'The Underpants' Is Over-The-Top, Hyper Hysterical

While the king presumably has clothes on as he passes by, a luscious young wife named Louise loses her bloomers, and thus ensues (Steve) Martinesque mayhem in “The Underpants,” currently playing at the John Drew Theater at Guild Hall in East Hampton.

Set in Düsseldorf around 1910, this satire of the emerging German middle class by expressionist Carl Sternheim was adapted by our own screwball comedian and writer, Steve Martin, into something more resembling a farce. Under the skillful direction of Bill Fennelly, this production is a ribald meld of rapid one-liners thick with double entendres, agile physical comedy and stunning wardrobes.

In pulling up her undies after such a seemingly unlucky accident, Louise may have displayed more than she thought to gentlemen fortunate to be nearby. As she sets tongues wagging, her husband, Theo, an insufferable mid-level clerk, is appalled—if word gets around he may lose his job!

What he will find instead are two of Louise’s admirers, both eager to take the empty room in the apartment to be near her, even if they must share the space. Anything for love!

Theo delightfully, albeit cluelessly, draws a hard bargain on the rent, for once finances allow, he and Louise could afford having a child. Lest an ill-timed pregnancy ensue, they haven’t been intimate since the night they married. With enough money in his accounts, he will commence bonking his wife on a schedule with Germanic precision.

When the new roomers are in place—especially a delightfully nutty unpublished poet—the sex-starved Louise might find satisfaction after all. An older and savvier upstairs neighbor, Gertrude, will be her enthusiastic guide to the delights of the flesh.

German officialdom and censorship—and the fact the original playwright’s father was Jewish—kept this send-up of their rigid society off the stage for a time. When the play’s name was changed to the blander “Der Riese,” or “The Giant,” the show was permitted to go on.

Indeed, Mr. Martin’s adaption goes on with aplomb in East Hampton, for the cast knows full well how to overact, as this version cries out for. All speak with an exaggerated German accent, so it is as if we are seeing a play about Germany by German actors speaking in English playing to American audiences and making fools of themselves in the process. Result: absolutent zückend. Or, utterly delightful.

Daniel Passer as both the self-absorbed Poet Versati and equally absurd king is stellar, but he plays against actors up to his level: Marianna McClellan as Louise; Sabrina Profitt as the yenta neighbor, Gertrude; Mark David Watson as Theo; Tuck Milligan (familiar to audiences here) as the late-coming renter Klinglehoff, and Michael Brian Dunn as a barber with amour on his mind, Benjamin Cohen.

The character of Mr. Cohen embodies the bigotry of turn-of-the-last-century German society, as Theo is at first not sure he will rent a room to someone with a surname of Cohen—until Mr. Cohen assures him that is Cohen spelled with a K. And “kosher” with a C.

The one-room set is unusually spare, with the multiple doors typical of farces through which people come and go. Two energetic beer hall dancers (Hollybeth Gourlay and Margot Plum) open the play and a few more times. While costume designer Raquel Barreto puts everyone in authentic period garb, especially swell were those of the Poet Versati and the king, and Gertrude, who gets to sashay around in some choice soignée wrappers.

Although we know Mr. Martin was working with previously published material, it is his brand of goofy humor—of which I am admittedly a fan—that prevails throughout. Pay attention to the lines as they whiz by to catch all the naughty nuances, and leave the young’uns at home.

Initially performed as a one-act, here “The Underpants” is thankfully two. If you’re lucky, German beer and hot pretzels may be available during intermission, as it was the night we were there.

Today the premise of the “The Underpants” might seem less shocking than it was when premiered over a century ago. Yet Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction at the Super Bowl a few years back did create quite a media buzz, so maybe things haven’t changed all that much.

Understanding the turn-of-the-century mindset of the Germanic bourgeoisie and the character of the king that Mr. Sternheim was lampooning will enhance one’s pleasure in this adaptation. But Mr. Martin’s hyper hysterical writing and over-the-top farcical emoting of the adept and physical crew in East Hampton easily override any informational lapses. “The Underpants” is a gas. Laughing gas, that is.

“The Underpants” will be staged at Guild Hall, 158 Main Street, East Hampton, through June 26. Opening weekend showtimes are Friday and Sunday at 8 p.m. and the official opening night Saturday at 7 p.m. Shows will continue Tuesdays through Sundays at 8 p.m., with the exception of Sunday, June 26, when the closing show will start at 3 p.m. Orchestra tickets range from $53 to $120. Balcony seats are $38 to $40. Visit guildhall.org or call 866-811-4111.