The Shaw Festival Review: One Man, Two Guvnors

By Ross

One can’t help but be happily drawn into the infectious fun emanating from Shaw Festival‘s main stage, even before the show begins. A six-person Skiffle Band (a form of pop music that was popular in England in the years before The Beatles changed everything) is entertaining us with a side-wink of brilliance, easing us into the 1960s, somewhere near the famed Brighton Palace Pier. And when that lovely dark-haired lead singer takes over the microphone from that other oh-so-talented Beatles-bobbed male singer, she just keeps “rollin’ on” impressively, pulling us in as she keeps “rollin’, even when we are dead and gone“. The crew around them overflow the stage, wandering up the aisle, questioning me whether I’m reading a book, or paying close enough attention. It’s a good mustache, he asks of me. And I can only say “yes”, especially after I learned that the same talented actor appeared later on in the show, and I had no idea he was the same man.

The music fills the space with a joyful energy that never lets up, even when they scurry off. The cast begins to enter quickly, from all directions, unrolling a carpet and setting the scene. The curtain opens as the Skiffle band finishes up and wanders off. And we are in. Full-force and funny from the get-go, as Richard Bean’s One Man, Two Guvnors eagerly dives into the mayhem of an engagement party, but not for the two printed on the invite. There has been a quickly sought-out change, brought on by love and by death. Or should I say, “murder.” But as diligently played out by this most excellent cast of comic pros, One Man, Two Guvnors asks us to sidestep the violence, and join in, to the metaphor of love described, and to one of the funniest farciest shows in town.

One Man, Two Guvnors, winner of the 2011 Best New Play award from the Evening Standard, beautifully resets the Italian period commedia dell’arte table setting down in 1963 Brighton where an out-of-work and desperate skiffle player by the name of Francis Henshall (brilliant on the xylophone) finds himself comically over-employed by two very different and demanding personas. It’s a simple straightforward comic set-up but etched within playwright Richard Bean’s brilliantly crafted play, there is a silly sense of chaos that comes scurrying across the table at almost every turn, sometimes even up from the audience, throwing us off-balance, most hilariously. “Hummus” anyone?

As directed with a special gift for chaotic hilarity by Chris Abraham (Crow’s Uncle Vanya, Stratford’s Much Ado About Nothing),  The Shaw Festival crew shine as brightly as some well-polished cutlery, with a fantastically funny Peter Fernandes (Crow’s The Master Plan) serving up comic courses as the easily confused and very hungry Francis Henshall. He’s center stage for this riotous farce that combines majestically the original’s iconic structure with a very British verbal and physical sense of humor layered in and on top. The result is a perfect fourth-wall demolishing explosion of ridiculousness and slapstick silliness, dished out by manic experts in the field, all for our amusement. We couldn’t have asked for anything better, whether we knew we wanted that dish or not.

Francis Henshall sits desperate and hungry outside a pub that excitedly serves food. A shocking novelty, he thinks, as he dreams of something to wet his whistle and fill his forever empty stomach, when, out of the blue, he falls almost headfirst into the difficult situation of being separately employed by two very different people, each with their own heavy trunk filled with secrets. One goes by the name, Roscoe Crabbe, played wonderfully by very game Fiona Byrne (Soulpepper’s Mother’s Daughter), who is a gangster with a twin sister and a shared secret. The other is an upper-class handsome fool, Stanley Stubbers, lovingly and handsomely played by Martin Happer (Shaw’s The Importance of Being Earnest). He also has a secret that, honestly, doesn’t seem to be sitting so heavy on his jovial heart, for he is in love, and love is everything to this silly snob. Francis tries with all his might to keep their orders in order, and the two from ever meeting. He quickly realizes that for each of his “guvnors” to never find out about the other, he’s got to be very careful with what he says, here and there, as a wise and cunning mind is required at almost every turn.

Unfortunately, as written impressively by Bean (The Nap), Francis Henshall has neither and is forever finding ways to make matters worse and far more complicated. Even more convoluted, as tough guy Roscoe isn’t really what he seems. He is, in reality, his twin (dizygotic twins, not identical, obviously) sister, Rachel in disguise. You see, Rachel, after learning that her twin brother Roscoe has been killed by her boyfriend, who, as it must turn out, is the ridiculously privileged, pain-loving (and handsome) gentleman, Stanley Stubbers, a scheme is hatched to get the two of them to Canada, (Yes, Canada, Not Australia) even though they both don’t really like to say they are “sorry“. Trust me, that’s a thing.

