The Clumsy Play, the Generic Characters and the Talented Actress

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This article was published 07/02/2009 (6433 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Theatre Review:  The Blonde, the Brunette and the Vengeful Redhead
Manitoba Theatre Centre until Feb. 28
Tickets: $12.50-$60
* * * out of five

I’ve been accused of having a temperament to match my fiery red hair — but that’s just a stereotype, right?

Still, I was intrigued to find out why one of my breed is the only dame to merit an adjective in The Blonde, the Brunette and the Vengeful Redhead.

What I discovered is that the one-actor play, which opened Thursday at Manitoba Theatre Cen­tre, is a series of monologues by seven individuals who are generic — and forgettable — types, not fully drawn characters.

The wife who commits a crime of passion is a redhead, the irresistible hottie is a blond, and the selfish false friend is a brunette because it’s con­venient shorthand by an unskilled playwright.

The title could be extended to include the Jerky Neanderthal Guy, the Bewildered Tyke, the Lone­ly Old Lady and the Noble Selfless Doctor.Australian Robert Hewett wrote this laugh­sprinkled drama about five years ago as a vehicle for a middle-aged actress who couldn’t find work. Here, Kelli Fox, younger sister of Hollywood star Michael J. Fox, shows off formidable acting chops honed at the Shaw and Stratford festivals.

She’s terrific — a seasoned pro whose ordinary face and soft body aid her chameleon-like shifts in age, gender and nationality.

Fox changes costumes, makeup and wigs in sil­houette behind a scrim. It creates a sense that the characters are morphing into one another, which enhances the theme of interconnectedness. The scrim is part of an effective backdrop that sug­gests both shopping-mall architecture and a huge reflective gem, its facets alluding to multiple per­spectives.

Under the direction of Alisa Palmer, Fox is in command of each portrayal to the smallest detail, from the elderly British lady’s trembling hands to the trashy brunette’s thrust-out bustline.

But Hewett’s script, liberally Canadianized with references such as Zellers and Tim Hortons, is like a sugary donut with a hole where its insight and coherence ought to be.

We meet Rhonda the redhead first. She’s a bland but sympathetic housewife whose husband Gra­ham walks out after 17 years of marriage. When she hears that he’s involved with a blond who works at a discount jewelry store at the local mall, Rhonda goes on a rampage that ends in bloodshed on the food-court floor.

Hewett seems to be heading for a delicious twisty farce that mocks shallow suburban lives, but it’s not to be. He’s got delusions of profundity.

Each character, from Rhonda’s brown-haired friend to a four-year-old whose life is randomly touched by the crime, recounts his or her subject­ive experience of events, until we circle back to Rhonda.

It’s a technique we’ve seen better handled by far superior writers. Hewett wants to convey something about the nonexistence of one “true” version of any story; about how we create fictions to delude ourselves; and about how our actions, which are often based on misperceptions, create unforeseeable ripples in the world. He also seems to want to engage us emotionally, tacking on a heavy-handed redemptive ending.

Seldom have two hours of stage time been frit­tered away with so much pointless, stereotyping detail, trite observation and writing devoid of ori­ginal imagery or metaphor.

Fox carries off a stunning transformation into the beer-swilling, business-suited Graham. But he turns out to be a crude, one-dimensional pig. You’re left wondering what could possibly have made the redhead want to keep him in the first place.

alison.mayes@freepress.mb.ca