Peter and Frances are newlyweds. For reasons of convenience, the bank Peter works for owns the apartment on the second floor, where they live. They are waiting for the arrival of Peter’s mother, Eleanor, who will be an overnight guest. Brian is Peter’s colleague at the bank. He’s here to bring a wedding gift and accompany Peter to the “salt mines”. At some point Brian signs for a package delivery, supposedly some china Frances ordered. Peter isn’t there when the two open it. In a fit of curiosity, Brian fairly tears into the package, only to discover gobs and gobs of pornographic photographs. He subsequently freaks, giddier than your Aunt Nancy on hash. This will happen more than once. Obviously it’s a mistake, but not so easily resolved. They can’t just throw them in the trash, because the rubbish collectors will know from whence they came.
Set in England in 1973, written by Anthony Marriott and Alistair Foot, No Sex, Please, Were British is a comedy of manners. A reflection on propriety. An uninvited parcel of contraband arrives, a catastrophe in the making. Peter and Frances feverishly try to sort out why they’re the recipients, and more urgently, the most expedient way to ditch the stuff. Supposedly, if this box didn’t contain smut, they wouldn’t be making such ridiculous choices. They keep fobbing off the pornography on Brian, a subordinate, without once asking themselves if he’s even remotely reliable. The possibility of scandal, of giving profound offense, of Peter and Brian losing their jobs gives way to hysteria. Why not take it to somebody else’s trash can? Why not take it to the woods and leave it there? It’s not as if the photographs depict anything well and truly sinister.
But of course, rationality has flown the coop. As Marriott and Foot suggest, it isn’t the presence of sex in the world. It’s demonstrated the characters are active and comfortable with lovemaking. It’s the terror of having one’s character called into question. And yet, each possible solution they can come up with is worse than the last. They try to conceal the hot box, and something worse shows up. It’s like Whack-A -Mole (c) or The Monkey’s Paw. I have a theory that Brian exists, mainly to complicate things and amplify the chaos with histrionics. Of course the piling on of one improbable result after another, just makes for escalating hilarity.
Director Janette Oswald brings her gift for managing such meshugaas, while keeping the plot crisp and articulated. She balances the attractions in this three-ring circus handily. Eddy Herring (Superintendant Paul) Ian Grygotis (Peter Hunter) Sara Parisa (Frances Hunter) Grant Palmore (Brian Runnicles) Sue Goodner (Eleanor Hunter) Anthony Magee (Leslie Bromhead )Robert Dullnig (Delivery Man) Camilla Norder (2nd Delivery Man) Blake Rice (Mr. Needham )Laura Jennings (Susan) Penny Elaine (Barbara) Katy Hill (The Other Barbara ) Not an easy task, surely, summoning this insanity, with no fear of fatality, injury or leaving a mark.
Richardson Theatre Centre presents: No Sex, Please, We’re British, playing May 26th-June 11th, 2023/ 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrcenter.net