Ceci n’est pas une pipe. Et ce tableau n’est pas dans cette pièce. Mais je voulais voir qui parle français et qui connaît l’art. Pas moi! Je doute que vous le fassiez non plus. Heureusement pour nous deux, Picasso à la Lapine Agile is in English. And it’s now appearing at The Vagabond Players as the final show of their 109^th season (continuously operating too!) Directed by Stephen Deininger, this oddly quirky, witty play— written by Steve Martin— that is at times deeply profound and at other times completely off-the-wall, will tickle your funny bone for about 80 of its 90-odd minute runtime. Those other ten minutes of deep profundity will stick inside your mind for many, many hours after the actors have bowed and you’ve departed Fells Point. Certainly worth investigating, especially if you like to laugh.

90-minutes with no intermission seems to be the ‘dream-length’ show these days; it’s just enough to hook an audience, steep them in whatever flavor of performance is being presented, and give them enough to chew on for their commute— be it a soodle through the streets of Fells thereafter or a more wheel-bound mode of transportation to places beyond the bounds of the harbor-bordered neighborhood— back to their abodes. Picasso at the Lapine Agile does exactly that. While it’s mostly entertaining, and uproariously so with it’s 4^th-wall obliterations, self-aware silliness, and over-the-top good old-fashioned humors, there are moments when the floor drops out from under you with its profundity, leaving you curious and potentially dumbfounded as you mull over what you’ve experienced. Director Stephen Deininger has a superb handle on the show— everything from exceptional casting to a unified cohesivity when it comes to the show’s aesthetic— and it makes for an exceptional evening of theatre.

Pacing is everything for this show and Deininger masterfully meters out the show’s progress accordingly. Because there are moments of absolute absurdity that come winging in from way out in left field…possibly from another stadium entirely… the show’s overall sense of movement is erratic but Deininger makes Martin’s work have a natural flow to it— the way an adventure ride at Disney World bounces you all around, surprises you, but gives you a thrilling experience, so much so that it’s over before you know it and you want to do it again. With an assist from Stage Manager Kaite Vaught (also serving as the booth technician and on opening night cues were flawlessly executed) and Assistant Directors Kay-Megan Washington and Jess Corso, Deininger delivers an exquisite piece of theatrical candy for the masses to enjoy and get giddy-stupid over as they get drawn into the play that is a reality for its characters.

It’s a simple set; Bruce Kapplin (Set Designer, also serving as construction alongside Jay Demarco) crafts the interior of a café…well, a bar, really…in Paris in 1904. There are paintings on the walls— including one that’s meant to be Van Gogh, that looks an awful lot like Stephen Deininger— and some sturdy wooden bar-benches, tables, and that’s it. But the play doesn’t need heavy scenic trappings to be hilarious or effective. Deininger, who’s wearing a multitude of production hats for this show (lighting and sound, in addition to directing), gives us some curious pre-show soundscape to prime the mind, or possibly disorient it, for the chaos that’s about to ensue. And the lighting effects are subtle. Mostly circulating around Picasso, but as his name happens to appear in the title, this feels like par for the course. If there’s minutia to be griped over it’s that the house lights stay up for too long once Schmendiman tumble-bounds up onto the stage. They could be brought back down and up again once he throttle-leaps back out into the house, but I suspect the intent is to let the audience feel ‘at one with’ this loopy character who is both self-important and self-inserting in so far as the narrative goes.

Since we’ve delved down the actor’s rabbit hole, it seems as good a place as any to start (though proper shout-out to April Forrer on costumes for both the subtle blue splatters on Picasso’s shirt, the fancy spats on Sagot’s shoes, and the gallant affair of a dress seen on The Countess!) It’s wild that a play can have not one, not two, but three cameo (well, technically two cameo and one princess track) characters who all end up really scene-stealing, show-stopping, and ultimately dazzling the audience with their mere arrivals. Jess Corso, who plays The Countess/A Female Admirer, will be praised for her cheeky tête-à-tête with Einstein, but she’ll be remembered for that moment when she dashes in as ‘A Female Admirerer’ perfectly delivering her line about Schmendiman, which is so unexpected that it punches hilariously and lands gloriously. All ten actors have an exemplary understanding of comedic timing and delivery.

The Visitor (John Sheldon) rocks up at the very end and rolls his way through a couple of scenes like a hunk— a hunk of burning…well, you get the picture. Sheldon gives the audience everything they could hope for from that particular visitor, especially when it comes to those pelvic pops and knee swivels. You might even say he’s The King…of body language and expressive movement. But even with his comedic antics, Sheldon’s character has a moment or two deeply saturated in rich profundity that really makes you think and it’s beautiful.

