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          Theater-goers 
          at 51 Walden St. have been treated for a number of years now to shows 
          with production values that rival the finest in metropolitan Boston, 
          and "The Madwoman of Chaillot" is no exception. 
         High 
          marks go to the production team of Doug Cooper (set) Faith Lucozzi (costumes), 
          and D. Schweppe(lighting) for presenting a Parisian atmosphere worthy 
          of a willing suspension of disbelief. 
         With 
          a well-equipped force of volunteers, the Concord Players continues to 
          present quality performances. 
         Playwrights 
          in our century have dealt with war in one of two ways. Either they have 
          addressed the subject directly, as Bertold Brecht did in many of his 
          plays, or like Jean Giraudoux, they have retreated from the outrage 
          of reality into a world of extravagant phantoms where beauty still holds 
          a plea. 
         Although 
          Giraudoux himself wrote "The Madwoman of Chaillot" 
          in France at the time of the Nazi occupation, he set his play in part 
          of a Parisian cafe and filled it with vendors, rag pickers, musicians 
          and other leftovers. 
         The 
          reigning queen is the countess herself, the "madwoman," one 
          of the survivors of the "Ancien Regime," humored in 
          her claim to titled dignity by an indulgent society. She and her like-minded 
          "madwomen" talk to voices from the past, sift the ashes of 
          long-dead love affairs, and wield magical powers whereby society can 
          be healed. 
         This 
          antique world threatens to collapse under the dead weight of various 
          prospectors, presidents and press agents who bear the twin burdens of 
          materialism and responsibility for the current war. 
          
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          A 
          president explains his capitalistic strategy of margining stocks early 
          in Act One with all the derisive hindsight of a young person holding 
          a master's degree in business administration on the Tuesday following 
          last month's Black Monday. Giraudoux's mockery of the materialism which 
          he blamed for destroying his beloved Paris has startling relevance for 
          our own times. Life sometimes imitates art. 
         Brian 
          Wolfe-Loonard as the Prospector, Bill Maxwell as the President and Jerry 
          Flynn as the Baron get the play off to a fine start with their rococo 
          banter about the origins and operations of capitalism. Lida Bander plays 
          a fetching Irma, while Bob Peters turns in a fine, crusty performance 
          as the Sewerman. 
         Suzanne 
          Manzi as the "madwoman" Mme. Constance gives as much vitality 
          to her imaginary doggie as he's ever likely to get in this world. Chris 
          Blanche as Gabrielle, another "madwoman," also conjures her 
          imaginary voices out of airy nothing with exceptional skill. 
         The 
          dauntingly large lead role of the "Madwoman of Chaillot" is 
          played by Bette Cloud who, on opening night, had not quite hit her stride. 
          The "Madwoman" comments on almost every subject throughout 
          the entire play, and Cloud's energy and skill are tested. Nonetheless, 
          she does rise to the many occasions for oracular intensity and persuasion 
          which give the role its proper buoyancy. 
         Perhaps 
          the best performance is turned in by Jack Sweet as the rag picker. In 
          the second act, taking the role of a wealthy capitalist, he explains 
          his desperate attempts to rid himself of the evil of money with a relish 
          and zest that is a joy to watch. He revels in Giraudoux's wit and words 
          and loses his case triumphantly. 
         Director 
          Dorothy Schecter manages a lively, crowded stage. At times a slow pace 
          threatens to sap its energy, but the spectable and energy of individual 
          performances carry us throught to the end. 
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