I have always admired Neil Simon’s gift for blending pathos and wry humor. His characters find themselves in the midst of adversity, but mitigate by cracking a joke. Husband: The car won’t start. Wife: Your mother finally invites us to dinner, and now this? Was that her sneaking around with a wrench? There seems to be an undercurrent of bad fortune or disappointment that inform his comedies, and naturally, his occasional dramas. The unresolved conflicts, the failed romances, the sense of helplessness. In each of these pieces, Simon addresses several issues. There’s the shtick. But there’s other quandaries in the constellation. Unanswered questions. The wrong turn, inexplicable fate, time and change.
In Visitor for Mamaroneck: Karen Nash has arranged an anniversary in the room where Sam and her husband shared their honeymoon. She’s planned champagne, hors d’oeuvres, a special negligee, eager to revive some court and spark. Sam Nash is an atomic buzzkill, to be generous. So absorbed in business, he’s won’t hang up the phone. Utterly blind to Karen’s overtures, the mood she’s set, the trouble she’s taken. The fact that his egregious behavior happens on their 50th Anniversary is lost on him. Karen keeps dropping hints, but she might as well slap him silly. (Maybe she should). Lise Alexander’s portrayal of Karen is masterful. Suffused with understated melancholy and resignation, it is poignant and unforgettable.
In Visitor from Hollywood: Jesse has arranged to see Muriel to visit and catch up. They are friends from childhood. While Jesse wants to reminisce about their time together as kids, Muriel pumps him for details of his glamorous life in the movie biz. She keeps namedropping, ravenous to feed off the personal lives of celebrities and their shenanigans. She seems to miss that Jesse has arranged this rendezvous, because he pines for her. She, too, regrets missed opportunity. Though we wonder if she wants Jesse for him, or his credentials as a hobnobber.
In Visitor from Forest Hills: Norma Hubley and Roy Hubley must navigate possible catastrophe. Their daughter, Mimsey, has locked herself in the bathroom. She’s crying so hard, they can’t get her to explain. Has she bailed, has something happened, large did they fight? Or is traditional pre-wedding jitters? While Norma fields phone calls, stalling and doing damage control, Roy keeps bitching about expenses. Many families spend more on weddings, than anything else in their lives. It’s understood. But Roy persists in his litany of grievances: the cocktail wieners he’s paying for, the band he’s paying for, the flowers he’s paying for. Perhaps in this instance, he’s not much different than the fathers of most brides.
Speaking of admiration, Richardson Theatre Centre’s current production of Plaza Suite is top notch, and this is your last chance to catch it. Neil Simon’s comedy is comprised of three separate skits, ruminating on the irony that this same room, in the same place, has seen just as much marital discord as ooey-gooey, kissy-face. Each one exposes the pitfalls waiting to sour the sweet milk of juicy nuptial bliss. RTC’s Plaza Suite is rich with quirkiness, ingenious throwaway, aching subtext. Sometimes I think particular shows so familiar that troupes assume they’ll be a cinch. Richardson Theatre Centre never makes that mistake. Their Plaza Suite will intoxicate and strike a nerve.
Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Plaza Suite, playing July 8th-24th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 214-699-1130. www.richardsontheatrecentre.net
I keep trying to text you. Is there a phone number I can use? Ben.
214 643 7825
214-265-5625
No. I get an error message when I text that number. So sorry.
OK. If all is well, may we communicate on Facebook? I don’t understand.
Understood. All is well.
Sorry 214 543 7825
Ben do you not want to communicate?
How do I REACH you? I can’t find you on Facebook.
I got kicked off the FB. Sorry. Text me when you can. 😁
You are so dear to me, Ben, I am so relieved we’re OK. I wish I would stop losing things. What’s WRONG with those idiots at Facebook?
Still with me? Is this (surely not) perpetual exile?