Vendors demanding debts to be paid by Timon (Ian Merrill Peakes, center) in Shakespeare’s social satire Timon of Athens. On stage at Folger Theatre, May 9 – June 11, 2017. Photo by Teresa Wood.
Who needs enemies when you have friends like Timon of Athens does?
There’s a blues song by Jimmy Cox called “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out.” It’s about a one-time millionaire who spends all his money showing his friends a good time, until he runs out of funds and finds himself alone. William Shakespeare might have appreciated the lyrics, “In my pocket, not one penny. And my friends, I haven’t any.” It could have been his background music while writing Timon of Athens.
Currently on stage at Folger Theatre, the rarely produced tragedy opens with opulence. Timon (Ian Merrill Peakes) is a wealthy man, or at least he thinks he is. His loyal steward Flavius (Antoinette Robinson) tries to warn her philanthropist boss to cool it with the spending, but Timon won’t hear it. He showers the good people of Athens with extravagant gifts and invites them to swanky parties.
Tony Cisek’s set pairs well with projections by Francesca Talenti, which combine to create a futuristic, high-tech mansion. Doors slide open as Timon’s party guests, fashionably dressed in designs by Mariah Hale, enter the room like Scotty has just beamed them up to a Soul Train line. A screen provides a photo, each guest’s name, profession, and in the case of Ventidius (Louis Butelli), their criminal record. Dripping in self-importance, they arrive ready to feed off of their benefactor’s generosity.
The cast members stick to their roles of self-consumed social climbers, carrying that “what can you do for me” attitude. Timon’s “friends” express their gratitude and praise him, but without any genuine warmth. He eats it up anyway, reveling in his reputation as a sexier Bill Gates, generous but undeniably cool.
Amidst the fakers, Alcibiades (Maboud Ebrahimzadeh) and Flavius stick out as rare friends, expressing concern for their fallen comrade. Ebrahimzadeh and Robinson are wonderful, warm, and genuine in their roles, providing the sole rays of hope for those who wish to believe in mankind’s goodness.
Robert Richmond’s excellent direction delves far beneath the surface of human interaction. Characters say more with their body language and delivery than through their lines alone. A dramatic scene is particularly impactful, when debtors overwhelm Timon, rustling paper around his head before stuffing bills into his mouth.
It’s never easy to turn up on command. But there is a somewhat uncomfortable party scene, made more awkward by costumes that catch as two bellydancers attempt to spin past each other. A male dancer dressed as an angel struggles to remove his breakaway pants. It’s a bumpy moment in an otherwise smooth production.
The play is as much an exploration of vanity as it is of greed. As the insulting yet insightful philosopher Apemantus (Eric Hissom) notes, Timon “loves to be flattered.” He delivers fine speeches that highlight his selflessness, insisting, “more welcome are you to my fortunes than my fortunes to me.” That’s much easier said when one has a fortune to give away. But it’s still a hard sell.
Peakes is a powerful Timon, switching from carefree and joyful to bitter and finally a bit mad. He gets some small revenge during a sh*tshow of a dinner party that is equal parts horrifying and hilarious. The play is worth attending for that scene alone, but we’ll leave it to you to see why.
The leading man demonstrates his character’s fall through hygiene. At first, Timon breaks from his cool exterior with a sudden, explosive reaction to human touch, and constantly washes his hands. But the aversion to imagined germs and a compulsive approach to ascending the stairs fade along with his fortune. He sees threats where there are none, then fears nothing when confronted with the harsh reality of human nature.
It’s a negative view to take, but people aren’t all that generous, generally speaking. If you prefer to see the best in people, Timon of Athens may not be the play for you. Then again, it might serve as a worthwhile wake up call, or at least a great conversation starter. Whatever your current approach to charity may be, this is a production worth donating your time to.
Timon of Athens runs through June 11 at Folger Theatre. Buy tickets here.
