Big Laughs at the Ottawa Little Theatre

I had every intention of reviewing The Penelopiad for this month's magazine. I really did. Though to be honest, I wasn't exactly heart broken when I discovered it was sold out. This allowed me to utilize Plan B: see something at the good ol' reliable Ottawa Little Theatre (OLT). Sure, it wouldn't be a critically acclaimed feminist reworking of Homer based on a book by one of Canada's most respected writers, but I was certainly likely to get a few chuckles out of the whole endeavour.

My wife and I parked a few blocks away, and as we made our way up Besser Street, towards the theatre, I was reminded that my description of the OLT last month as 'a haven for the elderly' was in no way an exaggeration. A block away from the theatre, and we were already being swept up into a wave of geriatric pedestrians. Groups of little old ladies waddled down the sidewalk in front of us, huddled together in groups, in hopes of better protecting themselves from attacks by iPod yielding youth. After all, those technology addled youngsters these days are capable of anything!

"My grandson tried to take a picture of me with his telephone," a lady in front of me quietly confessed to her friend. "A telephone...."

Her voice trembled with terror as she spoke.

Upon arriving at the theatre, we discovered that the OLT had undergone renovations over the summer. The box office has been pushed back a good five feet, allowing space for two ticket windows instead of one. The traditional mosh pit, as patrons lined up at the single box office, crushed in between the inner and outer doors of the theatre, can now be avoided; which is certainly a good thing. The new design will be especially helpful during those cold winter nights when patrons will be able to line-up for tickets within the theatre, instead of having the cue spill out into the frigid Ottawa winter night. After all, it wouldn't take much to desiccate the OLT's entire audience base. An especially contagious flu bug could virtually wipe out their entire population of season ticket holders.

Once inside, my wife and I immediately made our way to the bar. Sipping a glass of wine, I informed my wife that this is the OLT's 95th season. Looking around at the sea of white hair before us, she noted that many of the people in attendance tonight were likely in attendance for the theatre's opening season as well.

A 104 year old woman, gripping her walker with a bird-like claw hand draped in translucent skin, shuffled up to the bar next to me and pre-ordered a drink for intermission. My wife and I shared a knowing look... would she make it that long, we both wondered? Silently drifting off into nothingness just before the act break seemed like a very real possibility, not just for this old lady, but for most of the audience members.

I slipped off to the washroom a few minutes before curtain. The man occupying the urinal next to me was making a series of horrific grunting and moaning noises, and then suddenly went silent. This was followed by the sound of a gentle "clink". I realized the kidney stone he had been passing had just dropped into the porcelain at the bottom of the urinal. He gave me a wink through misty eyes. "I've been working on that one for a week," he said, wiping the tears from his ancient pockmarked cheeks.

I returned back upstairs to find my wife playing mini-put. The OLT is kicking off the new season with The Foursome, a play by prolific Canadian playwright Norm Foster, and the lobby had appropriately been decked out with golf regalia. After mini-putting, one could admire clubs mounted on the walls here and there throughout the lobby, or take a guess at how many golf Ts were in a jar near the bar. The winner won, appropriately, a free foursome pass to a local golf course.

Once in our seats and flipping through the program, we noticed that the lobby was not the only change to the OLT this season. The program explicitly noted, to my pleasant surprise, that the national anthem would not be sung before the play began. As I have mentioned before, I find this particular OTL pre-show ritual especially silly. This isn't the Olympics people... its art, and true art is not bound by the artificial designations of nation states.

Though, it's perhaps a little much to label The Foursome as art. Like many of the productions at the OLT, Foster's play is much more akin to an extremely solid episode of a great sitcom than to a Kubrick film or a Picasso painting. In that sense, The Foursome is great art only so much as your favourite episode of The Cosby Show or Cheers is great art. One senses the playwright strives for a Woody Allen-esk quality to his work, but, at least in the case of The Foursome, Foster's writing lacks the distinct personality needed to push it up into Allen's level of character focused comedy... which is not to take anything away from the play. Sometimes you want The Penelopiad at the NAC, but sometimes you want a light comedy at the OLT.

