By Grace Suh
The Pitch
Tuesday, Sep 28 2010
Playwright Norm Foster is to theater as Danielle Steel is to literature: a happily prolific producer of reliable, mainstream entertainment who makes no pretension to art. Foster's specialty is light theatrical comedy; he has churned out dozens of slick, formulaic, punch-line-stuffed crowd pleasers. Thus the sobriquet (sometimes said as praise, sometimes as condemnation): "the Canadian Neil Simon."
Foster obviously doesn't mind the comparison. The first scene of Love List, one of his most popular comedies, begins as a fairly direct rip-off of Simon's The Odd Couple, with the flattest of mismatched stock characters (fussy, factoid-obsessed statistician Bill and his earthier, commercial-novelist best friend, Leon), a conventionally wacky conceit (Leon signs up confirmed bachelor Bill with a matchmaking service run by a Gypsy) and predictable jokes.
Like an eHarmony questionnaire for dummies, the dating service requires only that patrons list their top 10 criteria for the mate of their dreams (i.e., the Love List). The reluctant Bill fills in the list with qualities such as "ambitious" and "speaks her mind" (and protests Leon's inserted contribution: "likes kinky sex"). Premise in place, the audience is set for an evening of groaners. And yet, there must be something in that old magic after all because, scene by scene, Love List opens up, surprises and, somehow, actually works.
Much of the credit for Love List's success belongs to its three fantastic actors. Veterans Sean Grennan and Scott Cordes exhibit effortless timing and chemistry as flustered workaholic Bill (Grennan) and brash, bawdy Leon (Cordes). But it's St. Louis import Shanara Gabrielle (making her Kansas City debut) who takes the star turn, playing Justine, the embodiment of Bill's love list. A modern-day Judy Holliday, Gabrielle portrays Justine with just the right dizzy charm and effervescent obliviousness. And like slapstick heroines of old, she's comfortable using her bombshell body for comic effect. She gets an assist from director Paul Hough, who deserves credit not only for the production's polished, zippy pace but also for its costumes, which show an impressively nuanced understanding of sluttiness.
Justine's welcome arrival in the second scene sets off a chain reaction that gives the lightweight but well-constructed Love List its dramatic momentum. The play picks up steam as Bill and Leon gradually figure out the workings and consequences of the list. The list subsequently undergoes multiple revisions (as does Justine). Interesting complications result when, like Frankenstein's monster, Justine begins to have consciousness (and criteria) of her own. Gabrielle gets to show off split-second timing as her character turns, and turns again, on a dime.
For a breathless scene or two — and almost despite itself — Love List comes dangerously close to making us think. Big-boob jokes bump up against Schrödinger's cat, parallel universes and cosmic determinism (what Leon describes as "a hole in the cosmic pie crust"). Not to worry. Time wrinkles, and quick as a flash, we're back to Neil Simon territory and a neat but satisfying conclusion. Like Justine, Love List is clever enough to avoid being too smart but is just smart enough to allow your inner snob to enjoy itself.
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