Matthew Broderick and David Cross. Photo: Marc J. Franklin

One is tempted to execute a stunt review of the new Tartuffe in heroic couplets, as the late, great Richard Wilbur translated Molière’s comedies for six decades, beginning with The Misanthrope in 1955. For example, I could open with:

Sign Up For Our Daily Newsletter

Thank you for signing up!

By clicking submit, you agree to our terms of service and acknowledge we may use your information to send you emails, product samples, and promotions on this website and other properties. You can opt out anytime.

This shoddy Tartuffe with its lazy rhymes

Is a cracked church bell that gratingly chimes.

But I won’t subject you to my doggerel; I had to choke down so much already at New York Theatre Workshop. Lucas Hnath’s version of the 1669 French classic adopts a defiantly dopey attitude to the original Alexandrine verse, spitting out countless false rhymes (special/medal), pointless recycling (bastard/disaster—twice!) and triplets that seem to relish their own insipidity (“to touch your ass is no more crass than worshipping at holy mass”). Wilbur opted for a sleek line of iambic pentameter, and his bouncy euphony, highly playable and delightful on the ear, remains the gold standard. Hnath’s effort, by contrast, is a collegiate prank, a hectic hash of profanity, stoner chuckles and feints at moral philosophy. He seems unconcerned if his rhyming falls flat or his characters sound like idiots. The outraged matriarch Mme Pernelle (Bianca del Rio, haute camp) lambastes her relatives for being louche and uncouth:

I am stunned you think it’s okay that the cleaning woman has so much say, be that as it may,
go ahead and let the maid just have her way, I can no longer stay and watch you all fall into
moral decay.

© Observer