The Servant of Two Masters at Boise Bard Players

Or: The Ontarian

As I checked in to the Boise Bard Players Servent of Two Masters, site specified amid the open plan office of the Trailhead shared work space, I was given the option, for a donation, to choose one of several a mystery bags. Concealed within was an item of a silly nature that would, be tossed into the medley of that nights performance. The more donations, the more items. Donation paid, I peaked inside the bag and beheld a teeny, tiny sombrero. ‘Ah yes’ I thought to myself, ‘an omen of good times to come.’

It was indeed. The following two and a half hours was so funny as to be hazardous to the general health. I laughed myself, first to stitches, then to hoarseness, then to a wheezing hysteria.

Taking the classic comedia del arte plot (most famous of its protean fellows) of a betrothal broken, a woman in drag, and the ever hungry, never thoughtful Truffaldino (Kevin Swanstrom); the Boise Bard Players have transposed the action from Renaissance Italy to the Treasure Valley. As with the best comedia the spirit, not the letter of the script is what’s important and the cast crack jest after jest off the cuff, or with as much ease as to make no difference, and the straddled mores and morals of source and setting offer “Is this a Polyamory thing?” asks Pantalone (Tris Berg) of his daughter Clarice’s (Jasmine Berman) suddenly divided nuptials, “I’ve nothing against it, I just can’t pay two dowries.” And they just keep coming.

Like all good comedies Servant looks like it’s lashed to the iron rails of the tragedy express. Clarice and Silvio (Matt Bunk) are sickeningly in love but she has been promised to Federigo a wealthy Portland cowboy. Federigo met his demise at the hands of Florindo (Spencer Kohler), lover of his sister Beatrice (Madeline Keckler), prompting the young gallant to flee across state lines, and have Beatrice disguise herself as her dead brother, so she can marry Clarice, collect the dowery, and find Florindo, never mind the havoc wrecked between the hotblooded ingenues or their families. It’s Romeo and Juliet, in a chemical mixture and primed to blow Get it? Got it? Good.

The clown driving the tragedy train off the rails into a brilliant, happy wreck is Truffaldino, late of Ontario. A foolish man always on the lookout for the next meal, he applies to be a servant to both Florindo and the disguised Beatrice, keeping both in ignorance of his dueling responsibilities, in hopes of taking double wages (and double the food).

The whole of the cast gets their cracks in, joyously; each zanily setting their particular plates to spin (special accolades should be laid at Keckler’s feet, for her bringing Beatrice a steely certainty, and for her excellent fake mustache work). Still Swanstrom is a cut above. A “tall oat-milk latte” as described by the maid Smeraldina (Erika Lootens-Bill), Swanstrom’s Truffaldino is frothy indeed, with the physical range of a hyperflexiable scarecrow, a lighting bright wit slotting impossible scenarios into words, and a deer-seeing-G-d expression of pure empty headed terror that is hilarious all on its own, occasionally breaking into a sly smile when he gets an idea (which only leads him into worse trouble). Whether he’s lying to his masters, exchanging shy suggestions with Smerladina, or picking fights with local restauranteur Brighella (Asa Warnock), Truffaldino is always plunging ahead, running like Wile. E. Coytoe over the air, his magic keeping him aloft so long as he looks not down. Swanstrom too keeps things rushing, pulling impossible, eyewaterinw jokes from the very air, folding himself into impossible situations and with nary a wink, making him self the perfect clown. Be it loving licorice, dallying with a pudding cup, or fighting a trunk, there’s no one I’d rather see but Swanstrom; my health and safety be d-mned.