The Stage

The Hypochondriac

Published Wednesday 24 June 2009 at 14:25 by Chris High

Fresh on the coat-tails of Roger McGough’s exquisite adaptation of Moliere’s Tartuffe in 2008, without doubt a highlight of Liverpool’s Capital of Culture year, the controversial French dramatist’s work is being treated once more by Liverpool’s foremost poet - and therein lies the problem. With Tartuffe being shown so recently and with it being so incredibly funny, it somewhat hinders this production, as it is virtually impossible not to draw comparisons between the two.

Where Tartuffe is a frenetic ball of fizz, The Hypochondriac is a little too focused. Where the laughter comes in endless waves in Tartuffe, The Hypochondriac is a little more considered and delivers a lot of smiles, but few belly-laughs and although the verbal gymnastics of the former are every bit as dextrous here, you tend to come away thinking you’ve seen and heard it all before somehow.

One area in which the two share positives is in the performances. Clive Francis, as the perpetually ill Argan the ailing miser, accentuates his lines with great facial expression and voiced disdain. Leanne Best delivers a highly entertaining Toinette, the scheming maid who only wants what’s best, with her pseudo-Italian medic a joy to watch, while Brigid Zengeni and Toby Dantzic provide the truly funny moments as the self-serving wife, Beline, and ill-suited suitor, Thomas, who is in turn brilliantly described by Neil Caple’s Diaforius in one passage of pure linguistic genius.

There are moments of delight in The Hypochondriac and, yes, it is a lot of fun and well worthwhile going to see, but if you were fortunate enough to see Tartuffe, be advised to switch your memory banks to neutral first.