Molière's masterpiece of social comedy follows Monsieur Jourdain, a prosperous cloth merchant who has decided he must become a gentleman at any cost. The absurdity unfolds as he simultaneously employs teachers of music, dancing, fencing, and philosophy, desperately trying to cram decades of aristocratic refinement into his thick skull. His driving ambition: to woo a marchioness, completely disregarding his wife of twenty years. The comedy cuts deep because Jourdain is neither stupid nor evil, he simply cannot see that his money has already bought him everything that actually matters, while the noble polish he craves remains eternally beyond his grasp. The play works as both razor-sharp social satire and irresistibly physical comedy. Jourdain's attempts to recite romantic poetry, his embarrassment at being corrected in front of servants, and his bewildered reactions to discovering he's been speaking prose his entire life without knowing it, these moments have survived three centuries because they expose something universal: the exhausting performance of status, the relentless anxiety of not quite belonging. For anyone who has ever pretended to like classical music to impress someone, or faked familiarity with a restaurant's wine list, Jourdain is your tragicomic mirror.
