Dinner With Groucho. Ian Bartholomew, Greg Hicks. Photo by Ros KavanaghT S Eliot and Groucho Marx, after a lengthy correspondence, finally met in real life for a dinner somewhere in London, circa summer 1964. What did they discuss? Who knows. Did they get along despite Eliot’s (and his father’s) apparent antisemitism? It would appear that they must have done. Certainly in McGuinness’ play, they are effusive in their initial expression of mutual admiration and even the latter references to drinking Champagne in Israel hardly do justice to the concerns which must have underpinned the playwright’s desire to pen the piece.
Set in some sort of other-worldly restaurant, the play sees Groucho (Ian Bartholomew) and Eliot (Greg Hicks) as the only guests, served by an ageing, svelte, grand-dame hostess whose elegance is matched only by her undeniable haughtiness (Ingrid Craigie). The pair play word associations and spew anecdotal drivel at such an incessant rate that it becomes almost unbearable and has to be broken by flamboyantly gestured Charleston dancing and Marx comic mannerisms. There are references to Greta Garbo, Duck (and chicken) Soup, Houdini (which heralds a section of amateurish prestidigitation), convoluted constructs of King Lear (and his awful parents) and several sections of poetry which are self-consciously woven into proceedings. By the time our hostess utters the words “I’m tired my dear, no more” the audience, which contained Emmy award winning costume designers and a smattering of Olivier Award winning stage stalwarts, were visibly struggling.
The 2stars are for the determined and tenacious performers who battled —seemingly word-perfect — to the bitter end to deliver their lines with conviction and consideration. But in this day and age, just who the play is meant to appeal to and what sort of audience those who have mounted the production are hoping to draw, remains a mystery of considerably more epic proportions.
US soldiers stationed at Hawaii during the Second World War, pace the barracks growling like caged tigers due to the lack of anything to occupy them — aside from posturing, banter and press-ups in readiness for a boxing tournament. Soon will come Japan’s calculated surprise attack on Pearl Harbour, but before then, there’s a fair chunk of James Jones’ 1951 story to get through. The burning question, is will audiences be sufficiently engaged by the characters in this musical, to care what happens to them by the time the devastating aerial attack is delivered?