It’s impossible not to fall for the bewigged, big-eyed ridiculousness of this brazenly farcical, tumble-down production of Neil Simon’s play.
Set in the blingy excess of the ’80s, and played out in one, long hyperventilated squeal by director Rob Watt’s supremely spirited cast, an ever increasing circle of polite guests struggle to keep an apparent suicide attempt under wraps.
The suicidee is a finance minister, the party, his wedding anniversary, and his guests an unseemly stew of insecurity, greed and gossip.
There’s sterling comic work from the cast, but despite its undeniable pep and endearing swagger, this London premier of Simon’s 1988 play fails to render it relevant. Aside from unveiling the achingly familiar notion of the superficiality of modern politics, the farce lacks a target and, therefore, a point.
Simon belatedly gestures at profundity with a riff about lying and storytelling, but all this satiric sound and fury signifies nothing: ultimately, it’s as harmless, hammy, and emptily diverting as a stage gunshot.