The Cast Photo by Sara K. Dean

Young (and definitely handsome) classics prof Ralph Sargent rushes into the office of his equally cute and young colleague, Daphne Rain, as he gasps for breath and looks as if he could faint any moment. Barely audible, he asks for water, at which point terrified Daphne grabs a vase of flowers and pours the water down his open mouth.

Once he recovers from near drowning and gulped petals, Ralph tells her the news that sends both of them into an ecstatic tizzy: He has found the long-lost copy of Euripides' play, Andromeda, for which scholars have searched the world for more than two thousand years. What better time to announce this amazing discovery than homecoming weekend at their New England liberal arts college. After all, Dean Trickett is sure to make a big splash with Ralph in front of wealthy alums, including Hollywood starlet Brooklyn Dewolfe (the drop-dead gorgeous Jane of the recent hit Tarzan movie).

With a sudden kiss to a dazzled Daphne, Ralph leaves the treasured parchment papers in her care for a few brief minutes as he fetches the Dean. Hearing a ring in the next room, Daphne steps away just long enough for a grooving-to-his-music janitor, Aleksi, to accidentally knock the large, dusty book into his waiting trash. Seeing its over-sized bulk in the bin, he decides to try out the new shredder in Daphne's office and–you get the gist. Next comes the shock of Daphne, horror of Ralph, Classic Department chaos everywhere, and eventually, a flood of wailing tears by poor Daphne.

That Daphne, on a recent trip to Greece, was given an amulet with promised magical powers, is perhaps a gift from Mount Olympus or just one more brilliant Ludwig insert into a script that has more twists and turns and ups and downs than a giant roller coaster.

Grabbing the necklace and calling out in desperation to the gods of Greece as she had been instructed, Daphne unknowingly opens a Pandora's Box, as flashing lights and Vegas music erupt to introduce two toga-wearing gods. They have arrived as commanded by Zeus himself to "Give this woman an adventure and a happy ending."

That for this desperate situation of lost manuscript Zeus has sent a dancing, joking, overweight god of wine, merriment and theatre, Dionysius, and his sidekick muse Thalia, the ivy-crowned patron of comedy and poetry, is perhaps Zeus' own joke-in-the-making. After all, this is the twosome who once promised the poor, stressed Abe Lincoln a lovely night at the theatre and who also bet a fortune up on Olympus against Napoleon because he was so short. In any case, Zeus' messengers are about to lead a ruckus romp where in fact happy endings will occur, but only after these two gods of comedy–and a third, Ares, the god of war–wreak havoc and hilarity in these hallowed walls of academia.

As Dionysius, Matt Regan is a god on earth quite larger than life, bestowing jocularity left and right as he stomps, skips, and slides across the intimate Pear stage. His Dionysius finds himself in a new heaven, as he discovers that this place called "college" is a haven of "smoking, drinking and fornicating." As he drips mayo and melting cheese on his bushy beard, he declares that he is ready to build a temple to his discovery of the celestial cheeseburger (or maybe to equally delectable Oreos or beef jerky). Along with Thalia, Dionysius does not miss a beat in grabbing a moment in the spotlight, whether as pom-pom waving cheerleaders or–in a switcheroo bit of magic–as the high-heeled Dean herself for a bit of romantic shenanigans. Over and again, Matt Regan reigns as his own comedic god above all.

Or maybe not, since Jaime Melendez is also a candidate for supremacy as the equally funny muse, Thalia. With Dionysius, the two become a vaudeville duo where she is often the Gracie Allen to his George Burns. Snaps of fingers make them and Daphne invisible just in time to watch Daphne's new boyfriend (all of two minutes worth) Ralph lay some big Romeo moves and tongue-rich kisses on the visiting starlet Brooklyn (a rib-tickling, breast-and-butt-bumping-into-any-nearby-male, Krista Joy Serpa). In fact, the otherwise serious professor of classics, Ralph (Arturo Montes), is quick to turn into a smooth-talking, hip-swiveling romancer whenever he is suddenly alone with any female, earthly or heavenly.

That even includes at one point romance with his domination in stature and style, wildly eccentric, over-sexed, and flamboyant Dean Trickett (Mary Hill). The problem is, the person he thinks is the Dean is actually the playful Thalia in magic-inspired disguise, who just wants to secure some smackers from the cute prof. When the real Dean returns and the now-turned-on Ralph cozies up for more love-making with his boss, we have just one more disaster-in-the-making which leaves the audience both cringing and laughing their heads off.

For someone who claims to Dionysius that a fun evening for her is enjoying rice, broccoli and popcorn ("You're killing me," he snorts ... "The gods are weeping"), the adventures the gods have unleashed on and around her leave Daphne more often than not in freaked-out tears. But these gods also teach her how to be bold (especially when invisible), to be inventive (why not write a fake Andromeda–who will know the difference?), and even to discover the actress within herself that is ready to make love to a fat god of comedy (much to his surprise and horror). Among a cast of comically talented thespians, Mai Abe does more that just hold her own as Daphne.

Not to be outdone and to grab one of the night's biggest laughs is Jamiel St. Rose, who takes on three roles of differing accents. He is first Aristide, the Greek souvenir salesman who tries bartering his bangles to the audience before giving Daphne the god-calling amulet as gratitude for saving his nephew from a runaway car (his nephew being a much over-sized, sucker-licking Arturo Montes of later Dionysius fame). After an ill-fated stint as the document-shredding Russian janitor Aleksi, Jamiel St. Rose appears as a muscled Greek god of war, Ares, called mistakenly to the mortal realm by the two gods of comedy, at one point flexing his bulging, bare left chest in repeated twitches to the uproarious roars of the audience.

So many of our guffaws come not just from the script or the talents of this cast but from the comedic ingenuity and inventiveness of John R. Lewis as director. Sending a panicked Ralph screaming unseen around the entire backstage of The Pear after realizing he just made out with his boss; bumping a paired, humping Ares and Brooklyn up against nearby audience; or suddenly sitting the gods in the audience so they too can enjoy watching the havoc that they have generated play out are just a few of many directorial touches that add up to yet more staged mirth.

Louis Stone-Collonge's sparse but effective set design resides under two askew frames, appropriate for a story that is cock-eyed from beginning to end. Greet Jaspaert's costumes provide frivolity time and again, especially when gods and humans alike don the outfits of the ancients for a campus celebration. Brittany Mellerson provides numerous highlights in sound and lighting that wonderfully exploit the surprises, the emotions, and the chaos unfolding all around us.

The one element of design that does not fit the feel of the evening so well is the choice of very loud rap, punk, and hip-hop music that fills The Pear as the audience enters as well as during intermission.

However, those musical choices are a small price to pay for an otherwise absolutely delicious offering of comedy as only the gods in the hands of Ken Ludwig could conceive and as the director, cast, and creative team of The Pear Theatre so outrageously and hilariously deliver.

The Gods of Comedy runs through March 16, 2025, at The Pear Theatre, 1110 La Avenida, Suite A, Mountain View CA. For tickets and information, please visit www.thepear.org.