Part farce, part dark comedy, the play is written in the British tradition of comic social commentary: Close your eyes and you will hear echoes in the dialogue of Shaw and Wilde who knew a thing or two about standing truth on its head.  Close your ears and you will see Charley's Aunt and The Importance of Being Earnest only this time with no holds barred.

The play is a spoof on detective stories of sorts, so prized by the Brits, with perhaps the oldest mystery (or fear) under consideration: Who's Your Daddy?  As such there will be no Butler per se, but you will see a part of an iconic historical figure, and much, much more during this fast-paced performance: mistaken identities, cross- and un-dressings, master-slave tensions and reversals, jack-in-the box entrances and door-slamming exits, recognitions and discoveries, and the granddaddy of plot devices, the deus ex machina.  Sacred cows are filleted then skewered and served rare.  So many literary conventions are decapitated in The Butler you might call it a genrecide.

The play opens with a psychiatrist, Dr. Prentice (Douglas Rees), resorting to the oldest of interviewing techniques, the casting couch, for use on a prospective job applicant, Geraldine Barclay (Amanda Cooper).  These seduction shenanigans are interrupted by the maritally and sexually frustrated Mrs. Prentice (Helena Ruoti) in hot pursuit by Nicholas Beckett (Sam Trussell), a hotel page with a proclivity for theft, seduction, blackmail, and that most heinous of British crimes, upward class mobility.   Such a plot as there is thickens with the arrival of Dr. Rance (Martin Giles), an inspector from Her Majesty's Government, who launches into an accusatory line of questions that confirms some deeply cynical and far fetched theories of psychiatry, which as it turns out (within the context of the play)... are true!  Into this stew is thrown Sergeant Match (Jeffrey Carpenter), a stand-in for working class respectability and middle class values.

Mr. Giles as Dr. Rance is a sight to behold - part shaman, part showman - as he sells the characters and the audience his ever-expanding worldview.  He delightfully ferrets out each and every piece of information to fit his cockamamie Freudian ideas and pursue his quest for celebrity.  He gets positively demonic at times as his theories take hold of his mind; his pressure of speech, with an internal rhythm, lead you to question who is certifiable here?   When the inevitable standoff occurs with his collaborator in crime, Dr. Prentice, it's hard to play favorites in the rush to institutionalization.  Mr. Rees expertly juggles the many cupboards in his character's mind as the urge to gratify fades to a need to cover-up.

Ms. Ruoti continues to impress with her acting range, this time as a comedienne, playing her character at times with a hunted look, at others shocked and frantic, while flashing barbs of caustic wit and visual daggers during domestic fisticuffs with her stage hubby.  Ms. Cooper has a nice turn as the ingénue unwittingly caught in the sexual and psychiatric intrigue, while Mr. Carpenter shows his character's dogged nature in his quest for justice and effort to restore the moral balance, leading to a return of the family jewels (!).  Mr. Truscutt gives us a look at an acting talent to come with an excellent characterization of the alternatively conniving and servile hotel page which circumstances transform to the Full Monty Nicholas.

The scenic design (Gianni Downs) featured a panoramic sixties look with muted colors of brown, off-white, and dull green, with much space and doors for the characters to express themselves; the wall art had a nice touch with H&HRMs portrait hung delightfully askew.  Sound (Elizabeth Atkinson) captured the Swinging Sixties prelude with a medley of Beatles tunes and closed with Motown, while the opening pomp and martial flourishes heralded the party line, punctuated at times with the just liminal cuckoo clock.  Costumes (Erin Rittling) and lighting (Andrew Ostrowski) blended well with the overall design and enhanced the performance.  A big hand for the dialect coach (Natalie Shirer) who preserved the King's English while distinguishing class.    

The language of the play is remarkable in many respects: the way we use words to gain power and how its very subtlety and conventionality may be at odds with its meaning, its subtext.  The labeling of subjects calls to mind the famous Rosenhan study (1973) where eight sane pseudo patients, who claimed to hear unclear voices, were admitted to and kept in psychiatric wards for an average of nineteen days with the diagnosis of schizophrenia and manic depression; no one could leave until they agreed to the "diagnosis" and took their anti-psychotic medications.  The study has been frequently replicated.  The power of roles is also striking: no one questions the doctor's authority (or reason) when commanded to "take off your clothes." For a look at the roles we all play or participate in as audiences, see The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffman (Anchor Books: 1959). The language and structure of the play need to be savored to be truly appreciated; due to the rapid, at times breakneck pacing of performance, a great deal may be missed.  Pick up Joe Orton: The Complete Plays with an introduction by John Lahr (Grove Weidenfeld: New York: 1976) to see what you're missing.  This is a book for serious theatergoers to have in their repertoire and on their bookshelves.  For a look at the life of the playwright check out Prick Up Your Ears (1987), directed by Stephen Frears, and available on DVD.

Dramaturgically, the play gets a little repetitive at times, and at the end with all the phallic humor, a bit juvenile.  Still it's a farce and dark comedy well within the conventions of these respective forms of humor.  Directorially, it would be interesting to see a curtain call staged as a synopsis, as in Lend Me a Tenor, to a silent Butler for closure, though the dance routine employed in this show worked for me as well.

Sound check:  Low to moderate with high sound levels at the finale

Program notes: very good with extended director essay and article about Joe Orton by Randy Gener; and good actor bios and head shots.  Might have included a glossary for Briticisms and time line for sixties history and scandals     

Applause meter: Highly recommended, 3 ½ hands. Contains nudity and mature themes

Runtime: 2hours and 10 minutes with an intermission

Photo credit: Suellen Fitzsimmons