Naturally, to complicate things even further, Charlie Clench, portrayed by the very good Tom Rooney (Stratford’s R+J), has previously arranged for his daughter, the sweet but completely dim Pauline, played magnificently by Jade Repeta (RMTC’s Into the Woods), to marry Roscoe to settle a debt. This does not go over well for the young lady whose mind has not been “soiled by education“, as she now has an undying love for the over-the-top amateur actor Alan Dangle, played to silly perfection by André Morin (Stratford’s The Tempest). Throw in a handful of easily digestible letters, a very heavy trunk, a nimble old lady, several unlucky audience members, an extremely old waiter giving us his best unstable lava lamp impression, and Francis’ complicated love for Charlie’s dynamite bookkeeper, Dolly, deliciously portrayed by the very funny Kiera Sangster (Shaw’s Trouble in Mind) – that is easily matched by his other true love, food, and drink, and what we have is a very full and tasty meal indeed, with or without the requested sandwich.  When asked whether he prefers eating or making love to a beautiful woman, Fernandes’ Francis  delivers, after a bout of concentrated internal confusion and insight, the simple and perfectly-timed reply, “Tough one that, innit.”

In one of the more famous scenes of the play, Francis is ordered to serve a multi-course dinner to each of his ‘guvnors’ at the same time in dining rooms across the central hall from one another, upstairs at the neighborhood pub, while simultaneously trying to satisfy his 16-hour hunger that never lets up (at least in Act One). With fight direction led by John Stead (Shaw’s Witness for the Prosecution) and movement direction by Alexis Milligan (Shaw’s A Christmas Carol) guiding the physical frivolity with every ounce of comedy served up cold and delicious, the combination of visual and verbal comedy deviously shines out strong and bright. Adding the octogenarian waiter, magnificently embodied by the brilliant Matt Alfano (Shaw’s My Fair Lady), into the soup is a delightful ingenious move, serving up the dish with a pair of quivering hands and an elbow to our gut that doesn’t stop digging. Alfano, who has this amazing ability to dive headfirst down a flight of stairs, rises up again and again and delivers the scene with aplomb, mischievously blank and brilliant with every door slam and shiver.

With Fernandes holding court over us like the supreme lovable jester, the rest of the cast flourishes in his self-created manic mess. I’m out of breath and exhausted just watching all these characters run about, flying in and out of scenes and characters without a chance to even catch their breath. Harper as Stanley and Morin as the would-be actor/suitor, Alan, are both as brilliant as can be, squeezing every possible laugh out of the solidly written but ridiculous material. Bryne as the disguised and hidden Rachel delivers a brother worthy of our trembling fear while giving us so much more to be dazzled by. Not to be outdone by a soul, Repeta, when not playing Pauline, also leads a great number of funny wonderful songs through scene transitions in a perfect black wig and delightfully specific costumes by set designer Julie Fox (Stratford’s Much Ado About Nothing), with exacting lighting by Kimberly Purtell (Tarragon’s Withrow Park) and a solid sound design by Thomas Ryder Payne (Tarragon’s Redbone Coonhound). It’s a master class of comic flexibility by all, losing themselves in other characters and barely letting us in on the joke.

The play is also gifted with some fascinatingly wonderful interruptions throughout the night with songs written by Grant Oling and performed by a Skiffle-styled band consisting of a bunch of talented actors from the other side of the play; Lawrence Libor (Crow’s The Great Comet…), Repeta, Alfano, Patrick Galligan (Shaw’s On the Razzle), and Graeme Somerville (Tarragon’s Hush). The band adds to the framework of the vaudevillian pub hall, Brixton Prison delight, giving space for a much-needed reset, both physically and comedically. Combined, they all make this play, based on The Servant of Two Masters by Carlo Goldoni, a perfectly crafted delight, served up strong and hilarious by the Shaw Festival. The endless courses of verbal gags and pratfalls delight us all, giving us some glorious moments to chew on and swallow, happily. One Man, Two Guvnors mines for gold in a peculiarly funny English kinda way – with a lot of poking at Canadianisms throughout, combining genius physicality with seriously funny obstacles and plot twists, giving us even more jewels to be devoured along the way, particularly when incorporating audience members to satisfy our hungry appetite for laughs. Be warned and beware.