But despite all this, much to the delight of every high school English teacher in the United States, people just keep on producing this play. And this year 9th and 10th grade students can catch this tale of star-crossed lovers at the Lantern Theater, whose annual Shakespeare production is the Bard’s version of Twilight. Like all Shakespeare productions, the trick lies not in the novelty of the story, but in the way that story gets told. And the way this production tells this simple story is oddly fussy at best and painfully tedious at worst.

Directed by Charles McMahon and starring Sean Lally and Nicole Erb as the titular pair of lovers, the story is staged an a beige environment of fake-looking bricks and an awkward archway (set design by Meghan Jones). In a vaguely Renaissance world, marked with doublets and stays, chemises and brocades (excellently designed costumes that don’t quite fit into the production by Mary Folino), Romeo (a spitting and spastic Lally who plays the role with emotional energy that is utterly accurate if painful to watch) meets his Juliet (a whining and thoughtless Erb) and of course they fall madly in love. McMahon has peppered the production with odd silent exchanges that have his hapless actors making quick entrances and exits to give us, one supposes, some sort of atmosphere, all lit by Shelley Hicklin’s neat lighting design and scored by Daniel Perelstein’s lovely soundscape. But instead of seeing a fair Verona, where we lay our scene, we see a group of actors trying to make work a direction that extends an already long show even longer. Just once I would love to see a production of this play that really honors that whole “two hours traffic of our stage” business as outlined by the opening Chorus (declaimed by Frank X). So Romeo forgets his precious Rosamund (the lady he’s moaning about at the start of the play, discussed but never encountered) and commits his young emo-band heart to Juliet, who, by the way, is all of 14, as her nurse (Ceal Phelan) and mother (K.O. DelMarcelle) are quick to point out. They want her married to her cousin Paris (Jake Blouch, who also plays Tybalt, Peter, and a host of other characters), but of course Juliet only has eyes for her stalker, Romeo, and no threats from her father (played by Leonard Haas) can deter love’s true desires. Instead of, oh, I don’t know, skipping town, trying to make a go of it in Turin or Florence, the unlucky pair stay in Verona, marry in secret, and set in motion a series of events that lead directly to their deaths. Why do we make high schoolers read this, again?

One of the many difficulties of staging this so staged show, is making the audience understand and recall the feverish obsession of young love, devoid as it is of logic and perspective, but filled to the brim with hope and desire. And that’s not an easy task to charge any two young actors with, but hey, as we  learned from A League of Their Own, if it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. So while we can sympathize with the difficult tasks that Lally and Erb have in front of them, the sad truth is that neither of them discharges their duties particularly well. Part of this might lie in the fact that the two actors have all the chemistry together of an English class. Lally’s moaning and groaning Romeo is met by Erb’s shrill and petty Juliet, in a combination that is realistically juvenile, if not all that interesting to watch. But part of what makes this production flag is the pace, which should be breakneck and exuberant, but instead is sluggish and torpid. McMahon’s cuts are perplexing, he axes some of the most well-known exchanges in the show (it’s really not Romeo and Juliet unless someone bites their thumb) in favor of maintaining many of the scenes that, as historians will tell us, were actually penned to give doubling actors a bit of a breather. And speaking of doubling, this production uses it, well, weirdly. It’s rare to see a production of any Shakespeare play that doesn’t double one character or other, who has that kind of cash to hire a 30 person cast for a non-musical? But typically most modern productions try to use doubling purposefully, pairing two characters that have some kind of allegiance, or connection, something that has significance for the audience. This production, however, pairs people who have no connection, or worse, are enemies, which is frankly confusing. For example, Ceal Phelan plays both Lord Montague, Romeo’s father, and Juliet’s Nurse, her closest confidant and maternal figure. Haas plays Juliet’s volatile father with the same skill as the apothecary who seals his daughters doom. Blouch and Mehan are permitted to stay on their respective family sides, but their frequent exits and re-entrances in virtually identical outfits make it almost impossible to tell when they are playing whom. It’s strange for a play that is this familiar to be this confusing.

The reality is, there is nothing truly terrible about this production, it certainly doesn’t butcher the play and there is no wretched gaffe to make a Shakespeare lover blanche. It simply is about as beige as it’s set, it has no spark, not fire within it to keep this preposterous love story in the realm of the romantic. In this presentation, all we can see are the flaws, the many ways in which Romeo and his Juliet are rather foolish and extremely young, painfully earnest and deeply impulsive. It’s as hard to watch them make mistakes as it is to watch a child first learn to walk or an episode of 16 and Pregnant. You can’t intervene, you can’t fix it, you just have to stand by in mild horror and wait for the tragedy to come. And come it does, but after three hours, it’s almost a relief.

The Lantern Theater Company’s production of Romeo and Juliet has been extended until April 8th. Tickets are available here.

So it’s no wonder that Noel Coward’s best known couple, Amanda and Elliot of Private Lives (produced by the Lantern Theater Company)  have quite a bit in common. The pair (played by Genevieve Perrier and Ben Dibble, respectively) are both witty, wry, hot-tempered and ethically lax, more inclined to debate about cravats and caviar then concern themselves with petty morals. After all, it’s just so bourgeoisie, don’t you think? So when this divorced but never really separated couple find itself alone together on a balcony in France (like you do, #firstworldproblems), it’s only natural that after a little banter (foreplay) and a drink or two they find themselves slipping away together to Amanda’s love nest. It’s just a shame they leave behind  Elliot’s shrewish kewpie-doll new wife, Sibyl (K.O. DelMarcelle) and Amanda’s sweet and stodgy patronistic new husband, Victor (Leonard Hass). But oh, well, what’s a little spouse switching between friends? After all, this is France.

