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Blunders, gaffes and laughs
It'll be all right on the night . . . won't it? Inspector Carter (Henry Shields), Perkins (Jonathan Sayer) and Thomas Colleymoore (Henry Lewis), the writers of The Play That Goes Wrong The Play That Goes Wrong
Wolverhampton Grand
**** FOR an actor
there can be no more satisfying sound than waves of audience laughter
engulfing the stage – unless you are doing
King Lear or
Macbeth
of course in which case it might hint at a problem or two with the
production – or at the very least demand a check on your flies. Not that Cornley Polytechnic’s Drama Society’s
production of Murder at Haversham Manor was entirely trouble free mind
you. The cast did have to contend with two severe concussions, technical
crew floored by a blunt instrument, namely . . . well a floor actually,
or a ceiling, depending upon which way you look at it. And the fixings on the rather flimsy set were all
a bit loose, and there were jammed doors, wobbly windows and all that,
but then you have to give this little amateur company credit for taking
their little show on the road, and of course credit for the talent to
make such a terrible play not only worse but hilarious into the bargain. Imagine everything that could possibly go wrong
in a production, then add in the things that surely couldn’t go wrong,
because believe me they could, and there you have The Play That Goes
Wrong and you might add wrong and wrong and wrong. It’s daft, downright silly, has a script beyond
the play within a play that hardly bears the slightest scrutiny, but
that hardly matters. It is gloriously, hilariously funny and the best
laugh I have had for ages. The play within the play is one of those Agatha
Christie style 1920s murder mysteries which had a plot . . . at least I
think it did, but the telling of the convoluted tale was fraught with
pitfalls and pratfalls for the hardworking cast. They gave us the very worst of amateur dramatics,
and some pros too I might add, with over acting, more ham than an Olde
Oak warehouse and all the problems of learning scripts by heart but
without context, thus we have the conversation answering questions a
line before they are asked or the nightmare scenario of a dialogue loop
when a scene is enacted over and over until the vital next line is
remembered.
There are props that are not there, or in the
wrong place, or produced by mysterious hands offstage with the cast
ploughing on regardless, no matter how silly their words learned by
heart and unable to be varied no matter what actually sound when,
for example, you ask the butler to pass you the telephone you are
already holding in you hand . . . Perhaps at times there was a little too much ham,
and so much went wrong so often that despite the disasters multiplying
at the rate of rampant rabbits in the second act it had all descended
into the realms of slapstick, but what the heck. It might not have the wit of a Wilde, or the
farcical skills of a Cooney, but it does have wall to wall laughs -
until they walls finally fall down of course – and that is a priceless
commodity. For a couple of hours an audience can forget all their
troubles, sit back, relax and not even have to think (indeed thinking is
a distinct disadvantage in this play). It is all good, clean fun, and to
enjoy it - just add laughter. The cast play the cast who play the parts in the
play what the play is about – are you keeping up at the back? Thus Chris
Bean of the Polytechnic Drama Society is playing Inspector Carter in The
Murder at Haversham Hall and is actually being played by Henry Shields.
Take notes if you wish. He is also the director of the play, not the one
you are watching, that is Mark Bell, who is real, but the one in the
play about the manor, which is unreal in more ways than one. Sheilds has a very laid back line in stand-up as
he introduces the play and the second act. Then we have the obligatory
corpse, Charles Haversham, played by Jonathan who in turn is played by
Greg Tannahill, who, even though dead, has to protect his fingers from
passing feet and even scurry off stage when the stretcher transporting
him breaks leaving him stranded. Thomas Colleymoore, his best friend from school,
played by Robert who is really Henry Lewis, is a big, hairy chap in
boots, country squire type, but a bit shifty while his sister Florence,
played by Sandra, played by Charlie Russell is a bit of a vamp, or was
until she was laid out by a flying door, a fate which was also to befall
her understudy Annie, dragged from the stage crew and played by Nancy
Wallinger. Their unceremonious removal, surreptitiously of course,
through the window while unconscious is a delight as is the battle
between the pair to continue the part once they have recovered.
Also dragged in from the technical crew and left
unconscious was Trevor, played by Rob Falconer who also found himself
playing Florence who seemed to have the most accident prone part of the
entire show. Every country house mystery needs an anyone
for tennis character, or at least someone in cricket whites and in
this case we have Charles’ brother Cecil, played by Max who is really
Dave Hearn, and who overacts like a windmill in a gale, believes in
actor participation in so much as if the audience clap so does he, and
is quite happy to take bows during the action. Then there is the faithful old retainer Perkins,
played by Dennis who is really Jonathan Sayer, who has been with the
family eight, 80, nine, 90 or 99 years depending upon how he read the
script. Perkins has a problem with both a limited
vocabulary and a tendency to phonetic pronunciation, thus Charles was
poisoned by Kyaniddy – work that one out yourself. Along with Shields and Lewis, Sayer was one of
the writers of this slice of theatrical madness and are leading lights
of Mischief Theatre, made up largely of former LAMDA students, which
originally created The Play That Goes Wrong which had rave reviews at
the Edinburgh Festival.. Credit too to set designer Nigel Hook who created
a set which looks as amateur as you can get but has to take a hammering
every night, have bits that fall off on cue, and have a floor which
collapses without killing anyone, well not much anyway. Timing is an essential in comedy, even the best lines and visual gags can die if the timing is out and this hardworking case don't put a foot wrong - well actually they put a foot, leg and indeed anything else you can think of wrong, but the timing is spot on from the pregnant pauses waiting for cues or entrances to the doors slamming on heads and walking into furniture. To get it all that wrong takes real practice and skill. A play about a play turning into a disaster is
not an original idea, we have the Ferndale series, for instance, or even
Noises Off, and perhaps it had to be really over the top to make it an
affectionate poking of fun at amateur theatre – after all I have seen
many amateur productions that would not look out of place on the
professional stage – but whatever, The Play That Goes Wrong does just
that and if it doesn’t make you laugh and laugh and laugh . . .
suspect Kyaniddy. To 03-04-14 Roger Clarke
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