Maybe ‘trumph’ isn’t the right word

Portland State’s theater production of Pierre Marivaux’s The Triumph of Love is the tale of a princess who goes undercover as a man to infiltrate the home of the man who is both the rightful heir to the throne and the love of her life. Like most women in drag, the play is passable on the surface but doesn’t bear up under close scrutiny.

In the past, Leonide (the titular princess) watched as her uncle took the throne by force, placing the rightful king and his pregnant partner in jail, where she promptly died in childbirth.

As Leonide’s family assumed power, the infant heir to the throne, Agis, was smuggled out of prison and, some years later, raised by a prominent philosopher, Hermoncrate, and his sister, Leontine.

The rule of the land passes from Leonide’s uncle to her father and, eventually, falls into the hands of the young princess.

As the play begins, Leonide (Clara Weishahn) and her maid, Corine (Sasha Brooks), enter Hermoncrate’s garden dressed as young men of La Belle Epoque–the period to which the play has been updated. The set serves as perhaps the best specific metaphor for the play as a whole.

Rendered beautifully, the set incorporates a central fountain, a large shrine of Aphrodite and two ivy-covered gates. All of them appear to be made from stone, and the shrine is made to look ancient through the absence of one pillar and the pieces of another one lying on the grass.

However, there are no other signs of age. Nowhere is the moss that would naturally grow in such an environment or a single smudge of dirt. When lit fully, the set glows with uninhabited newness, giving it the same slightly off feeling one gets in a furnished model home.

It is possible that the stonework in the garden is supposed to be new. But, in that case, why would pillars be missing? Furthermore, why would an avowed follower of reason, as the audience discovers Hermoncrate to be, erect a shrine to the goddess of love?

It doesn’t do to ask why; simply accept the surface value. And that is precisely what Leonide and Corine hope will happen. Through a long expository monologue veiled as comical questioning, Corine alerts the audience to the pair’s backstory.

From the beginning, it is clear that Brooks’ Corine will be the laughable foil to her love-struck princess, and she accomplishes the task admirably. Brooks is able to convey the humor without chewing the scenery.

As they discuss their plans, they are happened upon by Hermoncrate’s valet, Harlequin (Winston Morris-Greene), a blabbermouth with a price. Once paid off and infatuated with Corine, Harlequin helps the pair in their scheming. Morris-Greene has moments that match Brooks’ finesse for comedy, but is also prone to hamming it up. In his finer moments, he is reminiscent of Alan Cumming.

But Corine and Harlequin have a number of choreographed interactions that take place while others are speaking and they pull focus. It’s not a particularly difficult plot to follow, so a few lines of dialogue missed here and there don’t impair understanding. But, again, one asks “Why?” What is the director’s goal in placing the center of interest outside the characters that are speaking?

In short time, each member of the household has happened upon the pair. And, in order to gain access to Hermoncrate’s home, Leonide has professed her undying love to: the philosopher, Hermoncrate, who immediately recognizes her as a woman he had seen only the day before; his sister, Leontine, who believes her to be a man; and her true love, Agis, who initially befriends her as a man and is confused by his subsequent feelings. Both men woo her under the name Aspasie, which she has given them, and she woos Leontine under her male disguise as Phocion. The gardener, Dimas and Harlequin are left to servant Corine to ensnare in her female charms.

Predictably, the comedy that follows is the result of a confusion of identities, genders and intentions. Though, there are few points at which the princess has any hurdles of note. This story is a much more lighthearted romp than daring deception.

Weishahn has a lot to balance in her leading role and she does a wonderful job. Her character’s success is based entirely upon the princess’ ability to think quickly. Conveying quick thinking on stage can be hard as the actor is constantly mindful of what will come next.

But Weishahn never seems to speak by rote. Instead, she maintains a presence on stage that is received as natural and spontaneous. Additionally, in her many love scenes she uses her entire face, most notably her eyes, to enchant her objects of affection.

Kevin Crowe as Hermoncrate matches her abilities. Initially a buttoned-down man of wisdom, Crowe speaks and walks with an uptight precision. His downward spiral from lover of reason to plain old lover is executed with admirable deftness. When, by the play’s end, he is sans top hat, bow tie undone, collar missing and without a jacket, it is clear that this straight-laced character is in shambles.

Hermoncrate’s sister, Leontine, grows more free spirited as her interest in the opposite sex is re-ignited. Carrie Emerich brings age to Leontine with apparent ease. Obviously a young woman herself, Emerich moves with the weight and gravity of middle age. Her conviction in the transition from devout spinster to animated bride-to-be leaves the audience torn when the play draws to a close and she and her brother are left behind.

Nicholas Babson and Ben Parlsow as Dimas and Aguis, respectively, have little of the other actors’ charm. Like the set, they both have a superficial appeal but are unable to convey more. Babson affects a limp/shuffle that may be indicative of his character’s age or of a childhood injury. It’s never consistent enough to be clear. And as the object of affection, Parslow appears wooden. He’s certainly handsome enough, but he lacks the allure of the other characters.

As light comedy, the play succeeds winningly. Just don’t think too hard about it or this Triumph starts wearing thin at the seams.

The Triumph of LovePortland State UniversityArtists Repertory Theatre, Morrison Stage (1515 SW Morrison)$10 general, $8 student/senior