BLAK YAK'S ARSENIC AND OLD LACE

ARSENIC AND OLD LACE Final performances this weekend. Recently, encouraged by glowing reviews and other comments in this website and in the pages of the Worst Australian, I took myself to a performance of a play of which I had fond memories from years gone by. I spent the evening being somewhat disappointed by the production. A week or so later – last night, to be exact – I approached a performance of another of my old-time favourites, Arsenic and Old Lace, with lesser expectations – and was so thoroughly rewarded and entertained by the production that I feel compelled to recommend that, if you can, take yourself out to the cultural and artistic centre below the escarpment in the next day or so and share my enjoyment of the show. The season closes with a matinee on Sunday. (If you read further, I suppose you should know that I am in sporadic discussions with Blak Yak about a possible future collaboration and have recently had some collaborations with Alan Malcom.) A&OL should be well-enough known to theatre cognoscenti to need no lengthy ‘summary’ of the plot concerning two elderly sisters who see it as their Christian duty to put lonely bachelors (12 … or is it 13?) out of their misery, and to tolerate the bombastic presence of President Teddy Roosevelt, chanelled into their genteel house by their seriously deluded nephew. To create a effective set in the confined stage-space of the Midland Junction Arts Centre is no mean feat, but this design, presumably by the joint first-time Directors Roisin and Sinead Bevan (since no-one else is listed in the program as Designer), is a marvel of evocative detail, executed by Barry Carpenter with, particularly, doors that can be slammed without rattling the rest of the construction. Within this set we meet Joseph Kesselring’s bizarre characters, all of whom are presented by well-chosen actors, but one must say that the standout character of Teddy Brewster/Roosevelt is played in a manic, no-holds-barred fashion by Rory Innes. He brings a new dimension to the term ’barking mad'. The nutty Brewster sisters complement one another admirably and, for a first-time appearance, credit must go to Marilyn Flynn, she of ‘a certain age’ who inhabits the character of Martha so completely that it is easy to overlook her occasion loss of volume and apparent slippage of lines – it’s the character that counts! And she is well-and-securely supported by Cicely Binford as the bustling and bountiful Abby. All the whacko characters are equally-well presented: Clark Kent-like, Tristan Feihn (whose Superman suit is at the cleaner’s), moves erratically between sanity, his passion for Elaine, the craziness of his sweetly-ghoulish Aunts and the menace of his brother Boris Karloff who is insanely chanelled by Alan Malcom through the psychotic Jonathon Brewster, accompanied on the scalpel by Peter Lorre, aka Dr Einstein played by John (any relation?) Bevan; the delightfully sassy, not to say sexy, but put-upon girl-next-door Elaine played for all she is worth (and that’s a lot) by – wait for it – co-director Roisin Bevan. The youngest member New York’s Finest, Kallum Mansfield, works his way into the role of Officer O’Hara, culminating in a bravura performance as the playwright-cop, putting everyone else unfortunate enought to be on-stage at the time to sleep but keeping the paying audience in high spirits; his senior colleagues (Adrian O’Neill and Peter King) represent the rest of the Three Stooges – all of whom, it must be said, fit their characters well into their excellent uniforms. Costumes are generally of a high standard, thanks to design and creation by Barb Watson. Another relative new-comer to the stage is Ray Rummer, giving us something of Det. Colombo as Lootenant Rooney, and doing it well – although he needs to remember that, when wearing a hat on stage even the dumbest New York cop will lift his face a bit to let the light shine in. But wait – there’s more! – there’s Jim Barton doing a sound opening scene with Abby and Martha as Dr. Rev. Harper, and the hirsute Steve Osborne displaying his versatility as the 1940’s version of a spent hippy who comes to stay but runs away and, at the end, as Mr Witherspoon, who has come to take Teddy away but who, unwittingly, is going to stay. Then there’s the make-up by Kylie Ogg – especially Boris Karloff’s and Steve Osborne’s (for his dual roles) – lighting and sound (Ryan James) and a whole lot of other people (not all with Irish names) who have made this a night for me to remember. PHILLIP MACKENZIE