You wouldn’t expect a professional theater in Beverly Hills to welcome its patrons directly from a parking garage—and yet that’s Theatre 40, a 100-or-so-seat venue that appears to be built right inside of a prominent parking structure on the campus of Beverly Hills High. The actors are not students—in fact, most are quite seasoned—but being so tucked away from the general public, you’d think this troupe’s got something to hide. On the contrary, their current production of Opening Night showcases some great talent, proving that looks can be deceiving.

Opening Night is a sadly realistic story about community theater gone wrong. The director takes himself far too seriously. The actors are already vying for their next roles and will stop at nothing to secure them. The patrons are trying to rekindle their marriage, and the usher dreams of one day stepping into the spotlight instead of serving silver platters of cheese puffs backstage.

It is October 1992 in North Hatley, Quebec, and Ruth and Jack Tisdale have acquired VIP tickets to the Piggery Theatre’s production of “Whisper on the Wind,” a Southern story about…well, we’re really not sure. Their tickets, rejects from the mayor, grant them access to the backstage VIP lounge, where haughty actor Michael Craig (Richard Hoyt Miller) catches Jack’s eye. Jack’s seen him in a hardware store commercial playing a socket wrench—or was it an allen wrench?—and is eager to share secrets of what he thinks is their mutual trade.

As Jack, John Combs is reminiscent of someone akin to Howard Cunningham in Happy Days. He doesn’t seem like a middle-aged man of today, or even one of 1992—there is something very 1960s about his demeanor, his attitude towards marriage and his sole interest: the World Series. Wide-eyed, beer-guzzling and career-focused, Tisdale hands out the card for his varnishing business like it’s candy, rendering him a somewhat socially awkward caricature of a husband.

His wife, Ruth (Gail Johnston), is desperate for his affection on this, their 25th anniversary, and she can only ignore his lack of interest for so long. The new empty-nesters must find a way to reconnect before Ruth gives in to the not-so-subtle advances of “Whisper on the Wind” actor Clayton Fry (David Hunt Stafford). Unlike Combs, Johnston plays her character quite seriously, and is a sweet, innocent, sympathetic woman who makes you want to pop Jack in the gut to give him some sense—as well as some sensitivity. Meanwhile, director Richard Hyde-Finch (Martin Thompson) has a few problems of his own with girlfriend Cilla Fraser (Meranda Walden) on his back about her biological clock, and his lead actress late for curtain. Michael Craig won’t leave him alone, relentlessly begging for a part in his upcoming production of The Tempest, and usher Tom Delaney (Eric Keitel) is eager to make his name known to the stressed-out director.

Thompson’s unearned arrogance as Richard becomes more humorous as the play goes on, and his frustration reaches a boiling point that makes the audience sure he’s going to start popping antacids. He goes from jerk to slapstick wash-out in just a few beats, and his delivery of lines is perfectly on-point for many a snicker.

Walden evokes memories of Lilith from Cheers—someone who enjoys her elite place in life but has a pole up her behind. Though there are a few tender moments revealing depth to her character in the second act, she is, for the most part, a one-trick pony whose sole purpose, it seems, is to create more conflict for Richard.

As usher Tom Delaney, Eric Keitel perhaps has the most promise, fully embodying his character with naivety, great comedic timing and passion for the craft.

Opening Night thrives in its second act when all hell breaks loose on stage. After “Whisper on the Wind” yields a 10-minute first act, sensual lead actress Libby Husniak (Ilona Kulinska) has passed out on stage, and the replacement actors that come to the rescue give enthusiastic performances—even if they’re not quite expected.

While the second act had its moments, overall it lacked energy, which may be due to the fact that the Sunday matinee was, as could be expected, accompanied by several patrons donning hearing aids and walkers. Some of the humor was missed on them, and without laughter and other reactions to play off of, it is understandable that the actors’ liveliness would deflate. In addition, the scene changes were lengthy as the stage crew had to flip the set back and forth, which could explain a bit of the drag.

I must give a shout-out to the flawless sound design by Bill Froggatt, who offered subtle ambient noise from crowd chatter to city traffic that further drew the audience in to the characters’ small world within the Piggery Theatre.

When I took my seat, I had expected something of a comedic cross between Noises Off and Waiting for Guffman, but in Opening Night, there is a push and pull within the script as it transitions, abruptly at times, from slapstick comedy to melodrama. The audience is never fully sure of when to laugh or take the tender moments seriously. However, the script’s awkwardness does not affect the performances of the actors, whose talents far exceed such a small stage.

And despite the script’s identity crisis, several clever lines stayed with me, from Richard’s description of opera: “2.5 hours of senseless warbling by overweight Europeans,” to his response to girlfriend Cilla’s questioning of his manhood: “I have sperm the size of bloody lake trout!” to Ruth’s backstage observation: “Isn’t it wonderful how theater people are always patronizing the patrons?” And, according to Opening Night’s playwright Norm Foster, theater critics are “endomorphic residue,” to which I must respectfully disagree.

Jenny Platt for Life In LA
May 28, 2013