Theatre in Review: Midsummer [A Play with Songs] (Theatre Row)

	Cora Bissett and Matthew Pidgeon. Photo: Douglas Robertson

Not too far into Midsummer [A Play with Songs] the characters imagine the Hollywood version of their story, all jacked up with clichés. There is even a brief discussion of whether Hugh Jackman or Russell Crowe would make the better leading man. Such fantasizing is hardly necessary, as the script of Midsummer is a virtual compendium of romantic comedy tropes, most of them all but worn out from overuse in the movies. In fact, David Greig's script plays like a treatment for the kind of wacky-but-winsome indie heart-tugger that wins the audience award at Sundance and then gets released to little or no interest at the box office.

The setting is Edinburgh. The couple in question consists of Helena, a lawyer (the career girl with no personal life), and Bob, a smalltime operative for a local gangster. (He's the big loser with big dreams.) They meet in a wine bar and, for no other reason than if they don't there's no play, they get pie-eyed and go back to her place for a one-night stand. Greig even provides a scene highlighting their inner thoughts during what proves to be a less than satisfactory encounter. There's a pretty amusing gag in which their exertions are interrupted by the sound of a Tickle Me Elmo doll, belonging to Helena's nephew, which is wrapped up in the bedclothes. However, the doll is then made to stand in for Bob's penis, in a much-too-long sequence featuring him in dialogue with the member in question. That this is one of Midsummer's more original touches is not to its credit.

Anyway, the next morning Helena shows up, hung-over and disheveled, at her sister's wedding, just like Sandra Bullock in 28 Days. To add to the debacle, she vomits in front of the church, sending her autistic nephew into a total panic. At the same time, Bob, having offloaded a hot car for his boss, finds himself in possession of 15,000 pounds and arrives too late at the bank to deposit it. This part is especially confusing. Does the gang have its own bank account? Isn't there an ATM? Why doesn't he simply hand the cash over to his boss, the memorably named Big Tiny Tam Callaghan?

Because we're not even halfway through the play, Bob and Helena meet up again, and this time Bob decides they should take the money and go on an epic spree, spending every last note. The justification for this is something about grabbing the gusto in life for once; the fact that Bob is putting his life, and probably Helena's, in danger never comes under consideration. Instead, they buy up dozens of bottles of expensive wine and an even-more-expensive Gibson guitar, run around with some Goth teenagers, and end in bondage in a bar called Midsummer Night's Cream. Meanwhile, Helena worries that she might be pregnant -- which, considering the gallons of alcohol she guzzles in a 48-hour period, would be a disaster, as fetal alcohol syndrome would be the only possible outcome. Bob has a big secret, too, which won't be revealed here, because the author holds it back for so long. Suffice it to say it involves a young boy and a soccer game, and it does little to improve one's impression of him.

Which is the real problem: If Helena and Bob were likable enough, if we cared about what happens to them, then Midsummer might seem a delightful lark, a cheering account of lonely singletons finding a sense of meaning along with someone to love. But, between its vulgarities and twice-told plot twists, it feels thoroughly artificial; if you don't know where the story of Helena and Bob is going, you clearly don't get out much. Cora Bissett and Matthew Pidgeon are personable-enough players, and under Greig's direction, they do their level best to make Midsummer seem like a cheerfully improvised slice of the human comedy, but it resolutely fails to charm.

The production, originally created for Edinburgh's Traverse Theatre, is seen in a reasonably attractive, tour-ready package. Georgia McGuiness' set design turns the stage into a black-and-white grid, with plenty of room to hang props and costumes. It's a fairly clever strategy for a play that takes place all over the city -- a map is provided for us -- although her lighting would benefit from a few more instruments and some additional wattage. She also provides an amusingly dowdy bridesmaid outfit for Helena to wear, her early morning distress signaled by the red bra peeking out from under the cream-colored frock.

Because it is set in a Celtic city, centers on a pair of angst-ridden singles, and features occasional folk-pop songs with guitar accompaniment (music by Gordon McIntyre), Midsummer might aspire to be the poor man's version of Once. (Bob dreams of roaming Europe as a street busker, singing for pennies, and living in a tent.) But Midsummer is singularly lacking in style, and its largely unmemorable songs feel like so much padding to get the story past the 90-minute point. Every romantic comedy is really an affair between the characters and the audience, which is where this one falls short. They may fall in love with each other, but we don't fall in love with them.--David Barbour