The Bronx-born playwright and screenwriter Neil Simon, whose phenomenal success with audiences on Broadway and beyond has frequently been at odds with critical opinion, is enjoying something of a reappraisal as he enters his 84th year. As entertainment, his prolific output has widespread appeal, but is it really art? Last May, the New Yorker's John Lahr contended at length that it is.
This revival of Simon's 1971 play about a New York couple unravelling under the pressures of city life will not do Simon's artistic credibility any favours, despite the combined star power of Jeff Goldblum and Mercedes Ruehl in the leads. Their performances seem out of sync with the rhythms of the play. Comedic mannerisms jut out in all the wrong directions. Goldblum's highly strung Mel Edison, who spends most of the time railing against dogs and sofa cushions, lacks the hilarity needed to prevent his character from grating.
Terry Johnson's production identifies topical parallels in the chill economic wind that blows through the Edisons' Upper East Side apartment, stripping Mel of his job, his male pride and his sanity, but Simon's play already feels distant from contemporary life. It does raise laughs, but they'd need a lot more kick to register in any relevant way.
