Absurd Person Singular: Hell's Kitchens

The wonderful thing about Alan Ayckbourn's darkly comic farce, Absurd Person Singular is that it's such a well-crafted mixture of physical comedy and smart zingers that it seems like any competent production can provide an audience with two acts full of solid laughs and fun.

But then there's that pesky third act.

See, this isn't a typically lighthearted British farce like Ray Cooney's Run For Your Wife or Michael Frayn's Noises Off. Sure, there's lots of door slamming, misunderstandings and clever contrivances, but underneath the silliness of this 1972 concoction is the story of a lower middle class businessman who climbs to the top of the classist ladder through hard work, luck and well-calculated glad-handing, perhaps at the expense of his marriage. (When the play premiered in England, the age of the British Theatre's "Angry Young Men" had petered out. Perhaps Ayckbourn saw himself as an "Angry Young Farceur.") So when the comical antics of the first two acts give way to the more sobering situations of the last one, it's a bit jarring unless the audience has been prepared, and although director John Tillinger's production is well-played for laughs, there is little in the way of empathy to make us really care about those who rise and those who fall. As seen now on the Biltmore stage, act three often lies there helplessly, leaving the audience with little but fond memories of the jolly time they once were having.

The action takes place on three successive Christmas Eves, the time of year when we are forced to make merry with people we don't really like, because a) they're relatives, b) they can help us or (God help us, everyone) c) both. Absurd Person Singular deals with b, with each act taking place at a holiday gathering at the home of one of three couples. The play is set in each host's kitchen, the backstage area, so to speak, where revelers prepare themselves for the performance that is socializing.

Determined to put on a good show is small business owner Sidney (Alan Ruck), who sees the opportunity to expand his shop, but needs the help of architect Geoffrey (Sam Robards) and banker Ronald (Paxton Whitehead). While the boys take care of the plot, the comedy primarily comes from the various addictions and emotional instability of their wives, most likely brought on by the way they're treated by their husbands.. Sidney's insistence that his wife Jane (Clea Lewis) transform herself into a model hostess, a role she's nowhere near prepared for, drives her to become a compulsive cleaner who finds comfort in sniffing cleanser fumes. With her off-beat, diminutive presence and oddly nuanced delivery, Lewis can always nail this type of comedy, especially when she's called on for bits involving an ill-fitting raincoat, a stormy night and a locked door.

And though Mireille Enos -- when she's talking -- never quite seems natural as Geoffrey's pill-popping hippie-styled wife, Eva, her sullen and silent business in act two gives us the closest glimpse of what the entire production could be. Given devastating news just minutes before her holiday guests arrive, Eva is struck mute and suicidal. The others cheerily help prepare for the festivities, unaware that their hostess is continually attempting to kill herself. Their cluelessness, the audience's knowledge and Enos' underplayed desperation gives the show its peak moments smack in the middle of the evening.

Deborah Rush is sufficiently tart-tongued as the cocktail-loving Marion. Her husband Ronald comes in the form of Paxton Whitehead, always the perfect go-to guy when needing a comical stuffy Brit upper-cruster, and he delivers with his usual panache. Alan Ruck and Sam Robards are serviceable in their roles.

Set designer John Lee Beatty's trio of contrasting and character defining kitchens nearly steal the show and fine design work is also delivered by Jane Greenwood (early 70's costumes), Brian MacDevitt (lights) and Bruce Ellman (sound).

You're certain to find quite a bit to laugh at in this production, but without the darker undertones the evening, on the whole, falls a bit short of satisfactory.

Where's David Leveaux when you need him?

 

Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Deborah Rush and Mireille Enos
Center: Paxton Whitehead
Bottom: Clea Lewis and Alan Ruck