In Eugène Labiche's 19th-century farce everyone has sex on his or her minds but nobody dare admit it. The word is unspoken, the act largely unconsummated, but the suggestion is everywhere. The entire play is like a frenzied unravelling of sexual frustration. Everyone is guilty but not for the right reasons. Their desires and their fantasies cause them panic, their fear of discovery leads to hysteria but nobody gives a toss about betrayal, friendship or deception.
The Marjavels' marriage is a model of suburban propriety. But there is something very strange about their household. The maid is constantly entertaining a fireman in the kitchen of their home on the outskirts of Paris, two Alsatians are imminently expected, and Ernest, the young man who lives in the summerhouse, is having an affair with Madame Marjavel, his best friend's wife.
In Gordon Anderson's ungainly production there are even unsubtle hints that there is some kind of homoerotic subtext to the relationship between Ernest and Monsieur Marjavel. The grim truth is that the Marjavels are one of those not so very unusual couples who need a third person in their relationship. Quite who is using whom is very much open to question. This revelation comes rather too late to salvage a play that makes a Brian Rix farce look sophisticated. For a farce to really work the audience has to experience the same fear of discovery that haunts the characters. For them the feeling is nightmarish. For us it is delicious. But not here, alas.
This is leaden stuff, weighed down by a translation that is full of the kind of end-of-the-pier double entendres that make you groan and that are almost impossible for the poor actors to deliver with any authority. It is hard to say lines such as "he'll be mounting my trellis at any moment" without sounding like Frankie Howerd. In this play such lines are laid end to end. It makes sex seem so dreary it might well put you off forever.
Things are not helped by a production that approaches the play at a stroll, not a gallop. You long for it to speed up, not least because it would then be over much more quickly. Like the blackmailed Marjavels and Ernest, I felt I'd been taken for a ride. But somewhere I'd rather not have gone.
To May 6. Box office: 0181- 741 2311
