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THE home of the Wicksteeds is a hot -bed of laughter born of lunatic lust. And Alan Bennett's classic farce is the po-faced, flat-toned romp that it is meant to be. Terry Day's production is blessed with players who can keep straight faces - or, in the case of Stanley Barten's Mr Shanks, very funny ones when all about them is slow-motion chaos. Arthur Wicksteed, played by Trevor Bailey, is a GP who heads a family that includes a sex-obsessed wife (Nicola Blakemore), a flat-chested aunt (Louise Fulwell) and a hypochondriac son (Craig Rigsby), with a cleaner - Joan Wakeman's splendid Mrs Swabb - who provides a resigned commentary on its constant crises. Martin Drury is the sexually-repressed Canon Throbbing, Chris Clarke the pompous Sir Percy Shorter, and Laurie Pollitt the innocent temptress. It's a gem, and it sparkles. JOHN SLIM |
THE Nonentities' latest production is the best version of this famous play that I have ever seen and easily the funniest. The choice of cast was inspired, Trevor Bailey superb as the lecherous doctor, Arthur Wicksteed, and Nicola Blakemore acted her socks off as his long-neglected wife, Muriel. Louise Fulwell also gave an excellent performance as Arthur's plain, shapeless, sister, who longs to have a voluptuous figure so that someone other than the very frustrated Canon Throbbing actually fancies her. Martin Drury was a joy as the reverend gentleman who had a penchant for looking up women's skirts and Chris Clarke was a suitably pompous Sir Percy Shorter, chairman of the BMA and ex of Muriel. The mayhem continued as Lady Rumpers, featuring Carolyn Brinton in possibly her best performance, and her daughter, Felicity, aka Laurie Pollitt arrived on the scene, the latter being pregnant and needing a husband rather quickly. Cue the Wicksteed's spotty, hypochondriac son, Dennis, as portrayed by Craig Rigsby. As always stealing the scenes, Stanley Barten played Mr Shanks, a purveyor of false bosoms, who recoils at actually touching the real thing. The one character which I found irritating, was Mrs Swabb, the cleaning lady who appears with annoying regularity. Joan Wakeman played the lady much larger-than-life and, I felt, went a little over the top. Habeas Corpus is farce at its best, with mistaken identities, men losing their trousers, old skeletons coming out of their cupboards and failed suicide attempts. The facial expressions of Mr Barten and Ms Blakemore were wonderful, reducing us to stitches, and the scene where Arthur led Shanks around the stage, holding onto his shirt (one button flying into the wings) was hysterical. If you want a good laugh, go to the Rose this week, it's great. VJS |