Mesa Little Theatre's No Sex Please, We're British at The Mesa Arts Center
(out
of 
)Mark S.P. Turvin
(home office) (602) 912-0117
I can be reached for comment via e-mail at: mspt@goldfishpublishers.com
Reviewed 7/31/98
(out
of )On November 14th, 1996, I saw one of the worst evenings of community theatre in the valley, a Mesa Little Theatre production of The Pinchpenny Phantom of the Opera. My subsequent, very nasty review caused me to be banned from reviewing anymore of their shows. Now, nearly two years later, I have been invited back by the new Board of Directors and by Mr. Robert King, director of M.L.T.'s latest offering, the ineffably silly sex farce, No Sex Please, We're British.
I had been assured by several people that production values have increased, that talent has broadened, and that this company could now compete with other community theatres on its level. Realizing full well that I stand to be shut out of seeing any more of their productions for another two years, I still feel compelled to say that, while it is true that the talent level and production values have increased compared to the first (and last) show I ever saw there, it still isn't enough to compare it to theatres the likes of the Scottsdale Community Players and Tempe Little Theatre. Not by a longshot.
While the audience wasn't burdened with unbearably long set changes and collapsing sets as in the prior production I'd reviewed, pictures and props kept falling from Mr. King's designed flats and tables, and his Sound Design was on the fritz the entire evening, causing important lines of dialogue to disappear into the static-filled ether. And while the performances ranged from moderately to greatly improved, they all, to varying degrees, still fell into the unforgivable traps of overcompensation and under-enunciation. The amateurishness of this production was established and strengthened by the director's constant "Check. Check"-ing into the microphone mere minutes before the show was to start, and his rambling and unnecessary introduction.
The irredeemably silly play centers on the newlywed Frances and Peter Hunter, a couple of suave Brits who have just moved into a flat above the bank that Peter works for. They are soon to have a long-term visit from Peter's mother, Eleanor, a bit of a fussbudget with an eye for Peter's boss, Leslie Bromhead. The troubles begin when Frances mistakenly answers an advert for mail-order pornography, and begins receiving a growing amount of dirty pictures, magazines, movies and books. The more they try to dispose of, with the help of Peter's bungling assistant, Brian, the more that keeps being delivered, until the deliveries take on a life of their own-literally.
Mr. King has done his best to keep the actors moving briskly in this farce, even if it's sometimes just from dodging falling pictures and speakers, and made sure that everyone retains a consistent accent, an unexpected plus. The problems start with the actor's volume levels and understandability, which range wildly from Larry Landon, playing the calm-under-pressure-til-he-cracks Peter Hunter, whose lines never are lost or misunderstood, to Kathy Coleman as watchman Vera Paul, who has an unaccountable accent that muddles some of her most important lines, and a delivery method that could use a bit of translation.
There are a few bright spots in this murky morass of a production. The top, over-the-top performance comes from Chris Nickerson as the overwrought assistant, Brian Runnicles. There is no shading whatsoever to his character, but this is, after all, farce, so energy can generally overcome any lack of subtlety. The abovementioned Larry Landon holds his own during the play, keeping consistent character and volume. Barry Siegwart does a solid job as the proper Leslie, and his amorous attempts at capturing the heart of Yonna Meyerowitz' Eleanor Hunter work well.
Ironically, while Ms. Meyerowitz is mentioned as the Dialect Coach, and this is to her credit, her own accent is sometimes a bit difficult to understand, though she is consistent with her character. The curvaceous Linda Weiss does an acceptable job as Frances, even when required to spend the first half of the first act flitting around stage in skimpy underwear. Unfortunately, she does have a tendency to emote rather than be, and there are moments when important dialogue is lost in her presentation.
The smaller roles were handled unremarkably, though a bit vulgarly by the rest of the cast, including the simple, boring presentation of Stephen Arthur's uptight bank examiner. Of course, the simple-minded script gave these actors little to work with in the first place.
The biggest problems come from the show's under-rehearsed feel, which makes the company seem not to notice each other until another problem arose, and the set-from-hell, which the actors wound up having to battle against. It was a battle they should never have had to wage, but one that they lost nonetheless on opening night. By the end, the audience found just as much amusement from mishaps as from stage business, a sad sign for a show.
I may have once again ended my limited association with Mesa
Little Theatre for another extended time, but there is hope. In
two years, they've managed to raise themselves from horribly wretched
to simply amateurishly unpolished. Perhaps next season will see
them produce plays worthy of their sixty-two year history.
Production Details:
No Sex Please, We're British
by Anthony Marriott and Allstair Foot
Mesa Little Theatre, Mesa
834-9500, option 1
July 31st - August 16th, 1998