Summary 
Problematic play presented outdoors with a wickedly comic if overly prominent portrayal of Parolles. Three Musketeers-style costumes and gallantry and a well-played - if questionably motivated - central heroine.
Design
Directed by Karen Kessler. Costumes by Kathryn Rohe. Set and lights by Peter Beudert. Sound by David Zerlin.
Cast
Joyce Thi Brew (Diana), Susan D'Autremont (Countess of Rossillion), Anthony Irons (2nd Lord of Dumaine), Timothy Kane (Parolles), Kathleen Logelin (Helena), Michael Milligan (Reynaldo), Patrick New (1st Lord of Dumaine), Patrick O'Gara (King of France), Roderick Peeples (Lafeu), Martin Yurek (Bertram), Stephanie Childers (Mariana).
Analysis
Karen Kessler directs a big-haired and lushly costumed All's Well That Ends Well. Nearly every male actor wears a long, flowing wig, some of them curly and all of them colorful, and most men wear pony-tail hair extensions as well. Attired in boots and snug pants with loose-fitting shirts and topped with flamboyant hats, the young men resemble Dumas' Musketeers, especially with their rough-housing camaraderie and testosterone-heavy swordplay. The brothers Dumaine, for example, conduct their 4.3 conversation on Bertram's womanizing during a flashy fencing sequence replete with no-look maneuvers and playful taunting.
The set features flowered trellises and embroidered tapestries upon a faux cobblestone stage, but for the most part the set remains clear for a profusion of entrances and exits. The King's throne slides to center stage on a platform from beneath the gallery, and for the second act, a brick water-well embellishes stage right. Scene changes are affected by the clowns Lavatch and Reynaldo, who bring or remove properties while bickering and battering each other. The first half concludes appropriately following Helena's 3.2 "come, night; end, day" soliloquy, which is timed for later evening, just after sunset, so when the production resumes darkness has actually fallen in the outdoor theatre.
All's Well That Ends Well, performed on alternating nights with two other productions, bears striking similarities to the Festival's Hamlet. Both play's protagonists are chastised for excessively grieving their recently deceased father, and both productions feature actor Martin Yurek - here as Bertram, in Hamlet as Laertes - being given long-winded discourses on propriety by an over-protective parent. This production includes something of an inside joke for the audiences who see all the Festival's shows this season. Joyce Thi Brew, as the virginal Diana, surprisingly selects the oafish Reynaldo for her husband, and astute audiences will recall Thi Brew's Ophelia and her vigorous chemistry with Michael Milligan, who plays Reynaldo here as well as the title role in Hamlet. Diana is not just selecting Reynaldo; this is Ophelia reunited with Hamlet, albeit in a much happier ending.
Lafeu and the Countess bring welcome maturity to their characters and anchor a production that may have become awash in overly youthful roles and exuberance. Lafeu and the Countess are also set apart from the other characters by their costumes, which are uniformly black with white fringes, quite the opposite of the pastel flamboyance of the costuming of the younger characters. Lafeu even draws the biggest laugh of the evening with his droll, "mine eyes smell onions" (5.3).
The company's less mature performers are cast by Kessler into the smaller roles, where some of them manage to excel: the interpreting 1st Lord exudes brashness in his overblown "Russian" accent, and he draws laughter merely with his pronunciation of the word "reputation"; and Mariana, given appropriately somber songs to croon at the outset of the second half, amuses with her sudden bursts of shrill temper.
Kathleen Logelin's Helena shows unflappable resilience with a combination of sweetness and maturity that is perfect for the role. After she cures the King, she appears for 2.3 in a whirlwind dance with him, delighted in her personal triumph. Kessler commented in pre-production interviews that her emphasis with this production would not be upon "childish fairy-tale love" but upon the characters "growing up" and becoming aware of what "real love" entails.
While Helena's resolve is indisputably respectable, there is something vexing about the character's trickery and sexual entrapment of Bertram. Even her healing of the King is for selfish purposes. Further, her attraction to Bertram is difficult to comprehend, as he appears vain, egotistical, and postured, and proves more concerned with sexual conquests than a meaningful relationship. Even with his bravery - which is spoken of but never shown - Bertram seems more akin to the craven and posing Parolles than to any ideal of romantic love.
As appealing as Logelin's lovely Helena is, this All's Well That Ends Well certainly belongs to Timothy Kane as Parolles. Kane, in long red curls and wearing a laughable excess of scarves, bannerettes, sashes, and tassles, energizes the play with nearly every appearance. He portrays a believable deceiver, one moment blustering and confused, his face at once vacuous and alarmed. By the next moment he manages decorum and stylized grace, somehow stumbling upon the right courtesy or the correct expression. His inevitable fall in power and confidence parallels the rise of Helena, who, for the sake of love, empowers herself and grows more confident with each scene.
The extended 4.3, where the sniveling Parolles is brutally humiliated, like Malvolio in Twelfth Night and Falstaff in The Merry Wives of Windsor, concludes with Kane squirming flat on his back, peering up at his compatriots and whispering a typically ingenuous, "Hi!" The scene parallels Bertram being trapped in lies during 5.3, but Parolles' thin-to-begin-with reputation is doomed, whereas Bertram - always undeservedly - is given another opportunity, and supposedly with sincerity - although unconvincingly - he declares his love for Helena and receives redemption.
In spite of wise choices, Kessler is unable to fully overcome the inherent difficulties with Shakespeare's text, in part due to a thinly realized happy ending, but especially due to the female lead's questionable motives and the two male leads being so unsavory. Kane's Parolles, in feathered hat and swirling cape, steals the entire production. During one scene he trips upon making his entrance and nearly sprawls onstage, then clumsily retraces his step to find what he had "tripped" upon. After his humiliation, he returns with buzz-cut hair but the same attire, and he slices the air with his sword in the same manner but now with defeated self-pity. His facial expressions are a delight, even when he is not the speaker. For example, his revulsion at Lafeu's 2.3 description of making eunuchs seems to approach comic nausea.
During the curtain call, Kane receives a great deal of applause, and he returns to character, accepting the ovation with a rush of bows and curtsies until the Dumaine brothers return upstage and chase him in a cowardly dash from the theatre.
Note: A version of this article was edited and published in Shakespeare Bulletin, Vol.15, No.4, Fall 1997.