| 11 August 2011
“There’s something rotten in the cul-de-sac. And you know it!” This three-man production is the stuff of curtain twitchers’ dreams. Offering a masculine spin on The Stepford Wives, Matthew Osborn’s new comedy is, judging by the packed audience, going down like the proverbial cucumber sandwich at the Vicar’s tea party.
The claustrophobic atmosphere that is created is one of the great successes of this play. The minimal set and intimate venue are perfectly suited to the plot, building upon the already palpable sensation of people breathing down each others’ necks and watching one’s every move. The acting, too, is laudable, with each of the three gentleman adopting their designated golf-jumper-wearing, gin-and-tonic-guzzling personas with aplomb.
The let-down of this play is in the dialogue. No matter what anybody says, to have one man waft his fingers in another man’s face with the line “that is the smell of my wife” is utterly horrific, especially in the given context. Apart from this shocking anomaly, the rest of the writing felt quite dry and droning. The only relief was the occasional quip, usually esoteric, and firmly targeted at the Radio 4 bourgeoisie. Baby-boomers are the most likely to enjoy this one, and it looks like plenty of them are.
Cul-De-Sac, Pleasance Courtyard, 11-29 Aug (not 15 or 22), 3.15 pm
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