Oh, dear, it's catching. But then so too is Cyrano's indomitable belief in truth, integrity, and honor without compromise. We long to be so sure, and we share the hero's agony as the fear of his flaws keeps him from speaking the one truth that means most to him: his love for Roxane .
The famous balcony scene, when darkness finally gives Cyrano the courage to speak for himself instead of for Roxane's tongue-tied soldier-suitor, Christian, plays here as it should, as both triumph and tragedy. Cyrano's soul soars up to Roxane with his words, but his body stays helplessly captive below.
Director Amanda Dehnert uses Eugene Lee's flexible, inventive set wisely in this scene, as she does in the opening, which sets a smaller stage upon the stage for a funny satire on a hammy actor whom Cyrano furiously chases off. The evident scaffolding and movable parts of Lee's design -- including a section that morphs as needed from stage curtain to glass-fronted pastry shop to flowery garden wall -- nicely complement Dehnert's usual emphasis on the staginess of the stage. With the actors hauling benches and planters and tombstones around, we can't ever forget that their setting is an artificial construction, not a natural place.
That works well, too, with one of Rostand's themes: how people construct the selves they show the world, and how those structures at once animate and entomb us. Cyrano's public brilliance reveals his shining soul, but it also blinds his friends to that soul's darker sorrows.
Hantman's embodiment of that paradox gets fine support from his fellow actors. Angela Brazil's Roxane is lovely, both clever and sweet; Noah Brody gives Christian a bluff, good-hearted simplicity that makes him more than just a dumb piece of beefcake. Fred Sullivan Jr. contributes a wonderfully silly villain, and Trinity stalwarts Brian McEleney , William Damkoehler , and Barbara Meek each find as much humanity and depth as anyone could in their supporting roles.
Eight more players in the ensemble give a dizzying sense of variety to the swarms of poets, actors, cooks, soldiers, and nuns with which Rostand overpopulates his stage. Sumptuously dressed by William Lane and briskly choreographed by Dehnert, they swirl around with enough energy and good humor to glide over most of the plot's absurdities and sags.
You'll glide past them, too. It's Cyrano you'll remember.
Louise Kennedy can be reached at kennedy@globe.com.
