Review: Harlequin - Servant of Two Masters at Aotea Centre

A scene from Piccolo Teatro di Milano's performance of Harlequin - Servant of Two Masters. Photo / Supplied

Picollo Teatro Di Milano offers a rare opportunity to experience the enchanting world of commedia dell'arte delivered by a company that includes several of the world's finest living exponents of this influential tradition.

In New Zealand, commedia dell'arte has been an inspiration for many of our most significant theatre groups - perhaps most notably in the underground cabaret of Red Mole, in which a bizarre menagerie of masked characters arose out of Alan Brunton's profound engagement with the satirical roots of this ancient art form.

Seeing the real thing on stage, one is immediately struck by the joyous exuberance of the whole enterprise and the paradox of wildly anarchic energy that is so clearly based on exacting discipline and rigid adherence to convention.

In the tile role, veteran performer Ferruccio Soleri delivers a consummate display of artistry and the supporting cast of 12 elaborately costumed actors were no less impressive.

One of the most compelling sequences came with an argument between Pantalone, played by Giorgio Bongiovanni, and Tommaso Minniti in the role of a pompous Dottore.

As the quarrel waxed and waned the characters literally grew and shrank, and in a marvellous flight of fancy the dispute briefly transforms itself into a bullfight before erupting into clan feud that envelops the entire cast.

Unlike the original commedia which relied almost exclusively on improvisation, Harlequin - A Servant of Two Masters is an intricately scripted drama by the 18th century playwright Carlo Goldoni. Although it is a bewilderingly complex saga of mistaken identity and thwarted love, the narrative is surprisingly easy to follow.

The sharply delineated characters signify their emotions through unmistakable gestures and vocal rhythms that convey meaning with such clarity that the projected English sub-titles are barely needed.

Many of the scenarios are specific to the 18th century. But the humour draws on fundamental human foibles, and the writing has a strikingly poetic quality with moments of lyrical tenderness that are constantly undermined by crude buffoonery.

This juxtaposition of opposites is encapsulated in the genre's most recognisable gesture - a high step on one foot that has the performer precariously balanced in a poise full of optimistic promise and the potential for comic disaster.