REVIEW: AFTER DINNER: Dessert with a Side of Indigestion

           Normally, it would be a good thing to report that a new play has five things going for it.  After Dinner, an alleged comedy, having its American Premiere at the Fells Point Corner Theatre does have 5 things going for it – Alison Buckley, Rich Espey, Anne O’Reilly, Claire Sherman and Michael P. Sullivan – the members of the cast, all of whom have near perfect Australian accents.  Unfortunately, they aren’t enough.

            Produced in conjunction with the opening of the Australian exhibit at the National Aquarium, this two-act play reminds me of an occasionally funny failed sitcom thrown on the air during the summer months.  Taking place in the rear of a restaurant with no other characters but the five customers, the action is, by default, nearly static.  Aside from a trip or two to the loo, or the unseen bar, and unnecessary trips to each other’s tables (as staged they are about 2 feet apart), there is no need for the characters to move.  And about twenty minutes into it, it gets hard to stare at.  I suppose were this TV or a movie, we’d see different angles and close ups and wide shots would at least keep it visually entertaining.  Also, the need to set the tone/scene by starting out with banal table chitchat is inherent such a scene.  After all, in real life idle talk is what happens in situations like this one.  

Unfortunately, this does not make for good drama.  At least as written (by Andrew Bovell) and directed (by Sherrionne Brown) here.  I wondered (I hope not out loud) if we were ever going to find out what the plot/point/conflict would be, and it was 27 minutes into it when some semblance of plot occurred.  (I swear, I looked at my watch – I couldn’t resist.)  Then something funny actually happened.  Laugh out loud funny.  Then more tedium.  Then intermission.  Then some locker room style man-talk, a small giggle or two, and an inevitable conclusion. Oh and of course, mixed in was the now yawn-inducing ploy of questioning one character’s sexual orientation, followed by male bonding, male bashing, and a good old-fashioned girl-cry.

            I am loath to give away the two funny parts, but I will say one involves a wonderful, layered (light touch of pathos mixed in with the verbal and physical comedy) reenactment of an offstage scene by Anne O’Reilly.  In fact, that scene alone makes the entire first act worth sitting through.  The other bit of comedy involves a lengthy bit of discussion about men’s sexual prowess in relation to penis size and the ability to fantasize to keep an erection.  Ladies, if you ever wondered what we men talked about in the high school locker room, that’s it.  The difference here is it becomes “adult” conversation when the characters talk about it under the guise of “sharing emotions.”  And that is pretty much it in the laugh department.  Unless, of course, talk of the stains in men’s underwear or cattily letting a friend sit in public with a dollop of cream on her cheek out of spite makes you laugh.  (I’m not kidding.)

            In retrospect, I can see where perhaps Ms. Brown doesn’t really shoulder the blame for the play’s static direction.  The playwright has painted himself into that corner.  But she could have probably shaved a good 7 or 8 minutes from the over-long first act, just by tightening the timing and getting us through the small talk to the meat of the play.  And even though the script occasionally prepares us for something big happening “after dinner”, little has been done directorially to build up the conclusion.  As it turns out, nothing much actually happens, but it might have helped to create some tension. 

And she and lighting designer Alexandra Pappas ought to be embarrassed at the amateurish lighting – just because you are a non-professional group doesn’t mean you shouldn’t meet minimum standards.  Picture it:  we are in a small restaurant; the tables are a few feet apart; there is little else to look at (see note below); and the characters actually discuss the fact that the people at each table can hear each other, or are eavesdropping on each other.  Is it really necessary to dim the lights on one side of the stage while the actors on the other side talk?  Not only does it go against the script, but it sure seems like the audience’s ability to follow has been severely underestimated.  (NOTE: The director shouldn’t be so loud to proclaim in front of the audience that all of the pictures aren’t up on the set because she ran out of time to decorate the set.)

            I’d be willing to bet that some of her time was spent coaxing very detailed, multi-dimensional and layered performances from her wonderfully cast actors.  I am absolutely amazed that they managed to get so much out of so little – here, the parts are definitely greater than the whole, silk purses from sow’s ears, etc, etc.  Acting students take note – if you want to see near perfection in creating meaningful stage business or acting from the neck up, see Rich Espey.  He is a master at both.  I can’t wait to see him in something worthier of his obvious talents.  The same for his other male co-star, Michael P. Sullivan who is saddled here with the task of making a stereotypical man’s man/ ladies’ man interesting and one that we can sympathize with (he has the unfortunate luck to be the one to deliver a cringe-inducing monologue about performance anxiety).  Of the three women, Claire Sherman registers as the least interesting, but through no fault of hers – the playwright has given her very very little to work with, except an interesting 80’s style costume (designed by Debbie Bennet) and a fun Lady Di hairdo.  It is the character, not the actress that is uninteresting.  Similarly, at least until the plot gets going, the same blandness comes across from Alison Buckley, who, it would seem is giving a one-note performance.  It is only much later that one realizes why she is the way she is, and what first seems to be boring is really a very exacting, detailed performance of a character trait that borders on heartbreaking.  Ms. Buckley provides, it turns out, the sturdy backbone of the play.  The real find of the evening, though, is the aforementioned Anne O’Reilly.  She has the most to work with, and the playwright asks her character to really run the gamut – she must be believably pitiful, drunk, delirious, silly, serious and physically fit enough to work her way through a demanding 5 to 7 minute monologue.  She is wonderful from start to finish.  Someone needs to find the perfect play for these wonderful actors to be in together.  This one surely is not it.  After Dinner is like a meal at a chain restaurant – it is better on paper than it is in real life – a couple of bites are really good, but then you go home with a bit of indigestion.

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