventeenth century play by French comedian Molière. The play establishes its roots by beginning with an off-stage conversation in French before the characters transition to English when they enter.

Long before we ever meet the titular trickster, characters talk about Tartuffe at length, complaining that Orgon treats “Tartuffe’s belly gas as God’s proclamation.” Many of their quibbles are tinged with jealousy at how quickly he ingratiates himself into the household.

Like any good phony, Tartuffe makes quite an entrance, whipping himself as his creepy manservants slink around him. But this is about as interesting as he gets: He is otherwise your garden variety deceiver. He wants money, good food, and nookie, and he’s confident enough in his hold over Orgon to know he’s about to get all three.

We keep hearing from Orgon’s brother-in-law (Gregory Linington) and his bold maid Dorine (Suzanne Warmanen), a stand-in for the audience, that the master of the house used to be a pretty honorable guy. But we get no clues from either the text or Seifert’s performance that Orgon was ever capable of being anything more than the big doofus we see on stage. For him to work as the tragic hero of the story, Orgon needs to be sympathetic. And we should feel for his son Damis (Brian Hostenske) as well, when he gets excommunicated by his dad for his honest accusations about Tartuffe. But neither of them are particularly likeable; I found myself rooting instead for Tartuffe to plunder all the family riches, even when his weird cronies show their excitement in a way reminiscent of the flying monkeys of Oz. (Sometimes the slinking of the manservants around the stage becomes distracting.)

Other than Dorine, the wisest person on stage is Orgon’s new wife Elmire (Sofia Jean Gomez). She understands the best way to bring down Tartuffe and has no problem using her wiles to do it, with an assist from an extraordinary gown, courtesy of costume designer Sonya Berlovitz, that is one of the most alluring things on the stage. This dress apparently took 80 hours of work, and it shows.

The play is best when it embraces physical humor, like in one scene with Orgon’s daughter, Mariane (Lenne Klingaman) and her once-betrothed Valere (Christopher Carley). They’re both trying to play it cool when Orgon forces Mariane to marry Tartuffe instead, but their bodies betray them in hilarious fashion. The scene evokes their sadness while bringing the audience to stitches.

Yes, Tartuffe tackles the Theme of religious hypocrisy, which remains as relevant as ever. Clever staging from director Dominque Serrand (who is also the co-scenic designer) has Tartuffe literally hiding behind religious ritual, either bowing in prayer to avoid conversation or using smoke from incense to keep others away. But what does it ever really say about that Theme, other than “religious hypocrites gonna be hypocritical (until the crown intervenes)”?

Tartuffe is playing at the Sidney Harman Hall through July 5. Tickets run $20 – $95 and are available here.