What The Butler Saw at The Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey

Go see it. 

Soon, I'll launch into my critiques. But go. Whatever my objections, whether quibbles or substantial, What The Butler Saw is rarely revived, especially in the U.S. -- a shame, for such a hilarious, farcical and absurd play. (My not-very-thorough search found a 2014 Monmouth County, NJ, production, surprisingly recently, but at a college, not a regional theater.) Nothing I say should dissuade you from seeing the play, breathing, moving, and living on stage. You need to experience What The Butler Saw in person, have your brain blown open by lines of dialogue tossed as if they were thought to be pineapples not grenades -- they are grenades -- and laugh away so-called authorities' rules, those seemingly reassuringly familiar paths to peace and harmony which hide their oppressions behind bars to the same.

On to my considerable caveats. Red flags about the evening ahead began before the action onstage did. At the risk of myself amplifying the very wrong I object to, I must reveal that within the evening's playbill the Director's Notes begin, unfathomably, with the choice to cast the theater goer's first impression of the play in terms of the murder of the playwright by his male partner.  WTF?!? What does Joe Orton's demise at the hands of his reportedly unhinged beloved have to do with the play? Are we to think that what we are about to see onstage was inspired by the absurdity of Orton's death? Or by his Gay life, as if The Gay was or could be isolated from anything else in it? If giving insight to the play were the motivation, wouldn't we be far better served to learn how, in contrast to prior decades of bleak sacrifice and stiff coping with hardships, a decade of a youth culture with disposable income had failed thus far to cause the British system of class norms to give up its tight grasp on expectations of what is acceptable behavior and what is taboo? None of that is even lightly touched on. All of that is more fundamentally relevant, absurd and farcical than falling in love with someone with mental illness, Gay or not.

But that did not ruin the play. The playbill misstep was quickly forgotten as the play itself also quickly proved marvelous.  It opens on Dr. Prentice (Peter Simon Hilton), in charge of his psychiatric practice, interviewing a young woman, Miss Barclay (Allison Layman), to be his secretary. It eases into its absurdities more than it pokes fun at norms, engaging the audience with reverberant, irreverent wordplay right away. (Miss Barclay: "I've no idea who my father was." Dr. Prentice: "I'd better be frank, Miss Barclay. I can't employ you if you're in any way miraculous.") Despite his droll denials, he's merely playing it cool while turning up the lascivious pressure on her, the first of an ongoing supply of authorities abusing their positions, the first in an endless series of desires thwarted, and of attempts to cover up indiscretions when not-quite-discovered. Mrs Prentice (Vanessa Morosco) gets in the first shots at wrenching back barely formed plans to misbehave.

But soon enough, one Doctor Rance (John Hutton) appears, as inexplicably yet unremarkably as ever a character has ever appeared. He takes over - or attempts to - as the epitome of one of "those placed in authority", who sees everyone and everything around him as working to abuse his authority, and each instance of impropriety as opportunities to profit from by taking those he deems mad (everyone but himself) into the system -- and to gain celebrity for explaining their behaviors as aberrant and scandalous. As such, Hutton should be the strong but hollow center of what follows, as much a protagonistic but less cartoonish villain as anyone powerful we might think comparably of in current events [ahem] who also has sociopathic, god complex, dishonest, and self-serving impulses [cough cough]. It's my sad duty to note that Hutton seems more befuddled than in charge. As it was a prime early example of a personality well-trained in the rhetorical arts of deflection when it was written, people shouldn't defer to Dr. Rance merely due to rank. He should actually be taking charge. Without that commitment to his entitlement, much of the absurdity deflates out of the character, leaving one to imagine what might have been. Disappointingly, as I watched, in order to appreciate the humor and quality of the writing, I perpetually had to compensate in my imagination for Hutton's inability to rise to the occasion.

What right do I have to appear demanding of something I had no grounds to expect? Perhaps not grounds, but I did have reasons.

This was my first time seeing a staging of "Butler...", and as inexpert as I am, I didn't want to rely on my assumptions about how it should be staged. Further understanding about the play and its tone was in order. My research on previous productions confirmed many of the instincts I had about my experience.

If one wants to learn the most rudimentary values of how comedy works, one comes to know and recognize how essential timing is to the works. That 2014 production's director, Brian P. Allen, noted that "....familiarity among the cast [is] necessary in order to make the split-second timing of the show work. The six actors need to breathe as one...." On opening night, split-second timing was as often missing as it was present, and the ensemble seems distant from one another when they aren't at that moment directly engaged in dialogue. 

And about my sense that however excellent the writing, a lynchpin went missing due to Mr. Hutton's lack of mastery? Performances of the play have been recorded. A 1987 BBC Channel 4 production stars Tim West as Dr. Rance, whose assured tone undergirds every bizarre justification that springs from his mouth. I had imagined Dr. Rance could be played even more comedically (I can't help but think of Monty Python when in the presence of British farce). But I was relieved of my concerns that my imagination might be wildly off by seeing how West played the part. ("What The Butler Saw by Joe Orton" can be viewed on YouTube. But perhaps you'd best not screen it until after you attend the Shakespeare Theatre version. All 80 minutes of the BBC's presentation are performed at breakneck speed. Compare that to what we witnessed Saturday, which took around 90-100 minutes, played slower for us suburban American rubes, and forced to pause for laughter.) 

Of lesser importance but still must be mentioned, my attention was also distracted, and I was taken out of the world of the play, by anachronisms. I thought the play was firmly set in the mid-1960s, but for the appearances of screw top liquor bottles that left a metal ring behind, plastic medicine containers, and - however pleasing the visual effect - blue colored men's briefs. I'd also counted the claw-type door handles among these distractions, but noticed them in the 1987 video. I remain uncertain whether I'm plain wrong and I'd just never seen a 60s building or set before with claw door handles, or whether the 1987 production, whose wardrobe is not very 1960s looking, was meant to take place in the 80s.

The actor who plays Dr. Prentice, Peter Simon Hilton, quoted by Bill Nutt for The Daily Record (Rockaway NJ), credits the theater for even considering a production: “Many regional theaters are afraid to put on plays that don’t have the stamp of commerciality,” said Hilton. “[Artistic Director] Bonnie [Monte] is prepared to put on plays that will challenge her audience.  In that, this theater is unique.” Unfortunately, if a 40 year old play needs to have its sharp edges hobbled to present it before a suburban audience, it ill serves the play and neglects to challenge an audience that would keenly benefit from it.

Among many other good lines are: 

"[The hotel] has a reputation for luxury that baffles the most undemanding guests."