Playwright: Lisa Dillman, Rebecca Gilman, Brett Neveu. At: Blindfaith Theatre at the Storefront Theater, 66 E. Randolph. Phone: 312-742-8497; $20. Runs through: Jan. 6
In the theatres of late-Victorian London, circa 1895, a small orchestra often would play before the show and between the acts of non-musical productions. Certainly, there must have been occasions when the string quartet was far superior to anything onstage. So it is with Lord Butterscotch and the Curse of the Darkwater Phantom, as dreary a comedy and misguided a production as you are likely to encounter this season. But the live string-and-piano quartet is a class act, playing Mikhail Fiksel's original music redolent of Victoriana.
Well, with three playwrights, two directors and two lighting designers, it's not surprising it's a hodgepodge. Initially, I was convinced that the fault lay with the production and not the play. I thought esteemed authors Lisa Dillman, Rebecca Gilman and Brett Neveu—Chicago-based playwrights of national repute—had written a parody of a period British mystery/thriller and that co-directors Nicolas Minas and Noah Simon had misinterpreted it as a broad burlesque, parody and burlesque not being the same. But as Lord Butterscotch continued, it became apparent the authors had no more idea what they were about than the directors. It isn't at all thrilling and there's no mystery that someone systematically solves. Characters are left undeveloped, plotlines are left unpursued.The title suggests Lord Butterscotch as the gentleman detective frequently found in British genre writing, but he isn't. Hell, he isn't even the central character.
For the record, the play is set in 1895 at the country estate of Lord Wepley ( 'Butterscotch' ) . There's a tippling vicar, a drag aunt, a scheming widow, a scheming brother-in-law, a D. H. Lawrence-style gamekeeper ( good Scots burr by Chris Hainsworth ) , a virgin who's 'an ancient and withered 25' ( one of the few good lines ) , several domestics and the titular phantom making a late appearance. But Dillman, Gilman and Neveu haven't a clue what it is they are attempting to satirize or parody. It's neither Oscar Wilde nor Agatha Christie nor Alan Ayckbourn nor Ray Cooney. For that matter, it isn't Dillman or Gilman or Neveu, either. Whatever humor and wit there might be is demolished by sytematically loud and clownish staging. Grant Sabin's amusing scenic design—red curtains and a giant tea set with a steam-spouting teapot—joins the live music as a pearl cast before a swine of a play.
The mystery is why three creditable authors allowed Lord Butterscotch to be produced. Lisa, Rebecca, Brett: Consider this your Lone Canoe.