Mirvish’s ‘Cyrano’ is a freewheeling, silly gender-flipped romp with little soul

Because like that brawny yet rather dim-witted hunk, this play is undeniably fun: filled with jaunty musical numbers, audience participation and so many paper streamers that someone ought to check in on the nearest Party City to see if its stocks were raided.  

Much like Christian, though, Gay’s adaptation lacks emotional depth. A fun, one-night stand? Sure. But you’ll wake up the next morning asking yourself whether it was worth all that trouble. 

In its plot, Gay’s “Cyrano” is fairly faithful to Rostand’s 1897 original, with the exception of its final few scenes. Cyrano (Eryn Jean Norvill), a whip-smart intellect with a way with words, though devastatingly insecure on account of her large nose, is smitten with her friend Roxanne (Madeline Charlemagne). 

That love, however, goes unrequited, with Roxanne’s eyes instead set on Christian, known simply as Yan (George Ioannides). But Yan, for all his muscle, is dumb as rocks. So he teams up with Cyrano — she’s the brain, he’s the brawn — to win Roxanne’s affection. 

Where this “Cyrano” differs from its source material is in its style. Whereas Rostand’s original is built on gorgeous Alexandrine verse, Gay’s modern-dress adaptation does away with that in favour of contemporary slang, standard prose and some liberal use of the f-bomb. 

That’s not to say that Gay’s writing isn’t beautiful. At certain moments, it is. “Why shouldn’t my impeccable taste extend the taste my heart has for hope, for joy? Why must I be satisfied with the scraps from other people’s tables?” asks Norvill’s Cyrano in one stirring speech, the actor opening up with delicate vulnerability, fingers flittering nervously in front of her torso. 

Gay also does a fine job of building out the character of Roxanne. She’s stronger and less shallow in this version, especially as portrayed — brilliantly — by Charlemagne, who’s given some of the play’s most illuminating monologues, challenging the idea of who is the real victim in Rostand’s classic story. 

But all the subtlety of Gay’s writing in these speeches is overshadowed by the rest of her play, which relinquishes subtlety for cheap gags and didactic dialogue that unspools like a tangled ball of yarn.

In particular, her three-person ensemble (played by Mona Goodwin, David Tarkenter and Mackenzie Gilbert, functioning as a Greek chorus of sorts) adds nothing except for grinding the action to a halt with their frequent interjections. It’s almost like Gay doesn’t trust her audience to follow the story.

Director Clare Watson’s staging feels like a Fringe production with its DIY esthetic. (“Cyrano” did run at the Edinburgh Fringe several years ago.) But that the show lacks a clear visual identity in either its sets or costumes (both designed by Amanda Stoodley) merely adds to the muddled nature of the entire project. 

What in particular didn’t sit well with me was how Gay goes about transforming “Cyrano de Bergerac” into a queer love story. In her adaptation, Cyrano’s large nose isn’t physically depicted in the show. Rather, it’s meant to stand in for Cyrano’s sexuality. (It’s implied throughout, though never explicitly stated, that Norvill’s Cyrano is queer.)

This is certainly a fascinating way to reinterpret Rostand’s story. Instead of Cyrano’s shame stemming from something on the outside — something physical — it rather comes from within. 

But whether intentional or not, this adaptation ends up trafficking in some tired queer tropes. Norvill’s Cyrano becomes the stereotypical gay best friend, whose love for their confidante goes unrequited. Her shame and self-loathing feel pulled from a gay tragedy starter kit. And if not for a deus ex machina twist ending, in which this “Cyrano” diverges from its original source material, Gay’s story would end up going three for three, concluding with yet another queer character being killed off. 

But maybe that’s the thing with this modern adaptation. Overanalyze it and you’re bound to stumble over its flaws. So, if you see it, don’t think about it too deep, but enjoy it for what it is on the surface. 

In short: Don’t be a Cyrano, but watch it as a Yan instead.