THEATER REVIEW : ‘Merlin’: Merciless and Without Magic

Academic hubris is common. Insulated in an ivory tower, surrounded by a moat of tenure, empowered by worshipful students, professors can easily be swept away in self-delusion. Call it the bunker mentality.

For 15 years German playwright Tankred Dorst’s epic about the Knights of the Round Table has been seeking an American premiere. Alas, “Merlin” has finally found a Camelot in California Repertory Company, thanks to director Ronald Allan-Lindblom and the Goethe Institut. During its mystifying six hours, “Merlin” casts a smell of disenchantment over Cal State Long Beach’s Studio Theatre that pungently illustrates why other American theaters avoided it like the Black Death.

Call it “Merlin the Merciless.”

Meet the Puppets of the Square Table--pretentious, preposterous and pathetic. Dorst and co-author Ursula Ehler’s self-indulgent Clicheland makes Lerner and Loewe’s musical “Camelot” seem like the cutting edge of post-modernism. By comparison, “Merlin” magically transforms “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” into serious art.

Evidently, Allan-Lindblom approached the 229-page script and its 265 roles with a child’s innocence. Rather than spectacle, he chose storybook special effects, minimalizing Dorst’s attempts to merge Sir Thomas Mallory’s 15th-Century poem “Morte d’Arthure” with post-World War II German symbolism. Dorst’s original German title translates as “Merlin, or the Wasteland,” implying that this must contain symbols from the contemporary German theater of Sturm und Drang. But what we see at Cal Rep is what we get--boys playing knights.

A metal scaffolding serves as the various castles. Lots of strobes and fog and music, but no Knights in armor galloping on imaginary steeds, as in Ariane Mnouchkine’s inventive Olympic Arts Festival Shakespearean histories. These knights wear black leather jackets as armor and sunglasses as helmets. But instead of behaving like a modern urban gang, the object of their obsession remains that elusive Holy Grail. Go figure.

An unseen storyteller narrates from loudspeakers, providing intrusive, irrelevant commentary, such as, “Merlin wrung his hands and groaned . . . “ Merlin is potentially a fascinating guide for audiences, especially as realized by shaven-headed, intense Richard P. Gang, but is gradually exiled off-stage.

Born of an unholy union between Satan and Woman (we witness the absurd birth, staged in the pit), Merlin defies his dad’s Faustian temptations. So our magician embarks on a Mission Impossible: Make humanity grow up.

But there’s a problem: You gotta have a round table. Our sorcerer’s apprentice becomes a kid named Arthur (an indefatigable Blake Steury). “This table has to be a representation of the world,” the kid-King explains to a carpenter, “and it must seat over a hundred knights. No corners. No inferior seats.” Alas, the carpenter can’t deliver.

So Arthur marries a woman named Guinevere (Kimberly Seder as Valley Girl Queen). She accuses the King of wanting her only for her large round table. Guinevere stomps her foot and shouts, “I am not frigid! Exceptional people have exceptional feelings!”

The kicks in Part II come from watching Guinevere redecorate her new digs at Sir Lancelot’s castle. Domestic bliss dissolves into acrimony when those petulant knights want revenge. “You come down and fight,” a knight shouts at the light booth. Slow-motion sword fights proliferate, resembling Super Mario’s struggles in a kid-vid dungeon. Satan triumphs, Merlin’s bummed, and as for the audience caught in Cal Rep’s headlights?

Prominently displayed in the theater’s lobby are warning signs: “THERE WILL BE NO LATE SEATING AFTER 8:15.” Want this reviewer’s advice? Arrive at 8:16.

* “Merlin,” Cal State Long Beach Little Theatre, 7th Street and West Campus Drive, Long Beach. Regular schedule (with Parts I and II on alternating evenings and both parts presented on Saturday): Wednesdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 2 p.m. $15 (for each part); $25 (for both parts). Ends May 14. (310) 985-7000. Running time: 6 hours.