Review: Sustained mirth at Florida Studio Theatre's 'The Play That Goes Wrong'

When was the last time you found yourself chuckling for nearly two hours? Sustained mirth has been hard to come by during these draining, pandemic-fixated months. All the more reason to go see “The Play That Goes Wrong” at Florida Studio Theatre, which, for all its predictable silliness, is still packed with enough creative and well-delivered humor to wipe out your worries and lighten your heart.

The concept for this play within a play – brilliantly written by Henry Lewis, Henry Shields and Jonathan Sayer of The Mischief Theater – is completely single-minded and not even terribly original. It follows the opening night of an amateur theater troupe’s production of a 1920s whodunit, “The Murder at Haversham Manor,” in which everything that can go wrong, does.

(In this case, the troupe has been localized as “The West Palmetto Drama Society” and it’s worth arriving at the theater early to peruse the hilarious “fake” program which, among other inside jokes, lists one person as everything from the lead actor to the dialect coach, prop maker and PR person. Anyone who’s ever been in community theater knows that person.)

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Preview: Florida Studio Theatre actors prepare for disaster in “The Play That Goes Wrong’

But under the seasoned direction of Bruce Jordan (who previously guided “Shear Madness” and “Spamalot” at FST) and with an octet of finely-tuned actors whose talents and timing are impeccable, this broad farce becomes something more than merely a series of run-on gags. Just when you think there can’t possibly be one more theater blunder, here comes another and another and … well, you get the idea.

There’s a foreseeable array of physical comedy – collapsing set pieces; actors knocked unconscious by doors precipitously flung open; a groaning backstage elevator that eventually bites the dust, dumping its occupant. But funnier still are the foibles of the amateur thespians, who consult the back of their hands for line reminders, whisper to each other sotto-voce and out of character, get endlessly stuck in repeating a section of the script, and histrionically over-emote, all while struggling valiantly to adapt to each new disaster.

For a production to be this “bad,” those actors have to be very good, and in this case the cast is stellar. Gil Brady as “Chris,” the amateur actor playing the role of Inspector Carter, leads the investigation into the murder of Charles Haversham (Timothy C. Goodwin as “Jonathan”) with unflappable aplomb and an impeccable British accent. But he’s not above breaking the fourth wall in exasperation; when he can’t find a prop under a pillow and an audience plant calls out a hint, he shouts in irritation, “Why are you talking to me? This isn’t ‘The Price is Right'!” Then he shakes his head and scoffs, “Snowbirds!”

For a dead man, Goodwin is unusually active. He’s a corpse that can’t lie still and frequently reappears, albeit mostly unintentionally. Scott Cote as “Dennis,” the actor playing the Haversham Manor butler Perkins, was a member of the national tour of this play and it shows. His frequent mispronunciations of script words (ominous becomes “oh-mee-noose” and cyanide “kia-neen-nee”) are hysterical, and his expressions priceless.

Jordan Ahnquist as “Max” does double duty in the roles of Cecil Haversham, brother to the murdered man, and Arthur the Gardener. His over-the-top miming and mugging for the audience will be all too familiar to community theater regulars. “Sandra” (Jacqueline Jarrold), as Florence Colleymoore, the deceased’s philandering fiancé, is hauled offstage early after an accidental blow and replaced by “Annie” (Emily Berman), the harried stage manager – that is until “Sandra” reappears for an epic catfight finale. John Long, as “Robert,” plays Florence’s long-suffering brother, Thomas Colleymoore, with a Monty Python-ish inanity.

That leaves Freddie Lee Bennett as “Trevor,” the bored and distracted lighting and sound operator, who spends his time in a tiny tech box stage left, missing cues and calls for lines as he tinkers with his fishing pole, talks on the phone or looks for his lost Duran Duran CD. At the last request for a cue, he calls out in exasperation, “I don’t know what line we’re on, brother!” – which the actor dutifully repeats.

If you think that all sounds like too much, it’s just a skeletal recounting of this energetic, fast-paced fusillade, which continues almost uninterrupted (there’s a 15-minute intermission) for nearly two hours without becoming redundant or tedious. It makes you appreciate the actors’ dedication to their art to think they can repeat this taxing commitment night after night. And special kudos must also go to Roy Johns, because with its collapsing sets, plethora of props and number of moving parts, this production can only be a stage manager’s worst nightmare.

But for those of us in the audience, coming off nearly two years of a pandemic-induced solemnity, this bounty of mirth and folly is a true gift. Even a mask won’t hide your delight at this unrestrained romp.

‘The Play That Goes Wrong’

By Henry Lewis, Henry Shields and Jonathan Sayer. Directed by Bruce Jordan. Presented by Florida Studio Theatre. Runs through March 27, Gompertz Theatre, 1265 First St., Sarasota. 941-366-9000; floridastudiotheatre.org

Carrie Seidman can be reached at carrie.seidmn@gmail.com or 505-238-0392.

This article originally appeared on Sarasota Herald-Tribune: Review: Two hours of laughter at FST's 'The Play That Goes Wrong'