Theatre veterans fire up a pleasant chemistry
A few weeks into rehearsal for Norm Foster’s two character comedy, “On A First Name Basis,” a director’s nightmare took place: Nigel Bennett, award-winning actor playing opposite Dora winner Lally Cadeau took ill and left the show.
With only a few days until opening night what was director Ron Ulrich to do? Cancel the play? Go on himself with a book in hand? Of course not.
Ulrich called playwright Norm Foster, who not only wrote this pleasant little comedy, but also had played in it himself. Of course he knew all the lines. And he knew all the character’s motivations. So he went on at Theatre Aquarius and was perfectly delightful as the irascible author of a series of spy novels who also happens to be a lonely man.
The lovely Cadeau, without skipping a beat you understand, took Foster on as her onstage playmate. Together they created the kind of chemistry that makes a play, even one as slight as this, pleasant to watch.
Foster, something of a prolific playwright, has written more than 50 comedies and musicals. The best of them, from “Ethan Claymore,” to “Jonas & Barry In The Home,” offers comedy that crackles with insight and a necessary undercurrent of sadness.
When I complained to Foster once about the fact he writes too many jokes in his plays, sometimes at the expense of drama, he slyly retorted, “Look Gary, you don’t think I think I’m writing ‘Death of a Salesman’ do you?” Touché, Norm, touché.
At the same time, given the extent of much of his work, it’s possible to find skilled comedy wed to a satisfying, serious drama.
That doesn’t quite happen here in Foster’s 2013 play about two lonely people who spend an evening answering frequently embarrassing questions about each other’s lives.
David Kilbride (Foster) is a successful writer of 13 spy novels. He has weathered three largely unhappy marriages, the death of his infant son and the frustration of writer’s block. He pads around his elegant home, superbly designed by Ivan Brozic, to suggest wealth, taste and sophistication.
Before the evening is very far along, he badgers his housekeeper of 28 years, attractive Lucy Hopperstaad (Cadeau) to join him in a pair of big, green, downstage leather chairs. The idea is, they will talk about their lives, answer questions about each other and come to terms with the fact she knows a lot more about him than he does about her. “Go,” he says, and she’s expected to tell her life’s story.
The play continues in this bantering conversational tone for most of the evening. The predictable nature of Lucy and David’s communication is pretty much obvious from the get-go.
Before long Lucy is drinking David’s best single malt Scotch. Later she pours herself a large glass of his $100 bottle of wine, knocking it back with a wry smile. Do you think these two are on the thin edge of discovering something about each other?
Well, there are several important revelations before the evening is through. What they are I’m not going to tell you here. That
would be unfair and, to tell the truth, Foster’s play needs all the surprises it can muster to keep things chugging along.
There are some lovely moments in this possibly romantic comedy. Each of the actors, along with director Ulrich, see to it that we are entertained.
The problem is, too often we are engaged by set-ups for laughs, running gags and acerbic one liners that interfere with the real play.
You just know that as soon as Foster builds toward something touching he’s going to go for another big laugh and ruin the moment.
It’s almost like there are two plays here. There’s the laugh track-inspired comedy and then, happily, there’s the more gentle, sweet comedy that burbles under the surface.
It’s that gentle comedy that acquaints us with the talents of Cadeau and Foster, both first-rate performers able to engage an audience without waiting for the punctuation of laugh lines.
I’d rather be in the company of Cadeau and Foster on a less contrived journey; one where they could just kick back, drink that wine, and play the warm, insightful moments never having to worry if we are laughing our guts out.