90. SIGNAL FAILURE
SIGNAL FAILURE, by Sasha Ellen, is a reasonably well-written
but quickly disposable, hour-long British import about two lonely young
Londoners finding love through social media, but not, interestingly enough, the
Internet, the usual foundation for tales of romance in the age of technology. Now playing at the Soho
Playhouse, this is one of those plays that depends largely—although, thankfully, not
entirely—on characters who tell you what they’re doing and thinking, rather
than dramatizing it directly in action and dialogue. Recent examples include
PORT AUTHORITY and BOYS AND GIRLS, not to mention A.R. Gurney’s LOVE LETTERS (in
which all the lines are read from correspondence). Only about halfway through
do the two characters, Lorna (Sasha Ellen, who also wrote the play) and Brian
(Spencer Cowan), break into dialogue, after which both dialogue and direct
address are heard. The play, reportedly a hit at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival,
is the kind of thing you’d expect to see in Theater C at 59E59 during its
annual Brits Off Broadway series. On Vandam Street, though, it seems to be
having trouble filling seats.  |
| Spencer Cowan, Sasha Ellen. Photo: Natalya Chagrin. |
Brian’s a chef on late night duty who occupies himself while
riding the Underground to and from work by watching how some passengers signal
their potential interest in others, but endure the usual missed connections. He
discovers a sort of personals column in a daily tabloid that prints messages
from such people in the hope the people that they’re eying will read them and reach
out. Still depressed by the loss of his girlfriend, whose fate is revealed later
on, he begins to play Cupid by submitting messages to see—in a sort of
proto-stalker way—how his meddling plays out. He’s thrilled when one of his
matches succeeds, but wants to hide when those he’s encouraged encounter “epic”
failures.
Lorna’s a cute office worker, closely attached via the phone
to her Mum, who’s equally interested in observing passenger behavior. When Lorna also discovers
the column, she starts watching for the people she thinks are thus making
contact, and even begins seeking a note that might be aimed at her. Brian
notices her constant presence at the places where potential connections are to
be made, suspecting at first that she may be a reporter on his trail. One thing
leads to another, Brian and Lorna become lovers, she unwittingly learns more
about him than she bargained for, the affair crashes, and then . . . well, you
don’t need me to tell you what follows.
Ms. Ellen’s lines, with their occasional British
lingo and references, are enjoyably bouncy, but her boy meets girl, etc., trope
is predictable, the breakup is too contrived, and the secrets each lover has
been withholding are not particularly original. The production is about as
low-budget as possible, and, while one can accept a set used for multiple
locales while composed only of two large boxes and a door-like board (to create
a bed for the inevitable romps in the sack), the rather ugly, cheap-looking,
canvas backdrop (no set designer is credited), showing graffiti-scrawled walls,
should have been left at home. Fortunately, Sherry Koenen’s barebones lighting
design makes the most of its limitations.
Ms. Ellen and Mr. Cowan are personable and
believable, each working their charm vibes to the max, although Mr. Cowan—vaguely
reminiscent of a young Damian Lewis—tends to overdo his ingratiating smiles and
tendency to run his hand through his unkempt hair. Their vehicle, however, mildly
endearing as it is, lacks the sparkle and wit to stand out in a crowded New
York season.