'Rookery Nook’

Press, 3 July 1986, Page 8

'Rookery Nook’

“Rookery Nook,” by Ben Travers. Directed by Tony Taylor for the Court Theatre. From Wednesday, July 2. Running time: 8 p.m. to 10 p.m. Reviewed by John Farnsworth.

It was the recent master farceur, Joe Orton, who declared his debt to Travers’ consummate command of comic plot and pacing. He had much to thank him for as “Rookery Nook," one of the admired Aldwych comedies of the 20s, refreshingly illustrates.

This is a tale of two cousins who conceal a delightfully unexpected female visitor, only to face mounting suspicion of their intentions and Imminent discovery of their guest. With all the farcical devices of misunderstanding, pursuit, guilty secrets and delayed revelations, it prettily our

from its mechanics to its mischievous charm. However fresh, it is still a period comedy, and the ethos of those English upper-class days can be difficult to recapture. Certainly, this production makes surprisingly heavy weather of it.

Surprising, because the set is appropriately quaint, the costumes aptly flapperish, and there is a nod to “Upstairs-Down-stairs” proprieties. But it is not enough. Travers’ elegance is buried beneath an overlay of broad farce treatment, which coarsens the sparkle into a stream of heavy-handed comic moments.

The impression is reinforced by a bewildering irrelevant use of a stroboscope for transitions. The result is a style which frequently dithers between simple realism and high camp. Of course, areas do work. Travers is too funny to succumb, and

the last third does build to a comic climax. Beneath this, however, is a sense of insecurity in the material, and about the period, and good scenes sometimes simply get played too hard. Amongst the principals, Paul Barrett produces some consistently excellent timing, partnered by Ross Gumbley who could make more yet of his part. Eilish Wahren is an effective foil as the simpering flirt, but Davina Whitehouse’s star billing belies her disappointingly small role. Alex Gilchrist is a little too coy as a hen-pecked husband; Geraldine Brophy is an ail-too-bellevable hen. This may be an unconvincing treatment of Travers, but it does find something of its /own comic footing, particularly as the plot unfolds. The upshot is a few more belly-laughs and far less subtlety and style than we deseop;