1 min read
Wendi Peters and Robert Angell battle valiantly, but they struggle to keep afloat in a two-hander comedy that is never terribly funny.
April in Paris, first performed in 1994 when it was a nominated for a Laurence Olivier award, is a more bitter than sweet tale of a stale marriage that may - or may not - be kick-started by a romantic break in Paris. Writer and director John Godber draws a dismal picture of a dysfunctional relationship with Al as an unemployed builder, and Bet as a shoe shop assistant, both regretting 24 years of unhappy marriage.
No kids, no money, no future, plenty of bickering and back-biting. Then a competition prize – a night away sandwiched by a couple of bumpy ferry rides - that could change everything.
By the time the first half petered out - an awkward pause followed by a ripple of applause - nobody could have failed to grasp that this union was not in great shape. The point had certainly been laboured. I felt the scene had been well and truly set, and was eagerly awaiting a development after the interval - a spark of a romance, a night of passion, a humdinger of a row, a departure of some sort. I was disappointed.
Wendi Peters (below) does a fine job as Bet, sucked dry of her joie de vivre, yet with a sparkle still in her eye. She is a long-suffering fighter, pitched against a misery of husband, played with dead eyes and lips that never smile by Rob Angell.
Together they are finely cast and make a deliberately imperfect pair. If they cannot find an excuse for a disagreement they will invent one. The trouble is that the script does not give them the scope to do much more than disagree. There are occasional false dawns. "Give us a kiss," she says. "What for?" he responds. He is momentarily inspired by the Mona Lisa, a far cry from the paintings he does in his shed.
At one point, there is a discussion between Al and Bet about the weather on their Channel crossing. She says calm, he says moderate. For me, moderate was about as good as it got.
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