Playwright: George F. Walker At: The Division at the Viaduct, 3111 N. Western Ave. Phone: 773-296-6024 or www.ticketweb.com; $20. Runs through: Feb. 25
In 1810, 18-year-old English poet Percy Shelley wrote the novel he titled Zastrozzi: A Romance, the tale of an Italian nobleman seeking revenge on his illegitimate half-brother, his relentless quest occasionally pausing for philosophical discussions. In 1977, 30-year-old Canadian playwright George F. Walker forged the play he called Zastrozzi, The Master of Discipline, a loose adaptation of its predecessor, rife with the physical and sexual spectacle then in fashionmaterial nowadays usually played as camp parody by young actors inclined to squirm at its extravagant emotions and lengthy ruminations.
The Division company stoutly rejects Walker's invitation to self-conscious cheap-and-cute for their inaugural production, however. Yes, the scenic design includes an anachronistic slogan graffitied to a wall, and the innocent Julia, played by Anne Leone, speaks in OMG-cadences, but what's most impressive about the cast assembled by director Jodi Kingsley is its, well, disciplined grasp of Shelley/Walker's easily caricatured rolestightly focused concentration allowing the actors to retain control of their florid language and neo-gothic personalities even as the passions (and corpses) escalate.
Anchoring the gravitas is Jason Kingsley's riveting portrayal of the nihilistic Zastrozzi, who emerges as a paragon of icy Aryan evila rapier-thin basso profondo who would rather corrupt Julia's virgin mind with carnal words than indulge the sensual appetites of the willing Matilda, and who dispatches his victims with the cold-blooded indifference of divine wrath. Indeed, theology figures in much of the intellectual discussion, with the pursued Verrezzi (made up to look like Shelley, himself, and played with annoying ingenuousness by Nick Bonges) atoning for his past crimes by withdrawing into an ecstasy of absolution, his hubristic piety contrasting with Zastrozzi's unflinching atheism.
Joanna Iwanicka's scenography reconfigures the smaller of the Viaduct black-box rooms into a labyrinth of elevated ramps, which the actors navigate with dazzling agility for the brief two hours of a show commonly running much longer. Flanking the aforementioned Kingsley are Martin Monahan as the brutal Bernardo, Danni Smith as the fiery Matilda and Jeff Brown as the avuncular Victor, delivering well-crafted and carefully grounded performances. The irony of their artistry is that, in undermining Walker's misguided aesthetic, it should make for such swashbuckling quasi-Jacobean thrills. How often do we see a play rendered smarter than its creator intended?