Missy Lorelei isn't sure if the latest offering from A Play, a Pie and a Pint is meant to be ironic or is just bad.
If DC Jackson's play were to have an olfactory quality it would be that of a bushy moustachioed man, drenched in Brut aftershave, Babysham and the kind of body odour that only occurs with bri-nylon: that's right, it's back to the 1970s.
It's hard to know if this bedroom farce is supposed to be ironic, in the “so bad it's watchable” mould—if so, Jackson succeeds. Subtlety and political correctness is not even a consideration here.
There is no faulting the cast, nor Kenny Miller's direction of their pre-wedding romp with verbose, ribald poetry. Posh Sally Mallow and tightly-wound Dex Sexington (Loiuse McCarthy and Robert Jack) are to be married, when along comes long-lost twin sister of Sally, Merrrill, and seduces the best man, a geeky lech a la Robin Askwith, Randy Burley (scene stealer Johnny Austin) by pretending to be Sally and messing up her marriage plans. She's a saucy minx and no mistake, but unlike archetypal 70s “dolly birds” like Carol Cleveland, she at least gets to be funny, even when slinking around in lingerie.
The script may occasionally be possessed of a zesty nod to the Zeitgeist, with references to blog posts and Ask.fm, but in the main, the tone is strictly Neil Simon riding Benny Hill bareback while a PG Tips chimp looks on, clapping out the rhythm.
Confusion and chaos ensues, with lots of knob gags, single entendres and energy to spare, and the whole thing zips along likeably enough. But oh dearie me, I half expect to hear a swanee whistle and see Barbara Windsor pop out (arf, arf, so to speak) from behind the curtain. Somewhere, Sid James is cackling ripely in his grave.
“Ooh” and, indeed, “err”.
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