Chase me up Farndale Avenue s’il vous plait

The Farndale series follows a formulaic approach to play-writing, combining the worst stereotypes of amdram with our misperceptions of the Women’s Institute, and linking it all with a plot that is thinner than Mrs Reece’s digestive biscuits. In fact this particular plot is so thin that Weight Watchers could starve to death on its content, with the denouement so bizarre that one wonders whether the playrights died before the final scene and the ending was written by the cat. Having said all this the production was like the curate’s egg – very good in parts – generating many laugh out loud moments that punctuated the auditorium’s default soundtrack of modest chuckling.  Had there been a few more people in the audience on opening night I suspect the cast would have had much more to feed off (than Mrs Dabney’s cake!) and could have raised the laughter content considerably.  

The basic narrative, such as it was, revolved around a group of men and women with very similar sounding names trying to pursue an affair with each other’s wives and husbands in a Paris hotel. Add in some cross-dressing, mobile moustaches, a dippy French maid, a wooden stage manager taking an acting part, a newly discovered off-stage adulterous relationship with a 78 year old woman, frequent interventions from Mrs Reece and the scope for mayhem was significant. With five possible entrances and exits, including an upside down door and a door with the handle on the wrong side, a collapsing bed, a table that was never in the right place and a human lampstand – what could possibly go wrong? The resulting farce was, at times, so ridiculous that one couldn’t help but laugh. And there were times, I suspect, when even the cast didn’t know who they were supposed to be and who they were meant to be talking to.

The production values were strong with a very good set and some lovely costumes. The sound effects were good and all worked in the right “wrong” places. (The techies will know what I mean!). We all enjoyed Mrs Reece’s (Alison O’Malley) bossy banter and especially her slapstick cake-making with the bouncing eggs and broken mixing bowl. Emma Byatt was wonderfully OTT in her various roles, including the saucy French mistress and randy plumber. The brief fling with Sue Bartle’s cross-dressed Roger Parrot (or was it Jacques Charot) was very funny. David Ehren maintained his wonderfully wooden stage manager persona as Gordon playing George Barrett and was hilarious as Virginia Parrott. Helen Wilson’s portrayal of Frank and Mary Carrott was good and I particularly liked the woolen bondage scene, albeit I wondered if a page or two of dialogue was repeated slightly more than was desirable. Jenny Edler’s vacuum-cleaning French maid, Fifi, also did well, having the tough job of opening the play and establishing the modus operandi for the night.

Congratulations to all for an enjoyable evening’s entertainment. I am sure that with a larger audience the laughs will only get louder and longer. 

© NODA CIO. All rights reserved.