A fuse blows on the most important night of Brindsley Miller's life. Everything goes wrong, and yet he somehow finds love.
People who should see this show:
People who only go to theatre to impress dates (like the guy beside us who ended up enjoying himself)
People who actually enjoy theatre
photo by Emily CooperThis was an excellent evening.
What they didn't say (or not in print big enough for me to notice, anyway), was that it was a double bill. The main event was, of course, Peter Shaffer's one-act Black Comedy, but prior to that we were treated to a Chekov play, The Marriage Proposal. Probably a good thing they didn't advertise it too much -- who wants to go to a Chekov play?
Well, I do. This one, anyway. He wrote it before he got all depressing. It was short, only about 20 minutes -- an amuse-bouche, if you will, and my bouche was amused. It's a story of a wealthy landowner asking his neighbour for his daughter's hand, and a few fights they go through (she's feisty) before he gets around to it and she agrees. Kind of a stilted, dated story, wouldn't you say? Something to bear in mind for later if you're the type of person who does that.
Then, after a brief intermission ("Can we go now" asks the guy sitting on my right to his date, who is wearing an evening gown. "She's dressed up," the hag behind me points out to her gay. "It's not like I'm naked here," he protests.), comes the entree (if you will allow me to extend the metaphor a little more than it deserves).
Black Comedy is a brilliant farce, and Dean Paul Gibson has assembled a brilliant cast. The main gag of the show (the blackout) is funny enough, and the justifications for sustaining it are oddly believable. The real beauty, however, lies in the secrets we find out about people when they think no one can see them. The lighting convention we are introduced to early in the show helped considerably: knowing that everything I saw was intended to be kept secret from the other characters made it easier to accept peculiarities that would have been over the top otherwise.
Interestingly, although the actors are lit, I found myself paying much more attention to the nuances of their voices than I normally would, as though it truly were a blackout.
The play is a farce, and many characters are painted with broad strokes, as one would expect. However, first performed in 1965, the strokes are quite dated, and a little uncomfortable to watch: the philandering protagonist, Brindsley Miller, is much more likeable than he ought to be; the necessity of asking his fiancee's father for her hand is not even questioned. The only truly redeemable and fully realized charater is Clea, Brindsley's ex-girlfriend. She is charismatic, knows her mind, and gives back to Brindsley everything he gives to her. With the Madmen-era mores, we understand why he has asked a more compliant woman to marry him. Certainly it was easier on his chauvanism. Carol, a mod girl, is a whitewashed version of Clea, mocking conventions such as engagement, but still demanding they be upheld traditionally. Why, then, after Brindsley has revealed his true character in the dark, does Carol try to beat him and Clea protect him? I just don't know, but it was very funny getting to that point.
See it, especially if you're taking someone who doesn't want to go -- you may convert him. Plays until October 11.
Some highlights:
Ted Roberts' set design: really cool, trashy yet mod, exactly what you want a struggling artist's flat from the 60s to look like
Nicola Lipman's Miss Furnival: dazzling and hilarious, her final monologue is inspired
Charlie Gallant's Brindsley Miller: delightful acrobatics and convincingly immature
Sean Devine's Schuppanzigh: an excellent intellectual foil to the undercurrents of classism in the play
