STAGE REVIEW : Old Globe’s ‘School for Scandal’ Goes Light on the Vitriol

How refreshing. Craig Noel’s staging of “The School for Scandal” that opened over the weekend at the Old Globe, under the stars and under the path of airplanes headed for Lindbergh Field, doesn’t go for the jugular. It goes for the glitter. Occasionally, it hits the gold.

Aside from benefitting hugely from the large and unmatched presence of Paxton Whitehead, who as Sir Peter Teazle is given an impromptu prologue that sets the tone of the production (“It is with deep regret,” he quips, “that the role usually played by Paxton Whitehead will be played by Paxton Whitehead”), this is as sunny a version as you’re likely to come across of Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s attack on the bad behavior of the 18th-Century upper crust. But alfresco, under an August moon, vitriol is easier to forget.

What this “Scandal” is, is mostly what it’s not: a benevolent, rather than malevolent, comedy. No gimmicks. No serious echoes of “Les Liaisons Dangereuses.” No lurid symbols of outrageous decadence. Only a deliberate cross-period connection with the National Enquirer, People magazine and Hogarth’s “Marriage a la Mode” (in designer Steven Rubin’s sumptuous, mirrored sets) and an inconsistent urge towards caricature with make-up and costume (the work of the excellent Robert Wojewodski).

The cartooning is particularly emphatic when it comes to those fervent apostles of gossip and rumor: Snake (a weaselly Robert Phalen), Sir Benjamin Backbite (Nicholas Martin, all bows), his uncle Crabtree (Mitchell Edmonds, all furbelows) and the bloated Mrs. Candour (Linda Hoy, venomously understated in pink hair and chartreuse gown).

A jolly “Scandal,” then, and only mildly poisonous, in which the text is streamlined to contain mostly the juicy, farcical parts, and in which some scenes--leave it to the impish Noel--are cleverly transposed from the terra firma interior of rooms to the rocking interior of a moving coach.

Its comedy runs on the customary two tracks: the war between the Teazles and temperamental differences of the Surface brothers and how they are tricked and uncovered by their newly arrived uncle, Sir Oliver (Henry J. Jordan). William Anton is just enough of a dullard as Joseph Surface to be believably transparent in his hypocrisy, while Ray Chambers has sexy good looks (if not real pizazz) as the profligate Charles.

Between them they deliver serviceable performances that never quite hit any peaks. The timing on the famous screen scene in Charles’ quarters seemed laggard on opening night, with the laughs a beat or two behind the action.

That kind of slight miscalculation suggests a need still for fine-tuning. Between the Teazles as well. Whitehead, of course, is splendid--a big basset of a Sir Peter, with a voice like a bassoon, but Lynne Griffin, who has the motions in place as Lady Teazle lacks the vocal thunder to match. This undermines her imperiousness and weakens their scenes together. One brainstorm that steals the show is the cunning puppy dog Sir Peter takes for walks. Not a real one, but almost.

The balance of the cast ranges from excellent to bland. Navarre T. Perry is a solidly faithful friend as Rowley and Erica Rogers a perfectly-named Lady Sneerwell, her face perpetually contorted, but Karen Vesper’s Maria is so colorless as to almost fade from the stage.

Such minor inconsistencies mar what is otherwise a spirited concoction for a summer night. And all is, after all, still fixable. . . .

At the Lowell Davies Festival Theatre in Balboa Park, Tuesdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., until Oct.11. Tickets: $14-$25; (619) 239-2255.