Absurd Person Singular

Alan Ayckbourn's prolific and peculiar dissections of the English middle classes are once again on display at the Denver Center Theatre Company, this year in the form of Absurd Person Singular, a holiday-flavored dark comedy focusing on dysfunction along the lines of DCTC's 2006 Ayckbourn Scrooge-alternative, Season's Greetings.

John Hutton as Ronald Brewster-Wright and Jeanne Paulsen as Marion Brewster-Wright Photo by Terry Shapiro

As we indicated back then, "Like a very dry martini, with only a thought of vermouth and the memory of an olive to separate it from straight vodka, English farce is only a heartbeat away from tragedy": the farcical elements in the play—the timing of entrances and exits, plus a couple of proper drenchings, a cartoon-style electrocution, ludicrous suicide attempts, and a delightful drunken fool—are intertwined with a quiet desperation that is akin to Ayckbourn's contemporaries, Beckett and Pinter.

The settings for the three acts are the kitchens of three couples whose lives intersect over three consecutive Christmas Eves, 1972-74. The pairs provide a stark contrast in their relationship with money, level of education, and perspectives on class; at the same time, Ayckbourn does not let us escape the similarity of their psychological and spiritual challenges.

Megan Byrne as Jane Hopcroft Photo by Terry Shapiro

The kitchen of Jane Hopcroft (Megan Byrne) and Sidney Hopcroft (Chris Mixon) features a bright yellow and white dinette set echoed in the linoleum squares; orange counter tops further iterate a style we would expect to be produced by those loathsome and ubiquitous smiley faces or decorators on anti-depressants. Jane's anal compulsion concerning her kitchen is her refuge from Sidney's patronizing criticisms and the pressure of his expectations. Byrne's finds a vacant seam in Jane's head and mines it into a guileless, eager to please and ditzy delight. Mixon gleefully embraces Sidney's shameless pandering to maximize his conscienceless real estate dealings and social-climbing aspirations.

David Ivers as Geoffrey Jackson and Kathleen McCall as Eva Jackson Photo by Terry Shapiro

The kitchen of Eva (Kathleen McCall) and Geoffrey Jackson (David Ivers) would be a pleasant and unassuming space if it weren't for Eva's desperate condition. The floor is filled with crumpled pages of nixed suicide notes, the oven is filthy, and the sink is clogged, as Eva struggles to capture her final thoughts on a life twisted by pills and alcohol. McCall's arc—from desperate housewife in the first scene to seething then comatose nut case in the second act to a sober, take-charge partner in the finale—provides us with a healthy measure of hope, even if Ayckbourn mocks such redemption in the final scene. Ivers' Geoffrey is a seamless composite of principled architect and unprincipled philanderer, the throughline being well-studied erudition in the construction of buildings and women.

Chris Mixon as Sidney Hopcroft Photo by Terry Shapiro

The kitchen of the Brewster-Wrights, Ronald (John Hutton) and Marion (Jeanne Paulsen), is old world sturdy and old money cozy. A broken-down furnace and cold house reflect a marriage stripped of romance and mutual interests. In the end, it is Marion, the banker's wife, who drowns her sorrows in the bottle, not the once addiction-addled Eve or the co-dependent Jane. Like a clownish version of Blanche DuBois, Jeanne Paulsen, hair astray and lipstick askew, provides comic relief as the couple's gather to synthesize Ayckbourn's summary thoughts on contemporary life British life. The stiff-upper-lip detachment, good old boy enthusiasm, and old school chauvinism of upper class scions comes to witty and bittersweet fruition in Hutton's refined yet unpretentious portrait of Ronald.

(L to R) John Hutton as Ronald Brewster-Wright, Jeanne Paulsen as Marion Brewster-Wright and Kathleen McCall as Eva Jackson Photo by Terry Shapiro

Bill Forrester's three kitchens playfully mirror the script's mood changes and class commentary. Director Sabin Epstein keeps the pace fresh.

Recommended for those who enjoy their gin straight up or for those in whom the darkness of the northern latitudes at Winter Solstice stirs a resigned melancholy.

The Denver Center Theatre Company's production of Absurd Person Singular runs through December 19th. 303-893-4100 or denvercenter.org.

Bob Bows