Life can get stale, or perhaps it is we, the livers of life who become stale. Holidays can rejuvenate our souls—perhaps that is why I travel to London and New York City so often to view their theatrical fares. The desire to visit an exotic place definitely has its lure, and few countries possess the  overwhelming lusciousness of Italy. Having visited it three times, I can testify to its dreaminess, and that fragrant bouquet fills the UL's Performing Arts Department's production of Enchanted April, which will perform this weekend at Burke-Hawthorne Hall Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening at 7:30 pm and Sunday afternoon at 2 pm.

     For centuries, the theatre has certainly explored this idea of transformation, but this idea of the rejuvenating powers of Italy dates back to just after the end of the Great War. Elizabeth von Armin's 1922 novel Enchanted April was so, well, enchanting that it was adapted into a play only three years later and into a radio broadcast in 1935. The story lumbered in obscurity for over half a century until Mike Newell directed a stunning 1992 movie starring Miranda Richardson, Alfred Molina, Jim Broadbent and the Oscar-nominated Dame Joan Plowright. A decade later, Matthew Barber adapted the novel into a new Broadway production, which is lovingly restaged for UL's Burke-Hawthorne Hall under the direction of Sara Birk. Though the play stumbles a bit in the first act, the second act testifies to the power of theatre as an art form as well as a means to move people.

     The story seems innocent enough: four ladies rent a villa in Italy during the month of April. Today this would hardly raise an eyebrow, but in 1922, the fact that four ladies rented a villa sight unseen was bad enough, but worse is the fact that two of the women presently still had husbands, poor fellows they were happily leaving behind. The seed that sparks the unlikely friendship is when Charlotte “Lottie” Wilton notices that a relative stranger Rose Arnott is reading a newspaper travelogue about traveling to Italy. Life-altering situations can begin so easily, and soon without either of their husband's respective permissions, the two wives entice two more women to join them on a “girls' month out” in Italy. It's hardly a spoiler to write that the four women do become close friends and each experiences something of a renaissance in the heart of the Renaissance.

     These four women could hardly be more different. Lottie Wilton embarks on a journey of self-discovery, finding her marriage terribly predictable and unsatisfying. Her clueless husband Mellersh—there are grounds for annulment alone for that name—expects Lottie to steer conversations in appropriate directions, fix his tie, and buy his Times. When she proposes innocently enough that he might consider buying his own newspaper, he just wistfully announces, “I shall miss my Times.” Lottie is the glue that holds the four women together, but she has to snatch the first woman, Rose Arnott, who is in a hapless marriage of her own. Married to a poet Frederick Arnott who writes salacious, modern things under a pseudonym, she too has noticed the spark has left their marriage, and though she originally opposes the idea of an Italian excursion, she finally sees it as a worthwhile escape. Together, the two ladies take out an ad—how modern!—to find other traveling companions, and the only responders are from opposite ends of the spectrum. Lady Caroline Bramble, a sensuous soul who loves jazz and liquor and dresses in vibrant colors, wants an escape from her own stilted life, while Mrs. Graves is essentially Lady Bracknell avec cane from The Importance of Being Ernest. Today the appropriate reference would be Lady Violet, the Dowager Countess from Downton Abbey, and one can only imagine what Dame Maggie Smith would do with the role. Somehow against the odds these four ladies arrive at their rented villa in San Salvatore to begin absorbing the sun and the vim that has eluded their lives.

     Matthew Barber has designed the first act in clunky vignettes that do no service to the actors on stage. In re-arranged scene after scene, the audience witnesses the first idea of a trip down to the final confrontation with the respective husbands. Thankfully the stage crew is expertly adept at moving two tables and four chairs to create several different scenes and though they waste no time moving their props, the end result is still awkward at best. While each scene has a kernel of novelty or earnestness in them—especially the one involving Lottie and Rose renting the villa from the charmingly handsome Antony Wilding, whose shirt is scandalously unbuttoned for 1922—they impede the natural flow of the material. In many ways, The Elephant Man has similar structural problems, but I'm not certain if Barber could have overcome this obstacle.

