Jeremy Shamos, Kate Jennings Grant, David Furr, Andrea Martin, and Campbell Scott in Noises Off
(©Joan Marcus)
Noises Off
There is a good chance that
this Roundabout Theatre revival of Michael Frayn’s amusingly crafted farce Noises Off will either put a smile or a
frown on your face depending on whether you have or have not seen this play before.
Be forewarned that more than one encounter with its madcap doings is likely to
diminish your appreciation. Therefore my negative response to this production
is based largely on seeing an ensemble of expert farceurs led astray by a
director who apparently didn’t believe that less is more.
In it, we are transported across
the sea and on to the stage of the Grand Theater in Weston-super-Mare, England. Originally produced on Broadway in 1983
with a subsequent revival in 2001, we again find ourselves planted in the
middle of a sex farce called Nothing On.
A second-rate (to give them
more credit than they deserve) troupe of actors is attempting, during a final
frantic dress rehearsal, to tie up the loose ends (too many to list here)
before curtain time. Helping them do just that is Lloyd Dallas (played with a formidably
tortured tolerance by Campbell Scott). Tortured intolerance is, however, what I
was feeling as I tried to respond to the inanities that ensue. Forgive me if I
feel it still isn’t the uproarious entertainment that its premise suggests.
However, we can not put any of the blame for any lapses of fun on this A list
cast.
The play’s action subsequently
moves to the company’s next stop on its provincial tour, viewed from a
backstage perspective. Animosities, hurt feelings, misunderstandings, and a
general disregard for their performing art become for Frayn’s imbecilic characters
a zany excuse for a silent-movie-style charade of pratfalls, booby traps, and
cleverly executed sight gags that spill over directly to the performance in
progress.
As you might expect,
innumerable bedroom, closet, and other extraneous doors have one thing in
common, their faulty knobs, latches, and hinges. These are the attention-grabbing
devices in designer Derek McLane’s impressively made-for-traveling set that
reveals the living room of the Brent’s country home as well as the area directly
behind the set in the half following the intermission.
But be prepared for
diminishing returns. That is unless you are tickled by the inevitable
appearance and disappearance of naughty lingerie and fallen trousers, the
split-second entrances and exits, as well as missed cues and misplaced props.
Not to be upstaged is an increasingly menacing plate of sardines, a treacherous
cactus plant, and an almost animated telephone receiver, that have all been
called into service.
The fun of this type of farce
is to watch the characters respond to the utter confusion in which they become
engulfed. Out to get each other short of murder most foul, the troupe in the
final scene is about to give a Wednesday matinee during the last leg of its
tour. As members of the audience at the Municipal Theater, Stockton-On-Ties, we finally get to see a
“regular” performance of Nothing On,
as it hurtles toward self-destruction.
In charge is British director
Jeremy Herrin, whose last effort on Broadway was the dull-as-dishwater English
history Wolf Hall. Buthe has shaped the farce even too broadly on its
own terms allowing the play’s repetitive, protracted scenes overwhelm the best
efforts of the actors. He succumbs to all the pitfalls in the purposefully booby-trapped
script and fails to do right by the stellar cast. The wonderful Tony Award-winner Andrea Martin has been sadly and
heedlessly led astray as Dotty Otley, the troupe’s producer who is concurrently
playing the role of a maid and having an affair with the juvenile lead. She
sets the misguidedly over-the-top tone for the others as a close-to-senile bundle
of insecurities.
Abetting the valiant Ms
Martin with even less flair mostly involving back-stage flings are David Furr,
as Garry Lejeune, Dotty’s romantic interest, who can’t complete a thought or a
sentence; Megan Hilty, as Brooke Ashton, the director’s ditsy girlfriend, who
drops her dress as frequently as her contact lenses and Tracee Chimo, as Poppy
Norton-Taylor, the harried stage manager and director’s ex-love interest. Rob
McClure, however, is rather endearing as Tim Algood, the terminally nonplused
put upon assistant stage manager cum understudy as is Jeremy Shamos, as the dimwitted
Frederick Fellow, who keeps insisting on plausible motivations for his
character.
Although Kate Jennings Grant is
less than grand as Belinda Blair, the company’s irrefutable grande dame, Daniel
Davis (making his Roundabout debut) is a trifle grander as the alcoholic old
trouper who wanders through the action with dazed senile assurance, a state
that will undoubtedly be recognizable to more than a few members of the
audience. I suspect it will take a few drinks before the show to put even a dazed
smile on your face.
Noises Off
Roundabout Theatre Company
American Airlines Theatre, 22
W. 42nd Street
