By Geary Danihy
There will be mixed reactions to
playwright Joe Orton’s “Loot,” which recently opened at the Westport Country
Playhouse, as there were in its first and second iterations in London almost half a century ago. It was
panned when it was first produced in 1965, Orton did substantial revisions, and
it was praised the following year. Reasons for both the panning and the
praising are evident in this production directed by David Kennedy, which is an
amalgam of slapstick farce, black comedy, anti-Catholicism, thinly veiled
social protest and less thinly veiled misogyny.
Orton’s penchant for black comedy
led to the coining of “Ortonesque” to describe works of this ilk, but in “Loot”
a more familiar term might also apply -- “Kafkaesque” – for as the play unfolds
one can’t help but hear echoes of “The Trial” and “In the Penal Colony,” for
behind the humor there is substantial existential angst born of the human need
to make sense of what is, ultimately, senseless, that and a great deal of suppressed anger.
It all starts with a coffin and the
body inside, the wife of Mr. McLeavy (John Horton). Mr. McLeavy’s grief at the
passing of his wife is quickly challenged by Fay (Liv Rooth), the young nurse
hired to tend to the wife in her last days, for she suggests the cure for his
grief is to marry quickly – and marry her. But there is more afoot, for
McLeavy’s son, Hal (Devin Norik), along with Dennis (Zach Wagner), have just
dug through the walls of the funeral parlor handling Mrs. McLeavy’s funeral to
rob a bank. The money is now stashed in a wardrobe standing behind the casket
in what is apparently the front parlor of the McLeavy home, but soon the
mother’s body is in the wardrobe and the cash is in the coffin.
Devin Norik, David Manis, and Liv Rooth. Photo by Carol Rosegg
Orton’s real intent with all of
this doesn’t come into clear focus until the appearance of Truscott (David
Manis), who claims to be an inspector from the local Water Board but acts like
a detective. Whatever his authority, he is a representative of the State, the
mindless bureaucracy that creates conflicting regulations and operates outside
of the confines of logic. Truscott’s method of “investigating” is to ask a
series of non sequitur questions, create confusion, and then draw inane
conclusions that have little to do with reality. And yet, he bears the power of
the State – the power to have someone incarcerated for no reason, the power to
have someone brutally interrogated -- in essence, the power to destroy lives.
John Horton and Liv Rooth. Photo by Carol Rosegg
But that’s not all that’s going on
here, for Orton is also sending up the clichés of mystery fiction: the
deductive reasoning of a Sherlock Holmes; the “little detail” analysis of
everyday minutia of a Miss Marple.
Does it work? Well, yes and no.
There are some very humorous moments as Mrs. McLeavy’s body is carted about and
Truscott bandies words with possible suspects of ill-defined crimes. In fact,
much of the humor involves the simple shtick of “follow-the-bouncing-body.”
Yet, since director Kennedy has opted to play it for laughs (allowing his
actors occasionally to do some heavy emoting), rather than play it serious, or
for real, and let the laughs come as they may, you get the feeling that this
production is trying too hard to be too many things to too many people.
And then there is the misogyny.
There are two women in the play – one fully seen and the other seen in only
body parts. The one fully seen, Fay, has had seven husbands in 10 years, all of
them dying under suspicious circumstances. She is basically a succubus, a
Lilith, i.e., a female demon. The other woman – the deceased Mrs. McLeavy – has
her body tossed about like a bag of Fritos at a frat party, and although her
husband is supposed to be grieving over her demise, he bursts out at one point
that even from the grave her viperfish tongue is doing him harm, and then
there’s a line Truscott delivers late in the second act about women and
intelligence that evoked more groans than laughter from the audience.
There are those who have suggested
that comedy is nothing more than pain wrapped up with a bright red bow. There
are a lot of “funny” lines and smile-inducing moments in “Loot,” but lurking
beneath is pain, and it’s the pain that this production hasn’t confronted.
Everyone seems to be playing it for laughs, but Orton dealt with the abyss that
lurks beneath the laughter, and it’s the abyss that’s missing, the tender
terror the playwright was trying to express that is not captured.
When something strikes us as really
funny, when we roll back and roar, tears come to our eyes. Those tears speak to
the essence of humor. You slip on a banana peel and it’s funny, until you have
to go through physical therapy. This production of “Loot” goes for the laughs
and misses the tears…and the depth of Orton’s anger, frustration, fears and
hang-ups.
“Loot” runs through August 3. For
tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to
www.westportplayhouse.org
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