'Saint Joan': Shaw revival misses the mark

SAINT JOAN 
Written by Bernard Shaw
 Directed by Daniel Sullivan
Through June 10, 2018 
Samuel J. Friedman Theatre 
261 West 47th Street 
(212-239-6200), www.saintjoanbroadway.com

By David NouNou

Shaw’s Saint Joan in the best of productions is ponderous and lugubrious. And in the worst-case scenario, it can be like a bad college production with poor direction, acting of all different styles and no cohesion. Well, here we are, folks. What is most mystifying about this production is the direction of Daniel Sullivan, a brilliant director with occasional misfires. Last year at this same time, he directed Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes for the Manhattan Theatre Club with glorious results; fresh, crisp, and razor sharp. This time around everything is stale, wilted and tiresome

The proceedings aren’t made any easier by the mere fact of Bernard Shaw’s verbose text. It is so bogged down by repetition, you need a red pencil for major editing. Starting in 1429 in Vaucouleurs (in Northeastern France), the French have been at war with England for over 90 years and have been severely defeated, demoralized, and depleted. On top of it all, France hasn’t had a king for over 10 years, and a lot of the cities have been governed under British rule.

It is at this point that Joan (Condola Rashad), also known as “the Maid,” is presented to the squire of her province, Robert de Baudricort (Patrick Page), stating that the voices of St. Margaret and St. Catherine have spoken to her to lead an army against England. All she needs is a horse and a suit of armor to lead the men into battle. When presented with the obstacles in front of her, she states that it doesn’t matter, for she has God on her side.

Claiming victories and proving victorious, thus earning the respect of the men in her command, her next mission is to find The Dauphin, Charles VII, known as Charlie (Adam Chanler-Berat) and crowning him King of France. Charles has his own problems; he is a spineless twit, who gets no respect and just wants to be left alone and remain the nothing that he is. Joan persists and eventually crowns him as the next king.

Being vexed by Joan’s rising popularity and victories, the Earl of Warwick (Jack Davenport) wants her burned at the stake as a heretic, thus bribing the French Catholic Church to bring her in and charging her with sedition. The Bishop of Beauvais, Cauchon (Walter Bobbie), has some moral misgivings about prosecuting her. But due to her strong willfulness and refusing to renounce her voices and God, and her refusal to dress as a woman instead of a soldier, in a mock trial stacked against her, Joan signs her own death warrant and is burned at the stake. As history, this is a glorious tale of the hypocrisy of church and state. As written by Bernard Shaw and the unnecessary 20-minute epilogue that follows, it is an interminable evening.

Adding to the production’s misfires is Condola Rashad as Joan. Ms. Rashad is a lovely young actress, and one of the best of her generation. She is a three-time Tony Award nominee and deserved to win for each of her performances. The problem here is Joan is supposed to be a simple peasant girl whose motivations are clearly directed by the voices she hears. She is an innocent trapped by her own victories and strongheadedness. Ms. Rashad is by no means simple in any way, her actions seem of her own doing rather than the voices she hears, thus causing a major and tragic flaw to the balance of the play.

As for the rest of the cast, renowned as they are: Patrick Page, Walter Bobbie, Daniel Sunjata, John Glover, Adam Chanler-Berat, Jack Davenport are all doing various degrees of hamming. From Mr. Page’s Shakespearean intonations to Mr. Davenport’s unnecessary comedic buffoonery, each brings a different style from 1400s France to 2018. Wasn’t Mr. Sullivan out there watching the ensuing proceedings? Isn’t he supposed to bring them together and place them all on the same page?

Edited by Scott Harrah
Published April 30, 2018
Reviewed at April 27, 2018 press performance.