There’s something rather refreshing about Mark Cantan’s Jezebel, newly opened in the attic room/oven of the Soho Theatre upstairs, in its uncomplicated nature. There’s nothing particularly ground-breaking in its format or earth-shattering in its content but rather, there’s a finely balanced comedy with a sparkling modern take on its farcical shenanigans and which, pleasingly, feels no need to try and mine elements of social relevance or emotional depth in search of ‘significance’. Sometimes a play can just be fun and not have mean anything more than that.
So it’s something of a sex farce which slides into a comedy of errors. Both in their early 30s, Alan and Robin are both coming off a series of unsuccessful relationship so when they get set up and the chemistry between them is palpable (and hilariously double-entendre-ridden), it seems their luck may have finally changed. But eight months in, that initial flame has fizzled a little and so they turn sexual adventuring to spice things up, working their way through allsorts until settling on a threesome, the kookily, hapless-in-love Jezebel being their third.
It is tempting to see something of the sitcom in Cantan’s structure – the three characters prowl about Ciarán O’Melia’s utilitarian set and when not acting in the scene, can be found delivering mockumentary-style interludes à la Modern Family – and that’s no bad thing. Lynne Parker’s production (from José Miguel Jiménez’s original direction) maintains a wonderfully sardonic tone, beautifully essayed by Peter Daly and Margaret McAuliffe as the would-be kinky couple and Valerie O’Connor’s brilliant artist who just can’t catch a break when it comes to men.