The play chronicles eighteen holes of golf played by four friends, the day after a fifteen year school reunion. As the holes are played, they catch up on old times, learn how they have changed, and also learn how they have also stayed the same. They discuss children, vasectomies, religion, sex, friendship and, of course, golf.

Golf is the perfect sport for this sort of theatrical representation. It is one of the few sports that allows for (in fact encourages) discussion amongst competitors during play. Anyone who has hit a few rounds with a group of friends knows that the type of banter depicted throughout The Foursome is nearly spot on. Foster (best known for The Mellville Boys) captures the comradery and competitiveness familiar to recreational golfers everywhere, and fills the play to the brim with memorable punch lines.

The success of the comedy, as well as the sense of comradery, relies largely on the cast's performances, and actors Barry Daley, Richard Nash, Charles Moir, and Steve Martin (no, not that Steve Martin) do an excellent job of playing off one another. Their comedic timing was exact and drew huge laughs from the audience throughout the play. Each actor was given a moment to shine, but Martin, as the boisterous Rick, delivered the most memorable performance of the night.

The set spilled forth past the precium arch to the wings of the stage, where benches and golf ball cleaners were positioned, allowing for some unique blocking. Director Geoff Gruson does an excellent job of moving his actors around the stage (which itself consists of little more than a raised green "t-off" area). Gruson, however, made the unfortunate choice to have the actors place their golf club bags in the exact same spots on virtually every hole. Time and time again, you see Ted place his club near the back, Cameron off to the right, and Donnie next to Rick's close to the T. One wishes that the clubs were moved around with as much ingenuity as the actors themselves.

Light character focused comedy and sharp punch lines were certainly the order of the day, but the play's highlight happens when the narrative steps outside of the confines of comedy. Experienced golfer, Rick, explains to virgin golfer Donnie just why they continue play the game, despite often hating it. Rick's speech, describing the feeling of the perfect golf stroke, transcends the game of golf, and even sport itself. For a brief moment, the play expands out beyond its sitcom stylings and comments on something larger than itself. We are given a brief meditation on why humans do anything at all. Golf, like life, is difficult, yet we struggle forth in anticipation of those few perfect moments where everything comes together and works out right... those moments where we see the golf ball of our hopes and dreams hover just above the horizon, a silhouette against the setting sun.

It's a rare moment in a play that is otherwise chalk full of shallow comedy, and it fills out the performance nicely. Unfortunately, when a similar speech is attempted later on in the production, a rumination by Donnie on the meaning of family, it fails to have the far reaching implications of the earlier speech. The decision to lower the lights and bring up the spotlight on Donnie for this moment only emphasized the fact that it is an obviously schmaltzy moment.

But the play is a comedy and the laughs were there and in the end, that is what really matters. The Foursome was, as always, an enjoyable evening out at the OLT.

Predictably so.

If I have one criticism of the OLT, it is just that. Having attended the theatre regularly for three seasons now, I know exactly what I am going to get before I even arrive. Last year they produced Foster's play, Wrong for Each Other, this year it's The Foursome. Neil Simon is absent from the playlist this season, but he will most certainly make a return next year. Continually producing plays by someone like Foster (already Canada's most produced playwright) ensures a strong season, but it also makes for a predictable one. Just once, I'd like to see a play at the OLT and be surprised, shocked or even excited by what I see. As it is, I attend, I laugh, and I head home unchanged. The Foursome was no different. It's a perfect date play, or something to see on a night out when you're looking for some light comedy, but before long your memory of it will begin to blur into all the other OLT productions that you have already seen.

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed

Write comment

Email Name		Title Comment smaller | bigger
		I have read and agree to the Terms of Usage. Write the displayed characters Add Comment