Morning’s at Seven by Paul Osborn

At Theatre of St. Clements at 46th and 9th Avenue

 

A classic comedy without the laughs!  That unfortunately describes the revival production of “Morning’s at Seven” playing at the Theatre at St. Clements on 46th Street at 9th Avenue.  Anyone who saw the multi-awarded 1980 revival knows that there are lots of laugh-out-loud moments in this 1920s portrait of four sisters, their mates, their off-spring, and life “in the golden years.”  But the current revival plays more like a Chekov play without that master’s sense of irony.

 

The failure is not in the casting.  This production has a group of a very experienced Broadway actors – Lindsay Crouse, John Rubenstein, and Tony Roberts to name a few.  These actors know how to play comedy.  So, the fault must lie with the director, Dan Wackerman, who has a history of successfully reviving old comedies. The combination of a great cast (on paper) and an experienced director drew me to buy a ticket to be reacquainted with a play that I loved when I directed a production in my days a theatre professor.

 

The humor in this play does not grow out of witty lines or surprising responses from characters.  What is funny are the delayed reactions, the unexpected facial expressions, and a plot that captures families grappling with the little things in their everyday life – oh, yes, and the possible marriage of a 40-year-old son and nephew to a woman he has been “dating” for 17 years.  Ironically, the two actors portraying the soon-to-be, or possibly soon-to-be, married couple seem to be the only players who know how to draw laughs from the eccentricities of their characters without destroying the charm of an old-fashioned play. 

 

One of the most telling indications that most this production’s failure is the fault of the director is the way he handled the “spells” suffered by Carl, one of the aging husbands and father of the potential groom.  Whenever he experiences any type of pressure, he leaves his house and bangs his head on a tree in the backyard.  But John Rubenstein, playing the temporarily unbalanced father of the would-be groom, puts both of his hands on top of each other and then bangs his head against hands, not the tree.  This is a minor buffering of the play’s humor, but this production is full of such misguided toning down.

 

What is left is a portrait of families that have tolerated each other for 40+ years coming to the conclusion that what they have is what they want – with one exception that is the inescapable laugh-line at the end of the play.  What’s most disappointing is that people who saw the 1980’s production will think their fond memory of this play is suffering from the type of forgetfulness that accompanies growing old.  And worse, those who never saw a good production of this classic will wonder what all of the fuss is about; why was this unamusing comedy revived? That’s a question that my very good memory of this play’s charm kept asking me as I watched this revival.  I sort of felt like leaving the theatre and banging my head against a tree.

 

Rating: C-

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