courtesy of Chris Bennion (Left to right:) Alice Playten as Toinette, Rocco Sisto as Argan and Julie Briskman as Beline in Moliére’s “The Imaginary Invalid,” now playing at the Seattle Repertory Theatre.

Have you ever thought it a little bit odd that we trust our life, health and safety to doctors? That we seem to accord them the same kind of faith that we might to a priest?

"The Imaginary Invalid," a play by French playwright Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, famously known as Moliere, explores these ideas and more. The play has been adapted into a marvelously entertaining production for the modern era by Constance Congdon and directed by David Scheizer and is now playing at the Seattle Repertory Theatre.

The play is something of a spoof on the medical profession. It opens with an extravagant number wherein the ensemble cast, dressed up as doctors, sing about the dangers of a fake masquerading as a physician.

Soon afterwards, the audience is introduced to Argan, the titular "imaginary invalid." He is plagued with constant, self-inflicted worrying about his own potential demise, and his maid-servant, Toinette, his unfaithful wife, Beline, and his daughter, Angelique, must all put up with his constant whining.

Because he is so worried about his condition, he decides to marry off his daughter to a doctor so that he can constantly have a medical professional by his side, living in the house. Unfortunately, Angelique has fallen in love with someone else, and Beline has plans to bring about her husband's demise so that she can inherit all his money.

Congdon's adaptation changes certain aspects of Moliere's centuries-old play, mostly dialogue, but also, aspects of the setting and characters in order to make it more relevant to a modern audience. The changes work surprisingly well.

courtesy of Chris Bennion Rocco Sisto as Argan in Moliere’s comedy “The Imaginary Invalid,” directed by David Schweizer.

The stage is very cleverly constructed and quite a sight to look at, featuring a rotating base with three dividers strategically placed so that, at various times throughout the play, a simple switch of these changes the locale entirely.

The walls and floor of the room, where most of the play takes place, are made of plush white cushions, alluding to walls of a mental institution and giving viewers a claustrophobic, yet comforting, feeling. The other sides of the walls are made of a red velvet-like material, serving as a nice contrast to the white.

The acting is nearly universally great. Rocco Sisto, who plays Argan, suffuses his role with spittle-spewing speech and ridiculous, hilarious insanity.

Zoe Winters as Angelique is sometimes quiet and sometimes outrageously loud, expertly balancing gravitas with comical slapstick.

Alice Playten as Toinette is the most subdued of the bunch, but her choice to not overact serves as a nice counter-balance to all the hamming that happens around her.

Julie Briskman, who plays Argan's wife Beline, gets a little annoying and can't seem to decide whether her character is a real person or merely some kind of vague parody.

Andrew William Smith, who plays Angelique's lover, has perfect chemistry with Winters. A scene wherein they must communicate their love secretly to each other with her father in the same room will have audiences practically rolling in the aisles with laughter.

David Pichette as Dr. Purgeon, Argan's main physician, is also entertaining to watch. He delivers one of funniest lines of the play in diagnosing Argan, saying he suffers from "dyspepsia and datpepsia."

Ian Bell is Claude, the slightly insane nephew of Dr. Purgeon and the man whom Argan has decided Angelique will marry. He plays his character with a certain kind of studied lunacy that ends up being a mixed bag. Sometimes it's too easy to tell that he's acting, but other times he'll nearly bust the audience's guts with laughter, as in one scene where he randomly walks off to the side and starts pecking at the wall like a chicken.

Bradford Farwell plays the man with whom Beline is having an affair, Monsieur de Bonnefoi, and he gives his character a certain classical touch as a sniveling, hand-wringing, self-obsessed villain. It's a performance that's not necessarily unique, but is a joy to behold when done well, and Farwell succeeds in this.

The musical numbers are fantastic and have an inspired zaniness about them, and though they sometimes come dangerously close to feeling forced, you'll be too busy laughing to notice. There aren't many numbers throughout, about three or four, but the cast all have excellent singing voices, and the choreography is well-done and nicely suited to take good advantage of the uniquely designed stage.

Even though there aren't many numbers, sometimes in the middle of the scene, some of the cast members, not in costume, will appear randomly off the right of the stage, or poking their heads over the partitions, and begin softly humming a tune for laughs.

"The Imaginary Invalid" isn't just mere light fluff. It spoofs the medical profession with vigor, wit and fancy, throwing into question the power and trust people give their doctors. There are also parallels in the play between doctors and priests, which serves as a jab at the way some members of the clergy take advantage of the trust given them by the church.

And it all closes off with a glorious bang that trumps any of the musical numbers that came before.

This is a production that will tickle both your funny bone and your brain at the same time. It's a clever and sharp parody that sometimes seems superficial or concerned with being intentionally silly, but it's a joyous and unapologetically wacky ride. And sometimes, even if you're feeling just fine, laughter is the best medicine around.