stage
Funny Business
Laughter on the 23rd Floor fights writer's block. By J. Cooper Robb
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You must be joking: A bunch of comedy writers try not to get fired.
If you’ve ever wondered what happens when actors get sick right before their performances, here’s a scenario: Due to a sudden illness, actor Chris Faith—performing in 1812 Production’ Laughter on the 23rd Floor—was a last-second no-show (with no understudy waiting in the wings). Not wanting to cancel the performance and disappoint a near sellout crowd, Assistant Director Noah Herman grabbed a script and a costume off the rack,
Laughter on the 23rd Floor Through May 7. $20-$35. Plays and Players Theater, 1714 Delancey St. 215.592.9560. 1812productions.org
P H I L A D E L P H I A W E E K LY April 27 - May 3, 2011 • 28
quickly adopted his best Russian accent and bravely took the stage playing Val, a Russian immigrant and the lead writer on a fictional TV comedy variety series. Neil Simon’s Laughter is based on the time the writer spent on Sid Caesar’s Your Show of Shows, a popular comedy/variety show that dominated television airwaves in the 1950s. The show’s writing staff was filled with young, eager talent who would go on to find fame and fortune in theater, film and TV. In addition to Simon, Caesar’s writers included Mel Brooks, Larry Gelbart (who went on to create the TV series M*A*S*H and the Oscar-winning Tootsie) and Woody Allen, among others. Laughter is set entirely in the writer’s room—a frantic and stressful work environment—of the fictional Max Prince Show. Arguing seems to be the writers’ chief strategy for developing ideas, and the tension is palpable as they try to meet the demands of creating a weekly 90-minute show. Val tries vainly to keep everyone
on track, but it’s like trying to control an especially unruly group of second-graders. The boss, Max (the terrific Pete Pryor), only adds to the atmosphere of chaos. Stressed by the increasing demands placed on him by unseen network executives, Max has resorted to drinking, popping pills and punching holes in the office walls. Everyone seems to know that it’s just a matter of time before the show is canceled; a victim of the American public’s fickle tastes. Due no doubt to Faith’s absence, the first act of the performance was a little unsure of itself. Even with Herman reading the part of Val (which he did with admirable panache), the ensemble’s timing was excellent, but the production was still out of step, like an orchestra playing with an unidentified instrument slightly out of tune. Only Pryor seemed entirely unaffected. In fact, he was making the most of the occasion, at one point playfully grabbing the script from Herman to double-check a line. By the second act, however, the production (aided by an enthusiastic and supportive audience) had regrouped and was firing on all cylinders. Among the regulars in the cast, especially strong performances are turned in by Dave Jadico, who gives a silky smooth performance as the level-headed writer Kenny (based on Gelbart), and David Ingram, who is hilarious as the often belligerent hypochondriac Ira (who is instantly recognizable as Mel Brooks). Strong individual performances aside, Laughter is first and foremost an ensemble piece, a construction at which 1812 excels. Like the characters in Simon’s comedy, most of the actors in director Matt Pfeiffer’s cast know each other well and their familiarity suits the play nicely. In their hands, Laughter becomes more than a collection of one-liners. The jokes are funny, but the production’s best feature is that it depicts the writers as a family—albeit dysfunctional. We sense the mutual respect and admiration the writers and Max have for each other and without being overly sentimental. So don’t be surprised if you find yourself at a play wondering where the lead actor is. 1812 isn’t the only area company that doesn’t use understudies on a regular basis. In fact, typically only Philly’s largest companies (the Arden Theatre Company, Walnut Street Theatre and a select few others) regularly employ backups. The result is that most companies resort to prayer and knocking on wood that an actor won’t suddenly fall ill. As 1812’s Artistic Director Jennifer Childs says, it’s “all part of the joy and terror of live theater.” n