But is the spark between Amanda and Elliot sustainable, or is it the equivalent of a take out dinner in styrofoam containers, delicious and rather sinful, but unhealthy and wasteful? Well, the answer is yes, really, or at least that seems to be what Kathryn MacMillan’s production is telling us. Amanda (flawless and fun in the hands of the consummately excellent Perrier) and Elliot (whose comedic timing is perfect but whose debonair charm could use some work) are like a much more restrained Sid and Nancy, or a much more violent Fred and Ginger, take your pick.  Because no sooner do the lovebirds reunite then they start fighting, first with nitpicking and bickering, then with physical altercations and hurled insults, and no number of “safety words” or cigarettes seems to do much good. Can they make it work? Should they even try? And that’s pretty much what happens in Private Lives. Oh, and there is a French maid (Jessica Bedford), who enters in the third act to cast a Gallic eye of disapproval over these silly Anglicans. We don’t really need her, but then, what would the upper classes be without the help?

Like most modern Comedies of manners, it’s low on plot and high on dazzlingly sharp one-liners and well crafted social commentary. And it’s given a lovely production by the Lantern, glowing in Thom Weaver’s warm lighting design and neat but sumptuous with Meghan Jones’ demurely tasteful set design and Mark Mariani’s stunning costumes. From Amanda’s knockout emerald day dress (complete with matching hat! Why doesn’t anyone wear hats anymore?) to Victor’s oh-so-tweedy traveling suit, from Sibyl’s caplet to Louise the maid’s shabby chic ensemble, each outfit flatters and fits the piece perfectly. With the smokey sounds of Christopher Colucci’s sound and Coward’s original compositions haunting the room, one almost feels transported back to a time when music was sweeter, people dressed for dinner, and smoking was good for you. Ah, those were the days.

Plus there are, of course, several fascinating and frustratingly intriguing characters. Amanda is very much a modern woman, she drinks, she smokes, she enjoys a suntan and a healthy amount of extra-marital intercourse. Whats more, she knows herself, and she knows what she wants. Of course, what she wants changes from day-to-day, but she knows that too. And she’s more than a match for Elliot, whose slick surface barely covers his vulnerable interior. The reality is that it is Elliot, not Amanda, who is the true romantic here, traveling the world in solitude after their first marriage dissolved, pining for her from across the world. But Coward is just chock full of these subtle role reversals and comments on gender politics in modern society. As Amanda and Elliot battle and spar, then kiss and make up, the undercurrents of their relationship mirror those of polite society of the time. As they bicker:

Elliot: It doesn’t suit woman to be promiscuous

Amanda: It doesn’t suit you for women to be promiscuous.

One has only to look at the difference between Amanda and DelMarcelle’s deliciously irritating Sibyl (while it’s fairly frequently that I want to reach out and slap someone, this is the first time I’ve had to actively force myself not to do so, which is a good thing, because that’s that character’s entire reason for existing) and we see what fascinates Elliot about Amanda. She is her own person, and therefore she is forever beyond his reach. It’s bound to cause them both no end of problems, but if the entirely unsurprising ending of this play is any indication, these crazy kids would rather be miserable with each other than mildly happy but mostly bored with someone else. The opposite of love isn’t hate, really, it’s indifference. And the last thing Elliot and Amanda are is indifferent.

Even Noel Coward, who has given us some of the best comedic female characters of modern theater, can’t be as even-handed as one might wish. After all, Haas’ excellently played Victor is stuffy and British in the extreme (which is great for hunting parties and stiff upper lips, but less so for amour) is at least a kind and gentle person, someone we pity for having gotten caught up in the wake of Amanda and Elliot’s train wreck romance. Sibyl is afforded no such tolerance, she’s a shrew and a smug idiot and we, like Victor, are desperate to shake her. But how much more interesting, more complex and complicated would it have been to have Amanda and Elliot pick second partners who were both better for them, in terms of the day-to-day, the nuts and bolts of existence. Why couldn’t they both marry people who were legitimately strong options, but just not people they could actually in some way love? It seems clear that in her own way, Amanda loves Victor. Elliot couldn’t possibly love Sibyl. And not just because her name is Sibyl. Though I’m sure that’s at least some consideration.

But one has to wonder, are we even supposed to think about silly things like equality and socially enforced gender roles, or are we supposed to laugh at the jokes, smile at the love story, and walk away drunk on banter? Can we help doing one and not the other? Even in Coward’s comedic apex, these issues remain a clear part of the story, and to not consider them is to ignore the basis of this work, that is, society. Comedy points a finger at society no less so than tragedy, it simply choose to do so in a more subtle way. After all, what would you prefer, reading a textbook or checking out Feminist Ryan Gosling?

Private Lives has finished its wildly successful champagne bubble of a run, but maybe if we ask nicely they will do it again, after all, that’s an option now. At the very least, you will be sure to catch this piece playing somewhere sometime soon. It’s a classic for a reason.