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In stark contrast to the human compassion that resonated from the quill of William Shakespeare stands his last will and testament, in which the dying playwright bequeathed virtually
everything to his first-born daughter, leaving to his wife nothing but his “second-best bed,” and to his second-best daughter, Judith--well, you have to see it to believe it. From the few
historical facts surrounding this hardhearted legacy, Jan Harris’ original comedy “. . . And to My Daughter,” at the Tiffany Theatre, spins a dazzling tale of intrigue surrounding the
struggle over the Bard’s sizable estate. Recognizing the dramatic weight that the character of Shakespeare would cast, Harris chose not to bring him onstage. Instead, the focus is on Judith
(Joanna Lipari), the illiterate spinster who learns she’ll be cut out of Will’s will unless she marries and produces a male heir. Lipari brings a calculated cruelty worthy of Lady Macbeth to
Judith as she sets her sights on bawdy tavern owner Tom Quinney (Bob McCracken), even though marriage means severing him from his naive--and pregnant--girlfriend (Kate Asner), a frail
Cordelia-like martyr. Especially chilling is Judith’s lack of remorse for the suffering of her father, who “has more love of ink than us.” Harris hypothesizes dizzying (and sometimes
horrific) complications through the machinations of Shakespeare’s doctor and son-in-law, John Hall (Scott Burkholder), who controls all access to the ailing Bard--even refusing admittance to
the pitifully marginalized wife, Ann Hathaway (Sheree North). The levels of betrayal here are as carefully plotted as anything Shakespeare might have penned, and Lipari and Asner bring
riveting intensity to their performances. At times, however, implementation falls short of concept in Remi Aubuchon’s entirely too-polite staging. Too often we find out about these
characters’ darker natures from what we’re told rather than what we’re shown. Burkholder’s Hall in particular seems bereft of cunning and malice--why not take a clue from the Shakespearean
context and play him like Iago? Or invest the somewhat muted Quinney with some of Falstaff’s ripe hedonism? Transposing Elizabethan sensibility into modern dialect, Harris’ promising
dialogue still needs work. Sometimes too clever for its own good, it’s at its best in naked declarations of rage and ambition. More of these would help elevate an intriguing comedy with
errors into a polished product, exactly as you might like it. _ * “. . . And to My Daughter,” Tiffany Theatre, 8532 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m.
Ends May 21. $25. (310) 289-2999. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes._ MORE TO READ