Absurd Person Singular
ALAN AYCKBOURN is one of the most commercially successful yet oft-sneered at playwrights of the 20th century. This season of his 1972 hit, Absurd Person Singular, is already selling out at the Ensemble and extra performances have been scheduled. Like Alan Bennett and David Williamson, he is virtually critic-proof, which is just as well, given the poor production afforded it here.
This is doubly unfortunate as Ayckbourn is a brilliant observer of class and humanity and when he gets the balance right between bleak and comedy– as he does in this one – his best plays are enduringly interesting and deserving of the best possible treatment.
Absurd Person Singular is set in three different kitchens on three successive Christmas Eves in three acts. On each occasion a couple is preparing to entertain friends, neighbours and work colleagues to festive drinks. These events are painfully realistic – or should be – and instantly recognisable to anyone who’s ever endured ghastly bonhomie when actually, you’d rather shut yourself in the fridge and suffocate.
As it’s an Ayckbourn play, however, there are other, darker layers to the comedy. The structure is circular and disturbing: the social applecart is upset by the end of the evening as those who began at the bottom ascend to the top and vice versa. The play preceded the final ascent of Margaret Thatcher in Britain by half a decade but heralds it nonetheless; and the grinding of the social tectonic plates of the upwardly mobile can fair set your teeth on edge.
That’s what it should be about, leavened by comedy both sharp and broad and six well defined characters. (Off-stage there are two more, almost as vivid, the ghastly Potters.) Unfortunately, a gallant cast is no match against direction (Andrew Doyle) that shows such incomprehension and ineptitude in the face of this subtle and difficult material as to beggar belief; and a set and costumes (designer Claire Moloney) that are similarly clueless.
The women make the best of it. Danielle Carter carries the middle section with a virtually wordless yet riveting performance as a drug-addled wife who is unknowingly thwarted in successive suicide attempts by her drinks guests. It would be so easy to caricature the part, or go over the top into farce but she doesn’t and it’s a bleakly funny delight to watch.
Carter is an amazing contrast to the performances of Barry Langrishe and Teo Gebert; both men bellow throughout and carry on as if neither have even heard of Comedy 101 (make it real, make it straight and the laughs will come; try to be “funny” and you’ll kill it stone dead and your audience along with it). By the third act, on opening night, those who weren’t stony-faced with boredom were asleep; with the best will in the world, it was hard to summon a laugh.
In contrast, Mark Owen Taylor obviously has read the manual recently and also managed to retain the concept onstage despite the inane carryings-on of the other two. He has the twin requisites of conviction and a light touch and it would be good to see him in a good production of an Ayckbourn play – particularly if he were costumed in an outfit that didn’t fight like a mug lair against his every effort.
Initially Octavia Barron-Martin has a tricky time in maintaining the grounding in her role as the nerve-racked clean-freak; nevertheless, after a frenetic opening ten minutes she seems to relax and remember to rely on her own skills and intelligence – and it works. Her comedic moments are balanced by a sensitive portrayal of the bullied yet aspirational working class wife.
The frightful snob of a bank manager’s wife is played by Belinda Giblin with the kind of crisp wit and comic timing that would please Noel Coward; she almost manages to save the first act and contributes gamely to the rest; but the gals are struggling throughout and its not their fault. Without a director who gives a better indication of understanding the play and its tough requirements, they don’t have a hope. Sadly, this season may convince a lot of people that Ayckbourn is passe all over again. Not so!
