June 9, 2009
Given its title, Uncivil Partnership does not take much to guess what the play is about. The complications of a lesbian wedding with two clashing personalities descends into chaos in the elegant dining room of a flat somewhere in Chelsea. Add to this the musical contributions from a talented cast of a string quartet, and even the graceful presence of a concert harp that serenaded our interlude. Result: you have a masterful, hilariously entertaining piece of theatre.
Caroline Bird, award-winning author and poet, offers in her new work some fantastic gems of writing. The dialogue is superb, one of the best features of the play. The speech is dramatic in almost Wilde-eqsue fashion: ironic, witty, often verbose. Punchy funny lines are delivered with aplomb by all of the cast, and the use of soliloquy (direct aside addresses to the audience) was innovative, revealing glimpses into the thoughts and frailties of each character. Romantic irony, in the form of author self-reference in character monologues was clever, catching out the audience and sabotaging every possible cliché, but did grow self-indulgent with excessive use.
Kate and Marion were shining leads as the couple. Being respectively liberal and conservative, their initial trivial clash of music taste becomes a satirical clash of culture and class; the self-possessed, refined Marion is deliciously played, deliberately grating at first, becoming a highlight of the play. Down-to-earth Kate was also fantastically acted, though the accent was not entirely convincing for the character’s background. The interaction between the couple and the Quartet in the first act is brilliantly funny, introducing beautifully crafted, sometimes over-the-top characters like ethical-martyr Tilly; the smoking, boyfriend-haranguing Venice (“I wanted to be on Big Brother… but I was too educated”); endearingly n00bish, good-Christian-girl Brianna; and finally, the ‘exotic one’ Neve, whose personal agenda and revelations put the whole relationship and the wedding in peril. But amusingly, it is not until the end of act one, with the entrance of first and only male character, suave but naïve conman Rafe, that the drama truly blows up.
The second act involves more slapstick humour, often descending into chaos and farce, including a chaotic lynching scene upon a dining room table, and, as rules seem to dictate mandatory, the audience enjoys a saucily long and smugly disconcerting lesbian kiss between the leads. Let that not be your motivation for watching this, however. This ambitious play, both in content and in logistics (in carting musical instruments, to live quartet performances) is deliciously funny, rudely entertaining and well worth your money.
Caroline Bird, award-winning author and poet, offers in her new work some fantastic gems of writing. The dialogue is superb, one of the best features of the play. The speech is dramatic in almost Wilde-eqsue fashion: ironic, witty, often verbose. Punchy funny lines are delivered with aplomb by all of the cast, and the use of soliloquy (direct aside addresses to the audience) was innovative, revealing glimpses into the thoughts and frailties of each character. Romantic irony, in the form of author self-reference in character monologues was clever, catching out the audience and sabotaging every possible cliché, but did grow self-indulgent with excessive use.
Kate and Marion were shining leads as the couple. Being respectively liberal and conservative, their initial trivial clash of music taste becomes a satirical clash of culture and class; the self-possessed, refined Marion is deliciously played, deliberately grating at first, becoming a highlight of the play. Down-to-earth Kate was also fantastically acted, though the accent was not entirely convincing for the character’s background. The interaction between the couple and the Quartet in the first act is brilliantly funny, introducing beautifully crafted, sometimes over-the-top characters like ethical-martyr Tilly; the smoking, boyfriend-haranguing Venice (“I wanted to be on Big Brother… but I was too educated”); endearingly n00bish, good-Christian-girl Brianna; and finally, the ‘exotic one’ Neve, whose personal agenda and revelations put the whole relationship and the wedding in peril. But amusingly, it is not until the end of act one, with the entrance of first and only male character, suave but naïve conman Rafe, that the drama truly blows up.
The second act involves more slapstick humour, often descending into chaos and farce, including a chaotic lynching scene upon a dining room table, and, as rules seem to dictate mandatory, the audience enjoys a saucily long and smugly disconcerting lesbian kiss between the leads. Let that not be your motivation for watching this, however. This ambitious play, both in content and in logistics (in carting musical instruments, to live quartet performances) is deliciously funny, rudely entertaining and well worth your money.