Absurd Person Singular at Barrington Stage Company
Alan Ayckbourn's Hilarious British Comedy
By: Charles Giuliano - Aug 20, 2010
Absurd Person Singular
By Alan Ayckbourn
Directed by Jesse Berger
Scenic Designer, Jo Winiarski; Costume Designer, Sara Jean Tosetti; Lighting Designer, Peter West; Sound Designer, Brad Berridge.
Cast: (Jane) Julia Coffey, (Sidney) Robert Petkoff, (Ronald) Graeme Malcolm, (Marion) Henny Russell, (Eva) Finnerty Steeves, (Geoff) Christopher Innvar.
August 12-29
Main Stage
Barrington Stage Company
The British comedy Absurd Person Singular, by the prolific Alan Ayckbourn, recounts events in kitchens of three couples, in three acts, on Christmas Eves from 1973 to 1975.
As is typical of British comedy the plot revolves around the class struggles of the three couples. The evening commences in the kitchen of the would be entrepreneur Sidney Hopcroft (Robert Petkoff) and his obsessive/ compulsive, neat freak housewife mate Jane (Julia Coffey). They are on the bottom of the social climbing ladder.
They aspire to move up a rung or two through the assistance of a loan from the banker Ronald Brewster-Wright (Graeme Malcolm) and his snooty wife Marion (Henny Russell). They reek of the old money social status that the Hopcrofts are so eager to court and impress.
The third couple focuses on a smarmy, womanizing architect Geoff Jackson (Christopher Innvar in his eleventh BSC production) and his troubled wife Eva (Finnerty Steeves). Geoff is a potential architect for Sidney’s ambitions as a developer. As an artisan Jackson hovers somewhere between the lower class Hopcrofts and the upper crust Brewster-Wrights.
There is a fourth couple in the living room of the Hopcrofts, the Potters, whom we never see. The action of all three acts takes place in the kitchens of the couple. The Potters remain in the living room which enters off the kitchen. We are informed that the Potters are their true friends. Marion finds them vulgar. Although she heaps disingenuous praise on Jane’s neat and modern kitchen, and its up to date appliances, she signals to her husband to make excuses and leave as soon as possible.
What the architect, banker and their spouses share is utter contempt for the boorish, unsophisticated Hopcrofts who strive so hard to please. Of course, by the third act, there is a reversal as three years later the Hopcrofts have become very rich indeed. While the other two couples have come apart as the seams.
As the summer season in the Berkshires winds down it seemed a bit anachronous to have this Holiday themed show. Christmas in August indeed. Bah, humbug. There were too many choruses of “Frosty the Snowman” and other inane ditties. As well as lots of booze. It’s a tough time of year for alcoholics and by the third act in the Banker’s upscale kitchen it seems that Marion is now bonkers on the sauce.
The play begins with Jane crawling about scrubbing the kitchen floor. We see her butt and her ruffled panties before she utters a line. Much is made of Jane’s ass which we see so adorably adorned from every possible angle. Sounds a bit gross but it is actually quite hilarious.
Julia Coffey’s Jane is the brilliant spark that keeps the comedy fresh and lively. Her every move, twitch, and twist evokes gales of laughter. She strives only to have a spotless kitchen and to be the perfect hostess and mate to her ambitious husband. But she keeps screwing up. Including having to charge out into a stormy night to run to the store for more tonic. This becomes hysterically complicated as she locks herself out of the kitchen and ends up charging through the guests, head down, with hat, boots and slicker. Sidney of course goes wonderfully over the top at her manic behavior.
Coffey and Petkoff make a fabulous comedic couple. Their chemistry and timing is spot on. She can just walk, or prance through the kitchen all a dither and bring down the house with the sight gag of her outrageous body language. It recalls Jeanne Stapleton’s Edith Bunker tripping about and running on tip toes here and there in All in the Family. Coffey also evokes comparisons to the genius of Lucille Ball. Yes, folks, she’s that good. What a hoot.
The script of Ayckbourn disconcertingly runs the gamut from over the top, farcical and absurd, to overly grim and dark.
A year later the fourth floor flat and kitchen of the Jacksons’ is moody and depressing. Off stage there is a monster of a howling dog, George. Eva, who says not a word until the end of the gonzo act when in a stupor starts to sing Christman carols, is intent on taking her life. Much of the humor involves her various attempts at stabbing, hanging, jumping out the window, or imbibing copious amounts of pills.
The career of Geoff has come to a screeching halt since one of his more ambitious buildings has collapsed. He has nothing but contempt for the cheap construction of Sidney who may be his employer of last resort. The cheating Geoff wants to leave Eva for Sally. But to still remain friends. Eva spends much of the second act trying to write a suicide note.
Not much of this is very funny until the guests arrive. While Geoff is greeting them off stage, we hear the loud barking of George, Eva sticks her head in the oven. The silly little Jane assumes she wants to clean it and immediately volunteers to help. Meantime, Eva decides to hang herself by standing on the kitchen table and tying the rope to a suspended light fixture. Which falls down leaving bare wires.
Mayhem ensues and the laughs pick up with all of the couples helping out in the kitchen. Sidney has gone down to the car for his tools to help with the clogged kitchen sink. Ronald is standing on the table trying to rewire the light. Everything spins hilariously out of control.
The third act again begins on a melancholy note. Ronald is alone in the kitchen before a portable heater. It seems there has been no heat for a couple of weeks. Marion, who now rarely leaves her bedroom, is upstairs curled up with a bottle. The Jacksons arrive and we learn that she has recovered smartly while he has gone into the dumps and hasn’t a quid to his name. Marion staggers in wearing a nightgown looking amazingly haggard and blowsy.
The comedy and laughs ratchet up with the arrival of the most unwelcome Hopcrofts. At first the other couples douse the lights and pretend that nobody is home. But the crafty and persistent Hopcrofts arrive through an open back door. They are now spectacularly wealthy and full of cheer. They are decked out and decorated bringing presents. On their insistence they all play the inane parlor games they had planned but never executed during the first act. They have evolved from wannabees to abusers. Their former social superiors now dance to their tune. The nouveau riche have the upper hand on fading old money. How British. God Save the Queen. And what’s left of the Empire now reduced to the Falkland Islands.
Yes, the evening did drag here and there, particularly in the bummer beginnings of the first and second acts, but whenever the mad and merry Hopcrofts were on stage the comedy just sizzled. If you are looking for some laughs and pure escape this is a terrific way to spend a side splitting evening. What a farce.
The comedy was nicely augmented by the perfect sets of Jo Winiarski and the costumes of Sara Jean Tosetti. The three very different kitchens aptly conveyed the social and economic status of their occupants. The colors and plain décor of the Hopcroft kitchen was just marvelous. It nicely fed into Marion’s over done and totally phony praise.
The costumes also aptly conveyed the story line. Starting with the ditsy, cute, silly Jane’s ruffled panties. And the loud plaid jacket with garish tie of Sidney. By the second act he is wearing a more conservative, vested, business suit. It conveys that he has moved up financially. By the third act he is wearing a tuxedo and Jane has a snappy cocktail dress.
If the social ascent of the Hopgoods is conveyed in their change of attire the precipitous falls of the others are similarly expressed through clothing and accessories. A lot is done with wigs and hair. Jane’s is perky and ridiculous. Then she comes in from the rain looking like a drowned rat. The autocratic Marion has a power outfit of checkered Chanel in the first act, with a Jackie Kennedy bouffant that reeks of class and money. By the third act, when she has taken a tumble, we see her with matted nasty hair and her ample boobs hanging out of a cheap negligee.
Oh, how the world turns. What fun.