Courageous cast adds buzz to predictable story at PTE

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This article was published 31/03/2017 (3431 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The Birds and the Bees doesn’t take long to signal what kind of play it is. The season-ending show at Prairie Theatre Exchange revolves around Sarah, who breeds turkeys, and her mother Gail, an apiarist: the birds and the bees, get it?

Canadian playwright Mark Crawford’s comedy — 2 hours and 15 minutes, including intermission — isn’t exactly a subtle piece of work. It’s broad and predictable, with a lot of hokey, nudge-nudge, wink-wink humour and tired tropes.

However, it’s also warm-hearted and sweet, offering genuine belly laughs and moments of deeply felt emotion. It’s aided by the four members of the all-local cast, who elevate the material and aren’t afraid to go for the gusto when necessary.

Mariam Bernstein is Gail, a 60-ish woman who raises bees on her Ontario farm (the set by Carole Klemm — the upstairs interior of Gail’s farmhouse, with an evocative sky visible overhead — is cheerful and homey.) She hasn’t let go of her anger at her ex, whom she divorced 20 years ago; she’s lonely but doesn’t seem to realize it.

She has a contentious, complicated relationship with her neighbour Earl (a wonderful Robb Paterson), who not only rents land from her, but whose wife ran off with her husband.

Her 38-year-old daughter Sarah (Paula Potosky) has come to stay with her after splitting from her husband, with whom she was unable to conceive a child. The mother-daughter relationship is rocky and much of their uneasiness revolves around their inability to talk frankly or openly with each other; Gail wants to comfort Sarah, but balks at hearing the details of her love life.

She’s also allowing Ben (Tristan Carlucci), a researcher from the university, to study her hives to gain insight into why bee populations have been dropping.

The first act is overly manic, with too many raised voices and slammed doors. It pummels us with punchlines, but it feels a bit farce-like and inconsquential, like a drawn-out setup for two foregone conclusions the audience will likely see coming.

As Ben, Carlucci’s high-strung, nerdy energy is more annoying than charming, so it’s hard to see what even the rebounding Sarah would see in him.

Earl, meanwhile, has bid adieu to his latest lady friend and has sworn off relationships. He’s looking for something with no strings attached… gee, do you think Gail might just end up being his string-free paramour?

The second act, however, settles into a more measured tone, raising the emotional stakes and revelling in the unpredictable ways life unfolds.

The Birds and the Bees is about four people, but the younger actors, unfortunately, have less to work with. Potosky has a great way with sarcastic banter, but buttoned-up Sarah isn’t given much more than that to do. Poor Carlucci is saddled with a character who is more of a prop than a person; he is also charged with delivering an inarticulate, clunky, expository speech that hits us over the head with the play’s themes.

It’s really the older folks’ show and, luckily, they’re up to the task.

Earl is written as a fairly standard “cranky old coot” character, but Paterson’s twinkling eyes, wry delivery and peacocking self-regard give him layers beyond folksy farmer. He demonstrates a gleeful lack of inhibition.

Bernstein goes from harried to glowing to forlorn her role as a woman who’s boxed up her feelings for so long, she’s not willing to keep them reined in once they’re out.

It’s not often we see examples of onstage sexuality featuring older actors, and Bernstein and Paterson’s unabashed physicality is both refreshing and sexy. (Note: the warning in the program about “partial nudity” is not to be taken lightly; the sight of Paterson prancing about in his not-so-tighty-whities won’t soon be forgotten.) Their relationship is what gives The Birds and the Bees its buzz.

jill.wilson@freepress.mb.ca

Twitter: @dedaumier