Gilbert & Sullivan. G&S.

Sometimes it seems as if the ampersand was invented for W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan, so inextricably are they, and their Savoy comic operas, linked in theatergoers’ minds — even though their real-life relationship was not always that tightly bound.

Both men, of course, did many other separate works. One that’s been appreciated through the decades is Gilbert’s farcical Engaged, which opened in 1877, just before he and Sullivan premiered their global smash H.M.S. Pinafore. You can see the reasons why Engaged is so engaging in a new and charming production by Talent to aMuse Theatre.

Gilbert’s convoluted plot spoofs several types of romantic entanglements, notably marriage arrangements and the instant, undying love so prominent in 16th- and 17th-century plays — for instance, Shakespeare’s. The Engaged influences can be seen in works like Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest and Alan Ayckbourn’s The Norman Conquests (coincidentally, coming soon to Cygnet Theatre).

Engaged introduces its characters near a Scottish cottage run as a hostel by Angus, who drums up business by slightly derailing passing trains, then providing room and board to the detained passengers. He’s assisted by pretty young Maggie, whom he’s wooing, and her widowed mother.

The newest batch of passengers includes Cheviot, a wealthy and conceited young man given to propose marriage to every woman he meets, and his uncle Symperson. Also along are Cheviot’s friend Belvawney and the woman he loves, Belinda. Belvawney restrains Cheviot’s romantic recklessness because he has been promised, by Cheviot’s protective father, an income of 1000 pounds a year if Cheviot doesn’t marry. Belinda says she loves Belvaney, but she’s worried that he is likely to lose that income, making him penniless (after a long speech about her eternal love, she follows with “but business is business”).

Bernadette Ralphs, Sam Zetumer (center), Michael Niederman

Photo by O.P. Hadlock

If Cheviot does marry or die, the money reverts to Symperson, so he is urging his nephew to wed Symperson’s daughter Minnie (no problem, obviously, with first cousins marrying). Cheviot agrees, but then meets Maggie and Belinda, and fickleness abounds. Meanwhile, a spurned lover is pursuing Belinda with a pistol, so Cheviot gallantly proposes to save her by pretending that they are husband and wife.

Later, as Cheviot is preparing to wed Minnie, Belvawney shows up, panicking at the potential loss of his income. He claims that Cheviot can’t marry Minnie because, according to an old Scottish custom, the previous mutual declaration by Cheviot and Belinda means that they are actually married.

Belvawney, however, still wants to wed Belinda, and he comes up with an idea: the cottage was on the border between England and Scotland, so Belvaney will investigate whether the Scottish custom or English law prevailed.

See what I mean about convoluted?

The back and forth on the marriage question and Cheviot’s incessant flirtations do threaten to grow tiresome, especially to today’s audiences, so director Welton Jones wisely keeps matters zippy, and the three-act, two-intermission play runs just a few minutes over two hours. Jones also keeps the cast histrionics just south of excess, so the arm-waving and exaggerated vocal tones connect as humorous rather than inordinate. And the solid ensemble proves adept with both English and Scottish accents.

Most impressive is Sam Zetumer as Cheviot, using a honeyed voice, parenthesis-like stance and expressive arms to make his improbable and recurring cajolery convincing. Sarah Hunter is winningly impish as Maggie, ingenuously proclaiming herself “a good girl,” and Bernadette Ralphs as Belinda skillfully glides between silkiness and steeliness. George Weinberg-Harter, as Symperson, is properly flustered and blustery, and Reed Willard credibly covers Belvawney’s range of moods.

Pamela Stompoly’s costumes evoke the Victorian period, particularly in the elegant women’s gowns and the men’s patterns of plaids and checks, although the men’s shoes weren’t always as dressy as the rest of their outfits. Marie Miller handled the serviceable lighting.

Weinberg-Harter designed the sets, a Scottish countryside and English drawing room, with the bright colors and accenting lines of a Dr. Seuss illustration. Especially clever touches are a wall “painting” of W.S. Gilbert and a background rail bridge and model train showing Angus’s derailment scheme. A sign on the inn, however, should be a little wider to allow for the second “m” in “accommodations.”

Cast and credits