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THEATER REVIEW Review: 'The Dinner Party' dissects the pitfalls of modern marriage By Bill Varble for the Mail Tribune MailTribune.com By Bill Varble for the Mail Tribune Posted Jun. 27, 2016 @ 2:00 am Updated Jul 1, 2016 at 9:53 AM By Bill Varble for the Mail Tribune Posted Jun. 27, 2016 @ 2:00 am Updated Jul 1, 2016 at 9:53 AM » Social News p bs:newslist StartDate="20121121" EndDate="p bs:datecalc Months="3"" DateSort="1" UseObjects="1" ObjectClass="81" Taxonomywords="2325,665" ExactTaxonomyMatch="1" Image="1" Count="4" --> To describe the set-up of Neil Simon’s “The Dinner Party” is to evoke images of those English murder mysteries in which disparate characters are called to a grand country house for the weekend by a mysterious host. In “The Dinner Party,” disparate characters are called to a grand French restaurant for a dinner party by a mysterious host. But instead of murder most foul, what Simon has in mind is an autopsy of sorts: a study of failed marriages and how they break up. This much is clear early on, but we don’t get the complete reveal until near the end, when the perpetrator shows up. “The Dinner Party” may not be the much-married playwright’s best work, but the new production of it at the Randall Theatre in Medford, directed by Dianna Warner, captures the work’s spirit nicely. The air is filled from the get-go with Simon’s trademark zingers and one-liners, yet there’s a melancholic, almost tragic spirit at the play’s heart. First to arrive at the private dinner are Claude (John Richardson), a failed writer and dealer in antique books, and Albert (Jacob Uhlman), a frustrated artist who works at his father’s car rental agency and paints abstracts of used cars. The men prod and poke at each other verbally and wonder why they’re here. Simon’s trademark volleys of jokes fly, but the play gets off to a slow start because Claude and Albert don’t have any actual, conflicting intentions. They often talk past each other. “Do you like Fragonard?” Claude asks, referring to the painter. Albert replies, “Not before dinner.” The only thing we know well into the first act is that the inciting incident is the dinner invitation. But that is as mysterious to the audience as it is to the characters. This is a dramatic irony-free zone. Simon begins to ratchet the tension with the arrival of the third guest, Andre (David Eisenberg) a wealthy businessman with lots of attitude and little grace. If Claude and Albert weren’t exactly starting a mutual admiration society, each sees that Andre is easily worse than the other. When a fourth guest arrives, we get a hint of what’s up. Mariette (V. Simone Stewart) is the first one in our little company not to be unknown to the others. She is Claude’s ex-wife, and the break-up was apparently a bitter one, exacerbated by the fact that Mariette has become a successful novelist while Claude, who was her literary mentor as well as her husband, is still selling books. As the play’s outer movement becomes clearer, the inner story begins to emerge as well. Wrapped in Simon’s laugh-track style is a dissection of some of the pitfalls of modern marriage, of how people who think they love each other wind up hurting each other. Such a narrative would be painful to sit through if the play’s themes were handled with less assurance. Simon’s gags are not at the absolute top of his form, but they’re good enough. Frustrated with Mariette, Claude blurts, “I feel like I’m talking to a machine that spits out poison tennis balls!” and makes the frenetic gestures of such a machine. Credit also goes to Warner, who, a bit like the mysterious person who’s manipulating them, moves her actors around with enough vigor that we never get a deadly scene of characters standing around talking. Other than a few early-in-the-run line flubs, the company responds with good performances. Laura Ann Crawford is an appealing Yvonne, a young woman who loved and lost. And Judith Rosen is at the top of her form as Gabrielle, the rather complex character who finally makes everything jell. No spoiler here, but the play’s ending seems to lift the whole thing to another level. After giving us a good dose of the vitriol around these failed relationships, it’s as if Simon, the master of the Broadway comedy, gets serious on us, imagining with Shakespeare’s Puck, “Lord, what fools these mortals be,” and then imagining Chekhov responding, “Yes, but you can’t help caring about them.” By Bill Varble for the Mail Tribune MailTribune.com By Bill Varble for the Mail Tribune Posted Jun. 27, 2016 @ 2:00 am Updated Jul 1, 2016 at 9:53 AM » Comment or view comments Terms of Service /* $( document ).ready(function() { // Jquery mobile is trying to style the button and leaving a blank gry button on top of a white button $("#viafouracoms .vf-comment-controls li.vf-right").html(' Submit '); });*/ » STAY INFORMED Email NewsLetter Sign Up Today Sign up for our newsletter and have the top headlines from your community delivered right to your inbox. calendar Connect with MailTribune.com Facebook Twitter RSS Back to top Reader Services Reader Services Home Subscriptions Subscriber controls Contact us Submissions Photos Events Letters to the editor Corrections Announcements Obituaries Story ideas Since you asked Alerts Email Alerts RSS Feeds Text Alerts Advertise Media Kit Home Products and services Ad rates Advertising contacts Propel Marketing Mail Tribune Daily Tidings The Nickel Shop Our Valley Blogs Mobile Site Stay Informed Email newsletter Sign Up Today Sign up for our newsletter and have the top headlines from your community delivered right to your inbox. 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