BROADWAY SNAP-SHOT
by Russell Bouthiller

Dateline: 10 April, 2003

THE PLAY WHAT I WROTE by Hamish McColl, Sean Foley and Eddie Braben may seem a bit of a come-down for its director Kenneth Branagh, the much ballyhooed director-writer-actor of Shakespearean amplitude. After all, this is nothing more than a raucous comic revue full of hoary old jokes, stupid songs and ridiculous routines. And, it just happens to be the most hysterical thing on Broadway in quite some time.

The outlandish talents of the British comedy duo Hamish McColl and Sean Foley are, for the most part, unknown to New Yorkers. Working together for twelve years in an act called "The Right Size," they made their New York stage debut in 1999 in DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN and earned a Drama Desk nomination for Most Unique Theatrical Experience. This latest endeavor crosses the Pond buoyed by the 2002 Olivier Award for Best Comedy as well as the Olivier Award for Supporting Actor given to the show's adorable costar, Toby Jones.

To describe what barely passes as a plot wouldn't do the show half justice and may well keep you out of the Lyceum Theatre all together. And, to miss this show would be a terrible mistake. Foley and McColl have been characterized as a modern-day Morecambe and Wise for whom cowriter Eddie Braben also wrote. But, that doesn't help much because most Americans have never heard of them, let alone seen their popular 1970s British television show.

Like the last bit of Anglo-humor to appear on Broadway, Michael Frayn's NOISES OFF, there is a play-within-the-play format. Hamish has written a work of historical and hysterical proportion called "A Tight Squeeze for the Scarlet Pimple." As McColl describes his artistic process, "I am France and parts of me are revolting."

Though it takes a bit of time to get the show up and running, getting there is all the fun. First, there's lots of inane banter between Foley, McColl and Jones, such as "As I once said to a horse, why the long face?" or "Her teeth were like stars... They came out at night." That's followed by loads of silly blather about Sir Ian McKellen, a Nichols-Pickles conundrum, and the highly revered "inaudible laugh." And, not to be overlooked is the running gag about Arthur (Jones) and his driving need to play the harmonica on a Broadway stage.

The piece de resistance in THE PLAY WHAT I WROTE is its Mystery Guest Star, a closely guarded secret not revealed until the unknown star makes his (or her) entrance. At the performance I attended, it was John Lithgow, dubbed Sir John for the auspicious occasion. As the star of McColl's magnus opus, Lithgow gets to parade in panniers, dance with skeletons and have his head lopped off a la Sainte Guillotine, just before massacring Sydney Carton's famous last words, "It is a far, far better thing..."

Foley, McColl and Jones have been blessed with flawless timing. Working their odd looks, rubbery gestures and distraught expressions, they take this silly material to its comic heights. Set and costume designs by Alice Power provide the perfect accessories. An act that has been worked for many years, every moment has been thought through and test marketed. As a result, THE PLAY WHAT I WROTE is a jolly good time.