The Merry Wives of Windsor

Sir John Falstaff—the fat, hard-drinking, flimflamming soldier we met in Henry VI and V—may possibly be Shakespeare's most well-known character. ( There was even a beer named after him. Can Hamlet or Romeo make that claim? ) First introduced as a pal to a young prince, but later escalating in his amorality to become an unsuitable company for a grown-up monarch faced with ruling a kingdom, he nevertheless commanded a popular affection leading Queen Elizabeth herself to commission a play depicting the street-savvy reprobate smitten by Cupid—perchance to be reformed thereby.

So how does our paragon of appetites and mischief approach the duties of courtship? By trying to seduce not one, but two, married women at the same time. This probably seemed an easy task: One of them has an excessively suspicious husband, and the other, an indifferent spouse more concerned with marrying their daughter to a magistrate's nerdy nephew. Clearly, these misguided men must be taught a lesson, which the clever matrons, assisted by sympathetic servants, proceed to administer—in the process, paving the way for the prospective bride to elope with the "overpaid, oversexed and over here" USAF fighter-pilot she loves.

How's that again? Isn't this supposed to be Shakespeare? Oh, it's the classroom classic, all right, but Barbara Gaines' directorial concept relocates its pastoral village to the years immediately after World War Two, with the citizens of Windsor dancing lindys and tangos, serenading one another with ditties like "Accentuate The Positive," "The Sunny Side of the Street," a "Too Fat Polka" affirming a suitor's status as Mister Wrong and a little boy crooning "Them There Eyes" to a fluffy poodle. ( Yes, there are four-footed actors in this show. )

There are also madcap full-auditorium chases incorporating front-row spectators into the mayhem, showers of flying snow and laundry, xenophobic stereotypes, bawdy double-entendres and whatever else is required to facilitate the three chastisements necessary to bring the recalcitrant males to order.

This is a workout far more strenuous than lugubrious tragedy, but chasing away the darkness of a prematurely frigid winter is a serious responsibility. Chicago Shakespeare's 25-strong troupers ( counting the canines ) acquit themselves with unflagging energy and infectious charm right up to the all-important group-hug ending where the foolish strays, presumably wiser for their punishment, are welcomed back into the community.