Show-stealing cheeseball. Electric sparking live wire. Charles Dabernow Schmendiman (Lucius Robinson) is a legitimate unhinged explosion— you have no earthly idea what you’re about to get when he bounds his way through the house and fling-flies himself up onto the stage. It’s like nerd-vibes that someone amped up with 50,000 volts. Robinson has the audience in stitches, egging them on with his fourth-wall obliteration, despite frantic and over-the-top gestural protests from the Freddy character (Anthony Rufo.) Robinson may be the cameo scene stealer, or maybe he’s the princess track (pretty sure it’s The Visitor but honestly— six of one, half dozen the other) but anyway you cut it, he’s hysterical and you definitely will want more of his antics.

Anthony Rufo, as Freddy, has a subtler approach to comedy because his character is written that way, but it’s a grand showcase of how humor can hit in different fashions, land with different mannerisms, and still generate laughter from the audience. When Rufo’s character attempts the ‘pie’ joke, the audience gets wound up in a way that is utterly fascinating (still waiting for that joke to make sense but he was hilarious in his delivery!) Rufo also showcases comedic excellence when he goes dizzy like a tornado in the ‘numbers and francs and port’ dialogue bit going back and forth with Einstein.

Everything about this show hinges upon the relationship dynamics which are created, seemingly on a whim, between each of these characters. Rufo’s Freddy has this warm and affectionate relationship with Laura Weeldreyer’s Germaine. Yet when Weeldreyer’s Germaine and Miles Weeks’ Albert Einstein have this debate-level discussion about how to market his book, it’s exceptionally well-paced, extraordinarily timed, and built-up in such a way that the entirety of the scene pays off in spades because of it. Weeldreyer has versatility in her as well; a smoldering intensity that we only see when she is alone with Picasso, but not some overheated, lovestruck smolder, a more sophisticated, woman-in-charge flame that douses blue the way true fire incinerates tissue paper; it’s delectably intense.

Miles Weeks, as Albert Einstein, showcases an idyllic level of youth and gaiety. There’s a perpetual spring in not only his step but his mannerisms and way of speaking, as if the genius of the character has presented itself in this frenetic sense of bouncing. It’s wondrous to watch. When Weeks and Adrian Bagariċ’s Picasso come to blows (with a little high-noon-draw-off-music to boot!) their intense and volatile exchange has such a humorous edge to it that you’re almost unprepared from Gaston (Peter Wilkes) nonsense-interruption with his clap-song and dance. Wilkes, who is his own unique character study in the archetype of ‘doddering old fella’, has this insanely intense moment where the character is off on a tear about painting shutters and it’s so hilarious, you’ll get stitches in your side from laughing.

If you’ve ever wanted to watch madness incarnate— enter Adrian Bagariċ’s Picasso. Feral, disheveled, and yet a sauntering conflagration that’s cause for alarm, Bagariċ is the walking representation of Bohemia, dipped in seduction, and wrapped in artistic torment. The levels of zany and madcap interactions he has— each different depending on which character he’s interacting with— is astonishing. The whoop-worthy pinky goodbye with Einstein, the soul-crushing confession of revelation once he ‘sees’, the smoldering sensuality he shares with Germaine, the flippant self-importance he flaunts at Suzanne; it’s magnificent.

Who is this Sagot (John Dignam) and why do we care? And furthermore, why can’t we take our eyes off of him once he arrives and commandeers the scene? Sagot feels like it should be a cameo character, or at least a tertiary-level support character. But not in the seasoned and skilled hands of Dignam. In his sandpaper-colored suit, Dignam just appears, waxes poetic about Matisse, makes quite a few hilarious remarks, and then vanishes into the ether of the play, explained away with even more comic nonsense as he exits the stage; it’s a riot!

And Suzanne (Audrey Brooks) is captivating. Lively like Picasso, youthful like Einstein, commanding like Germaine, and flippant all her own, Brooks commands a stage, even when she’s a-twitter and agog over Picasso. There’s a great deal of ‘background observation’ happening for her character but it’s fascinating to watch her character exist in sponge-mode— drinking it all in, absorbing the conversations, the arguments, reveling in the experiences that are unfolding around her; it’s on the level of entertainment and intrigue as the actual scenes themselves because she’s that invested in merely existing in the space around them.

At night the stars come out— you can catch them at 8:00pm on Fridays and Saturdays (and day-bright stars at 2:00pm on Sundays through June 22^nd!)— and you must see them. You must experience this absurdly brilliant nonsense; it’s an extraordinary way to close out the 109^th season and certainly a joy to witness.

Running Time: Approximately 90 minutes with no intermission

Picasso at the Lapine Agile plays through June 22^nd 2025 as the final show of the 109^th season at at Vagabond Players— located in the heart of Fells Point: 806 S. Broadway in Baltimore, MD. Tickets can be purchased by calling the box office at (410) 563-9135 in advance online.