NIAGARA-ON-THE-LAKE -- There are three tasks every actor must accomplish in playing the title character in Bernard Shaw's Saint Joan, and Tara Rosling does them all, with varying degrees of success. In the production that launched the Shaw Festival's 2007 season here Wednesday night, Rosling first must convince us that, as Joan of Arc, she truly is guided by voices only she can hear. Happily, under the direction of Jackie Maxwell, an artfully fey Rosling loses little time in convincing a Festival Theatre audience she is indeed in joyful communion with an entire host of disembodied beings, although it takes until the post-coronation scene for us to fully accept that they just might be the voices of the saints she claims.
Second, she must make us believe that men -- not just any men, mind you, but rough-hewn military types -- would not only be content to follow her into hell itself, but would be driven to do so, as she fights to save France from the marauding English. Here, too, Rosling succeeds, although not always for the best of reasons. Despite much being made of the fact that the Maid of Orleans puts on men's clothing to deflect unwanted sexual attention, Rosling's World War I uniforms, as designed by Sue LePage, are so finely tailored to her very feminine form that it is not difficult at all to imagine an entire army of sex-starved soldiers determined never, ever to let her out of their sights.
Then, finally, there is the matter of simplicity -- and every actress who essays this demanding role must convince us that she is, indeed, the simple maid Joan of Arc claims to be, despite the erudition and wisdom Shaw calls upon her to exhibit. For Rosling, that simplicity translates to an almost operatic earnestness and, while one never doubts the innocence her Joan claims, it is the innocence of a young girl from the finest finsishing school, rather that the rough, earthy innocence of a peasant maid. Certainly, a young peasant from Domremy would have tucked in an errant legging on opening night, and the Dauphin be damned rather than trail it around for most of a scene, in the vain hope that no one would notice.
So while Rosling may fall short of being the quintessential Joan, she's more than good enough that the play itself shines as an ensemble piece, and as an impressive showcase for Shaw's treatise on the dangers of mixing religion and politics or, more specifically, religion and nationalism. With the exception of Harry Judge (who, under Maxwell's direction, makes the troubled Dauphin even more of a twit than Shaw drew him, turning him into someone more at home in a remake of Ferris Bueller's Day Off), this is an impressive cast. Shaw Fest stalwarts such as Blair Williams (as a slick and dangerous Earl of Warwick), Ben Carlson (as the dour Bishop of Beauvais), Norm Browning (as the over-stuffed Archbishop of Rheims), Ric Reid (as both the comedic Baudricourt and a chilling Inquisitor) and Peter Krantz (as the prototypical overbearing Brit twit John de Stogumber) serve not only to anchor Rosling's performance, but to illuminate it as well.
In this, there's also a strong assist from newcomers Thom Marriott (adding heft as both La Tremouille and Canon d'Estivet) and Patrick McManus (as Dunois). Backed by this strong ensemble, director Maxwell takes few chances as she brings the story to life on LePage's great ruin of a set -- her most daring achievement, perhaps, reflected not in time-shifting the action to World War I, but rather in her rearrangement of much of Shaw's epilogue. She recasts it as a prologue and thus casts the entire tale as flashback -- to dramatic effect.
In the end, this may not be a Saint Joan for the ages, but for today it's more than adequate.
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