97. YOU NEVER CAN TELL
Arriving
at the Pearl Theatre last night was an adventure in itself, as I had to make my
way from a restaurant on 9th Avenue and 42nd Street to 11th
Avenue and 42nd in a torrential downpour such as we haven’t seen in
New York since Hurricane Sandy. My pants and shirt were thoroughly soaked
despite my having an umbrella, and my feet were worse, since I was wearing
sandals. A colleague who was rushing through the storm with me lives next door
to the Pearl and went up to change, bringing me down a bath towel, which I kept
wrapped around my shoulders during the show like a blanket to keep from
catching pneumonia.
Fortunately, sitting in the second row, I soon felt the warmth of George Bernard Shaw’s YOU NEVER CAN TELL, set at a seaside resort, with its witty dialogue, charming characters, youthful romance, farcical coincidences, fashionable clothes, and, for its time, up-to-date ideas about women, courtship, and family. All mingle agreeably in David Staller’s sprightly, if uneven, revival of Shaw’s 1897 comedy. On the one hand, there’s little that’s memorably excellent on display, neither in the acting (fair to very good) nor the design components (serviceably attractive); on the other, the mix of vivacity, intelligence, and humor conspire to grow on you, forcing you gradually to abandon whatever skepticism you may have in the early scenes, when you must adjust your expectations to reality; by the final scene, you may even feel a gentle glow, like that of the Chinese lanterns adorning the set.
Sean McNall and Amelia Pedlow.
Fortunately, sitting in the second row, I soon felt the warmth of George Bernard Shaw’s YOU NEVER CAN TELL, set at a seaside resort, with its witty dialogue, charming characters, youthful romance, farcical coincidences, fashionable clothes, and, for its time, up-to-date ideas about women, courtship, and family. All mingle agreeably in David Staller’s sprightly, if uneven, revival of Shaw’s 1897 comedy. On the one hand, there’s little that’s memorably excellent on display, neither in the acting (fair to very good) nor the design components (serviceably attractive); on the other, the mix of vivacity, intelligence, and humor conspire to grow on you, forcing you gradually to abandon whatever skepticism you may have in the early scenes, when you must adjust your expectations to reality; by the final scene, you may even feel a gentle glow, like that of the Chinese lanterns adorning the set.
The play begins in a dentist’s
office in an English seaside town, where the attractive young dentist,
Valentine (Sean McNall), is cheerfully struggling to survive on his 5-shilling
plan (the same charge for each procedure), and where he soon meets a pair of
high-spirited 18-year-old twins, Dolly (Emma Wisniewski) and Phil (Ben
Charles), when Dolly needs to have a tooth extracted (a remarkably bloodless
and painless job). He also meets their imposing mother, Mrs. Clandon (Robin
Leslie Brown), a writer of books about advanced ideas, and her beautiful older
daughter, Gloria (Amelia Pedlow). When Valentine and Gloria first set eyes on
each other, it’s—bing!—love at first sight. The Clandon clan has just returned
to England after 18 years of living in Madeira, after Mrs. Clandon moved there
to flee an unhappy relationship with her husband. Over the course of four acts,
Shaw proceeds to work out the romantic relationship between Valentine and
Gloria, and to use the long arm of coincidence to bring the Clandon children (whose
surname was changed by their mother) back into the presence—if not the embrace—of
their long-separated father, the brittle, bad-tempered, but very rich Fergus Crampton
(Bradford Cover), Valentine’s landlord, who angrily insists on his parental
rights despite his having had nothing to do with raising his offspring. Through
much of the action, the various characters’ needs are taken care of by the
ultra-efficient old waiter, Walter (Dan Daily)—called William (after Shakespeare)
by the twins—who’s given to spouting a pet phrase, “You never can tell.” In the
last act, once again by playful coincidence, Walter’s barrister son, also
called Walter (Zachary Spicer), enters from the hotel’s fancy ball wearing a cape,
Venetian tricorn, and long-nosed commedia mask. He’s there at the recommendation
of the family friend and solicitor, Finch McComas (Dominic Cuskern), to advise
on a frivolous suit brought by Crampton. Via his magisterial pronouncements, he
ensures that all the plot ends are neatly sewn up.
