Maybe I’m just a cynic. Or maybe life has taught me well. But this isn’t the kind of story that melts my heart. Nor is it the type of humour that gets me. To be fair, I do enjoy a good romantic comedy. And this play features two of those three terms: there’s love (in spades) and plenty of jokes. It’s the good part that I struggle to find — maybe because it’s simply not there.
It’s true that this genre isn’t particularly known for its depth or originality. The plots are overwhelmingly similar, and the characters fit into the same moulds. However, it takes talent to make the recipe taste different without changing any ingredients. Many 90s and early 2000s films have perfected the formula to their advantage. This is not the case, though. Quite the contrary, indeed. The jokes lack spice, and the recount isn’t bittersweet enough. At best, it tastes sour, and it rapidly goes stale. If it’s any consolation, it was rather insipid from the beginning.
The script doesn’t need to be exceptional in order to work, but there should be some elements of distinction. Most importantly, it should meet some basic requirements: the personages need sparkle; their situations ought to be resonant; and above all, a sense of endearment should permeate the narrative and, ultimately, win the audience over.
Douglas Lyons’s writing hints at these aspects. But for the most part, it comes off as bland. Some people might see their love lives reflected some way or another, but that’s only because nearly everyone has gone through breakups, infidelity, and rekindling. That doesn’t make it redolent, it just makes it vague. In the end, the whole thing is too sketchy to be meaningful. It doesn’t speak to the viewer on an emotional level. And the events aren’t droll enough to keep them amused, which inevitably leads to a complete loss of their investment.
The jokes aren’t witty either. Overall, the conversations feel regurgitated from something we’ve heard before and in a far better state. They get a laugh out of the audience, but that’s closer to a coping mechanism rather than a natural response. They are not very funny. They are just passable, if not flat. Their observations on romantic relationships are superficial and demonstrate little perceptiveness.
There’s no real voice. It’s like the play was penned after reading a manual on what dating is like instead of drawing from actual experiences. It ticks a few checkpoints (including the cliched, sassy gay who can’t find a boyfriend because- surprise, surprise -men are terrible), but it doesn’t bring a breath of fresh air. It’s too artificial and hackneyed — and just as unengaging.
The cast still compels despite the material’s many flaws. Marisha Wallace is electrifying as the self-conscious Jada, delivering a performance that teems with high-octane comicality and star quality. Nonetheless, the highest praise goes to Michael Rishawn and his impeccable multi-role portrayal, where he transforms into totally different characters with absolute command — to the point that you may genuinely believe you’re not watching the same person act.
No one expects a masterpiece when coming to see a rom-com, but second-rate entertainment is unlikely to be everyone’s cup of tea. Sadly, this is exactly what Table 17 offers. Rather than carving out a niche, it blends into the nondescript, parroting what others have already done, but with less skill. It doesn’t bring anything new. Nor anything worth remembering or revisiting. And odds are viewers will fall out of love, actually.
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All pictures credit to Steve Gregson.
Table 17 plays at London’s Kiln Theatre until 24 October. Tickets are available on the following link.