No Sex Please, We’re British

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

When Alistair Foot and Anthony Marriott’s British farce opened in London’s West End in 1971, critics sent it into a nose dive, but the determined farce ran close to a decade to packed audiences. American Broadway audiences, however, saw it in a different light when it opened in 1973 causing it to run for only 16 performances.

The outcome on Broadway might have been different if that production carried the cast now playing at the Denver Victorian Playhouse.

No easy play to produce or perform, No Sex Please, We’re British demands actors brimming with theatrical expertise, impeccable timing, sharp direction, explicit chiseled characters, and a cast, crew, and director who fully understand the meaning of farce. No matter how funny the lines and situation may be, the characters have to play it straight, no pointing at lines to say “this is really funny” no over exaggeration, and above all they must believe in the honesty and integrity of the character. There is no place for comical buffoons. If any of this isn’t exercised with seriousness the production will wallow in disaster.

The Vic’s production, expertly directed by Arthur Goodman, contains all of the above and in the middle of the run they play to a packed house moving the Vic into a serious Denver theatre contender right along side some of the “older bigger boys.”

In a sparsely decorated apartment above the National United Bank in Royal Windsor, England, where Peter (Jono Waldmar) and Frances Hunter (Ariana Griffith) have lived for only three weeks, the madcap orgy of rambunctious confusion, slamming doors, constant exists and entrances, misidenditification toppled with inexperienced poor judgment from overwhelming no time to think self-imposed desperate decisions carries the play from start to finish as a continuous all too long sentence just as this one is designed to do. One slip up along the way, no matter how minute, the cast would find themselves solidly ensconced in the next script ready to be tackled just from the high strung momentum built up in the process.

Peter and Frances have only been married three weeks. They’re very much in love wanting every second to be alone as witnessed by the opening scene. Alone time, however, does not appear on their schedule. Hired as an assistant bank manger, the bank provided the not so great apartment for the newlyweds; there are several things wrong. The window between the kitchen and the living room contains a penchant for closing at the most inopportune times taking on a devilish life of its own. But they are in love, it’s a place to live, and they have plans.

Frances plans to speed up their financial progress ordering items from a Scandinavian import company where she plans to sell them like Tupperware.

The insecure, needy, highly impetuous chief cashier Brian Runnicles, hilariously played by Seth Maisel, barges in with their wedding present. He can’t wait any longer to bring them a hideous painting of three large cucumbers that he thinks is just right for the couple. Peter and Frances try diligently to show appreciation.

In the midst of the hurry-scurry atmosphere, a package arrives from the Scandinavian import company and Brian in his eagerness to please becomes the workhorse racing downstairs to lug it back up. Glassware it isn’t. The box is filled with pornographic pictures turning Brian on while he pretends for Frances’ sake to be horrified. Getting rid of the box has to be now since Peter’s mother, Eleanor (Patricia Goodman) is coming to lunch and just may stay the night to Frances’ frantic surprise. Eleanor arrives for lunch all right at 9:30 in the morning accompanied by several suitcases. An over bearing, nosey bull in a china shop Eleanor obviously has more than staying one night on her mind.

Patricia Goodman sees to it that Eleanor in spite of her idiosyncrasies is an energetic fireball of well meaning. She dotes on Peter, adores Frances, has no life of her own, clings to a need to belong, and if anyone pointed out to her what a pain she really is, Eleanor would collapse and melt on the spot.

Waldmar and Griffith understand Peter and Frances as socially political gracious beings that will get stretched beyond all imagination attempting to maintain their dignity while adequately revealing every nuance of emotion surrounding them.

Maisel runs Brian through exhausting frantic paces. To please, it falls upon his shoulders to get rid of the package. For fear of having the contents of the box discovered, his options are highly limited. Dump them in a lake. Why not? He just didn’t anticipate the pornography would float to the surface or a witness would see a man answering his description throwing the box into the lake, and the local newspaper jumping on the story. Maisel gives Brian the high energy required, the spectrum of emotion demanded, and the nervous twitch of someone wanting to please no matter what the cost. The result is hysterical without Brian even being aware he is so funny. That takes talent.

Dell Domnick plays Peter’s boss Leslie Bromhead with the savvier faire of a bank executive who becomes giddy over Eleanor while Eleanor acts like the last girl in her high school class to ever be asked out on a date gushing with sexuality having been pulled slightly too taunt.

Complications tumble over complications as the boxes from the Scandinavian company continue to arrive, checks gets mixed up in the mail, people coming and going with doors slamming catapults the farce into an endless string if calamities.

Kevin Craft appears as Mr. Needham a near sighted proper bank inspector bubbling with a lisp creating an adorable character you want to package up, take home, and sit in a corner for conversational purposes. His hotel room won’t be ready until the next day and not wanting to be an imposition but definitely becomes one, politely asks with a command in his lispy words to spend the night. In his unobtrusive obtrusive way, Needham appears frequently in unsuspected moments. In his shorty pajamas, embarrassed over being seen, he needs a glass of water, he needs his sleeping pills, there’s too much noise he can’t sleep. A child in a bank official’s body, commanding attention, tripping over himself, completely unaware there is anything funny about him in any sense makes him a deliciously “crafted” character.

Sarah Roshan designed the appropriate set. Rachel Lanning designed the lighting that gleaned its own shades of laughter in conjunction with the roller coaster ride and El Armstrong jumped in with his special brand of humor with the sound design.

If that isn’t enough, the Scandinavian company sends in two hookers ready to perform whatever it is Mr. Frances Hunter, as they know her, so desires. Susan (Amanda Van Nostrand) and her apprentice Barbara (Catherine Accardi) won’t take no for an answer, perform in sync, give strong very funny performances with straight faces, refuse to stay shut up in a closet, give Needham a run for his money, sending Peter into hypertension, and Frances into shock.

For an honest laugh a minute, for a well produced play, for incredible timing, for a well polished cast in unpolished circumstances, No Sex Please, We’re British deserves attention and is getting it. Call for reservations or the house may be sold out.

A special performance was held Monday night benefiting the Domnick family. (Technical difficulties by the host company for this website prevented the notice from being posted on time.) Domnick lost his daughter March 10. Andrea suddenly passed away leaving two sons 1 and 4 years. Andrea did not have insurance. For those who did not know about the benefit or could not attend additional funds and cards can be mailed to Dell’s Benefit, Denver Victorian Playhouse, 4201 Hooker Street, Denver, CO 80211. Checks should be made payable to Dell Domnik. A vital aspect to the theatre community, Domnick only missed three performances of No Sex Please, We’re British. He’s a “Brick.”