Despite its well-crafted beginning,
middle, and end, the plot is merely a shallow framework within which to develop
a number of amusing characters who express their strong opinions; happily,
these opinions are organic to those they belong to and rarely suggest the didactic
pontificating of which Shaw is sometimes guilty. Among the topics covered are women’s
rights in the (imminent) twentieth century (including the right to escape
marital tyranny), the puzzling existence of love and desire among rational
beings, and the difference between a parent’s earning (as opposed to requiring)
respect from his children. Externally farce-like as it may be, internally the
play makes you care about what these people think and feel.
Mr. Staller’s direction keeps the
energy level turned up, the dialogue well articulated, and the relationships
clear. Now and then, he highlights a moment by altering the lights and bringing
in a bit of music. Scene changes are performed choreographically by the actors
to tuneful music, and one sequence has the irrepressible Dolly and Phil perform
a period dance to cover the shift. There is also a sweetly staged curtain call,
with a popping champagne bottle (courtesy of the waiter) to boot.
Shaw’s plays usually require
multiple sets with an abundance of furniture and furbelows, but Off Broadway companies
with limited budgets must use their imaginations to find ways around his
detailed requirements. Set designer Harry Feiner, for instance, places the
first act dentist’s office far downstage in front of a painted drop so that he
can then provide acts two through four with a more substantial, if simplified,
scenic arrangement. I would have liked the sets to be more vividly colored,
especially the one of the outdoors hotel terrace adjoining the beach, where the
blandly painted sky is a muddy blue-green; in general, the
sets are mildly pretty in a utilitarian sort of way. Barbara Bell’s very nice
period costumes add much to the proceedings, and Stephen Petrilli’s lighting,
while unobtrusive, adds some noteworthy touches when certain moments are
chosen for romantic underlining. M.L. Dogg’s sound design includes lighthearted
period music to further enhance the 1890s ambience.
The actors assembled from the Pearl’s resident company
for YOU NEVER CAN TELL range in quality and charisma, of course, but all are trained
professionals able to navigate the required period style and accents. Ms.
Wisniewski and Mr. Charles, who play the difficult roles of the twins, are believably
youthful and rambunctious, but they manage the liveliness of characters better
than their deeper feelings. Ms. Brown as the middle-aged Mrs. Clandon speaks in
resonant tones that mark her commanding presence as an actress, but her dowdy wig
robs the character of glamour. Her hairdo on the program cover would have been much more flattering. Mr. McNall’s Valentine, while enthusiastic and
smart, is too actorish for my tastes, while Mr. Cover’s crusty Crampton is only
superficially irritable, making it hard to sympathize with his struggle to humanize
his behavior toward the end. Mr. Cuskern is appropriately stuffy as the once
footloose but now uptight solicitor, and he gets laughs when he is forced to
elude the playful Dolly in act four. Ms. Pedlow's Gloria is gloriously appealing as she twists and turns in her attempt to prevent sentiment from overwhelming reason; her performance and presence help put the show over the top.
Ben Charles and Emma Wisniewski. Photo: Al Foote III
The role that makes or breaks most
productions of YOU NEVER CAN TELL is the waiter, and Mr. Daily does nothing
special with it. He seems too pleasantly robust and conventional, without
significant subtext to express the utter delight and pride he takes in his
profession. Critic Desmond MacCarthy, reviewing Louis Calvert’s performance in
1905, wrote: “What a dissertation might be written upon William! William the leveler,
William the impassive, William the imperturbably, universally kind!” Few of
these colors emerge in the present portrayal. However, Mr. Spicer’s Walter
Bohun (pronounced Boon), the Queens Council barrister who makes so dramatic an
entrance in act four, brings with him a towering physical and vocal presence,
and an air of just the right excess of self-assurance, with his constant
reiterations of “Oh, yes you will. You think you won’t, but you will,” or the
obverse, “Oh, no, you won’t. You think you will, but you won’t.”
Bottom row, from left: Bradford Cover, Amelia Pedlow, Sean McNall, Robin Leslie Brown. Standing, from left: Emma Wisniewski, Dominic Cuskern, Zachary Spicer, Dan Daily, Ben Charles. Photo: Al Foote III