     Thank heavens for the second act, which reveals a gorgeous set designed by Travis Johnson with just the right hint of lighting and color, especially after all the drab tones of Act I. This act sparkles as much as the crystal blue waters of the Isle of Capri in southern Italy and wipes away some, though not all, of the first act's temerity. We finally see the humanity in many of the characters, and sometimes delivered in the most casual of lines. Mrs. Graves wistfully comments that to have grandchildren, one must first have children, and we see the regret of her later years. Lady Caroline Bramble has found happiness in the hands of a married man, but as most people know, such situations rarely conclude with a fairy tale ending. (Though I must admit, the entire adulterous situation ends way too neatly or Barber simply doesn't address it very well; it's perhaps the only flaw in Act II.) Both Lottie and Rose have their own respective spring awakenings, and their resolutions are both heartfelt and believable. Add to the mix a hysterical Italian housekeeper named Costanza (a delightfully expressive Nancy Ramirez), and a twist of events that leaves Ryan Broussard exposed on stage—quite literally—and there is much humor in Enchanted April.

     While the acting on the whole is good, some actors and actresses fare better at creating complete characters on the stage. As Lottie, Desiree Noriega is the most realized person with a wide-eyed view of the beautiful world she wants to see. One believes her when she blossoms in the second act to find all the things she was missing. None of the other traveling companions achieve that same level, though not for lack of trying. Casie Heim as Rose is too cold and rigid in the beginning, making her subsequent transformation truly miraculous. It's too dry a performance, though admittedly by the end, there's a warmth in her face that would have been welcome a little sooner. Angelica Menges has the unenviable task of following in the footsteps of grand dames like Joan Plowright and Maggie Smith, but she acquits herself well. She needs more silver in her hair, though, for while her mannerisms might suggest old age, her hair clearly states she's washed the gray from her hair. Her use of the cane, however, is riotous. Amandah Baker as Lady Caroline has the hardest part in many ways, and though her character is reminiscent of Josephine Baker, Ms. Baker, though an exquisite beauty, comes across as slightly unfocused. Nancy Ramirez is a hoot as Costanza, managing to effortlessly draw attention to the housekeeper with the skill that reminds me of Hermoine Gingold.

     Did I mention there were men in this play? Though I am tempted to say they were peripheral, they are instrumental in the lives of the ladies. All three men, however, need some grounding, some focus. Andre Trahan (Frederick Arnott) manages to be a jerk who transforms into a loving husband, Ryan Broussard (Mellersh Wilton) personifies British obtuseness, and Dustin LaFleur (Antony Wilding) exudes sexiness with his stylish looks, loose pants, but ever-too-tight shirts. LaFleur has more stage time than the other two men, but none of them register as strongly as the ladies, which is understandable given the structure of the play. Barber has however given them little to work with, but director Sara Birk imbues them all with as many layers as is possible.

     There are so many things right about this construction of the actions, and Sara Birk is to be commended for her smart placement of the characters. The motions, whether it's the presenting of a tempting bag of almonds, to the grasping of a hat that brings two characters tantalizingly close, to the way characters hold each others' faces in their hands, added a reality to this fantastic April. Brady McKellar's costumes were drop-dead gorgeous, especially for Mrs. Graves. There are lovely touches everywhere, rather like the wisteria that grows on the grounds of the villa, but there is one area which all actors must eventually grapple should they become successful actors: line delivery, and particularly, speed. This play is not a race, and even the best actress in the play, Ms. Noriega races through her monologues proving that she does not fully comprehend the importance of some of the words she utters. Judicious pausing is crucial and would add so much to an already good production that I hope some is sprinkled through the play.

     Ultimately the ladies and men deal with their affairs of the heart. This is, after all, the land where Romeo and Juliet met their fated ends, so it's heartwarming to see a happy ending for these love-lorn souls. It's an enchanting Enchanted April.