Respected partner in a publishing firm Robert Caplan (Ben de Halpert), and his wife Freda (Wendy Albiston), host a dinner party with at their house in Chantbury Close. After the sound of a gunshot and a woman's scream in the opening blackout, lights go up to reveal the women in the drawing room listening to the end of The Sleeping Dog, an after-dinner radio play they discuss as the men join them from the dining room. The assembled company moots the merits and pitfalls of awakening the truth or instead letting it lie undisturbed, and this debate establishes the theme of the evening's events. Robert decides to excavate unsavoury truths lying beneath an intriguing remark by Olwen Peel (Brigid Lohrey) to Freda about a cigarette box that once belonged to his late brother Martin, thought to have commited suicide a year earlier.

Dogged and probably drunk, Robert interrogates fellow publishing colleagues Charles Stanton (Martin Durrant) and Gordon Whitehouse (Oliver Wallace) about a £500 theft for which Martin had been blamed, and digs up numerous skeletons closeted within the ostensibly suave group. Even Gordon's pretty wife, 'stuffed doll' Betty (Lucy Grainger) is dragged into the fray, whilst novelist Miss Mockridge (Lainey Shaw) leaves before the worst of the revelations are made, yet observes enough to spread damaging gossip around London, should she wish.

As the three-act play by writer JB Priestley (1894-1984) unfolds, an intricate web of lies, unrequited love, extra-marital sex and private suffering is revealed. The play ends with a curious rewind to the opening scene in which the party is instead accidentally diverted from the 'dangerous corner' in conversation by a dance tune on the wireless, leaving secrets unearthed as they dance into the night. Is JB Priestley suggesting that exposing the sordid reality behind the facade can do more harm than good? That it is better to let sleeping dogs lie? Or is he asking that people be more cautious about hiding the truth, since a quirk of fate might uncover everything as we stand by, helpless? Does a man dragged out in the middle of the night to be called a liar, a cad, and a thief by his friends at least deserve sandwiches? Theatre company Show Don't Tell manages to pose serious questions without neglecting opportunities for uproarious humour.

Wendy Albiston is an earthy, smart Freda Caplan. Wearing a black evening gown and a watchful air, she commands the space with dignity and commits to the role of a woman grieving for her dead lover and equally-dead marriage with impressive focus. She executes ably Freda's lapses of dignity too, in a violent spat with her brother Gordon, igniting an explosive cocktail of sibling rivalry and lovers' jealousy, and when Olwen describes Martin as 'an obscene lunatic,' at which she dissolves into paroxysms of despair and rage.

Ben de Halpert plays fragile, angsty publisher Robert Caplan, regarded as 'absurdly persistent' in disturbing hidden truths. Propped on a walking stick, the actor achieves an awkward physicality to convey a lack of emotional balance and skewed sense of perpective, visibly teetering with revulsion as Freda confesses her love for his dead brother. The actor delineates Robert's decline from self-satisfied dinner host to a man driven to the point of self-destruction when he realises he has 'lived among illusions', and appears suitably crazed as Charles suggests he talks 'like a man in a melodrama'.

Martin Durrant is a master of deadpan sarcasm as Robert's colleague Charles Stanton, and uses expressive eyebrows and laidback gestures of resignation as he points out to the assembled party that if you go after the truth as Robert has done, you must accept what you get. Charles's opportunistic bent has perhaps served him well in attaining a respectable career without the same advantages of wealth and education as his fellow partners, but in taking advantage of financial and sexual chances that have come his way, his opportunism now earns contempt from the others, and he is cast out as the outsider he really is. With considerable subtlety, the actor conveys the character's gradual progression from his cool, laissez-faire attitude to a more defensive stance, responding at times like a cornered animal before attempting to bite back.

Lucy Grainger shines as Betty Whitehouse, wife of Gordon. Her voice is an obvious asset, and she achieves a bell-like clarity of speech with impeccable phrasing and comic timing. Clad in shocking pink down to her bubblegum-coloured fingernails, she flits about the stage like an exotic bird, fluttering almost imperceptibly as her distress rises, before her moment comes to confess all, revealing a much steelier side. One of the many enjoyable comic passages she handles with aplomb is when her heightened paraonia turns to devastating disappointment at being told by Freda that she is in fact 'the one person we haven't been talking about'. A fine performance.

In rose-patterned lacey gown and Louise Brooks-style black wig, Brigid Lohrey is striking as Olwen Peel. From the start she plays Olwen as social wallflower, giving away little and clinging to the periphery of conversation. Once forced into the spotlight, however, her Olwen exposes a flinty, judgemental edge, tortured by her own unfulfilled hidden desires but unforgiving towards others who seek to satisfy theirs rather than suffer. The actress's lethal, crystalline tones give her a politician's edge in quickfire passages, though she becomes mesmerising in her softer, confessional speeches, holding audience interest with an emotionally-charged stillness.

Lainey Shaw is entertaining as the novelist and renowned gossip Miss Mockridge. Her flamboyant outfit of silvery headscarf, swirling kiss curls, and fern-patterned velour and satin gown works well with the actress's larger-than-life portrayal. Using a range of bold gestures and wide-eyed expressions, she makes the most of this comparatively small role. For example, she ekes out Ms Mockridge's three 'goodbyes' to the group, just as things are hotting up, through lingering farewell flourishes, as her desire to snatch just one more morsel of information competes with her eagerness to start spreading salacious gossip as soon as possible.

Oliver Wallace plays publisher Gordon Whitehouse as an immature, selfish and melodramatic young man. Endearing exuberance in the early scenes descends into petulant spite and theatrical self-pity after he is called back to Chantbury Close for Robert's inquisition which exposes the double-life he leads that maroons his wife in loveless isolation. The actor succeeds in inviting both sympathy and revulsion, as he oscillates between understandable misery and unforgiveable cruelty to Betty.

Director Daniel Brennan shows his mettle with well-constructed staging appropriate for this 1930s classic. He also demonstrates an ability to draw detailed characterisations from his cast, though the (perhaps deliberate) style of performance is rather more naturalistic and less-restrained than an original audience might have witnessed. Some scenes are particularly loud, and overtly emotional. The meticulous choroeoghraphy of the opening scene is revealed in full glory at the end when, in the repetition of every sideways glance and surreptitious stare, there's an appreciation of the extent of their deceptions which remain undisclosed, possibly forever. The characters remain trapped with their painful secrets, and the stiff, formal dance that concludes the play serves as a metaphor for the artificial constraints society imposes. Does the repressive discipline of the dance signify that this is a better outcome? Like JB Priestley, Daniel Brennan passes no judgement and leaves that for the audience to decide. However, as the lights of the drawing room dim to black, a brightness emerges beyond the swaying roses outside the window, inviting contemplation of what the new dawn will bring.

Although set design is not credited, stage manager Cassandra Watters must have worked closely with Daniel Brennan in conceiving and sourcing items that create a plush drawing room of the elite, complete with wine-red drapes, art deco lamp, abstract oil canvases, a marble mantelpiece, and a mahogany drinks cabinet. Sound designer Pascal Sirletti conjures up authentically-crackly snatches of wireless programmes and the eerie sounds that indicate the play's time-reversal. Costume designers Deviant Stem dream up splendid evening gowns, with Betty's and Miss Mockridge's especially serving as pleasing thumbnail sketchs of the characters.

Show Don't Tell's production succeeds through well-drawn characterisation, unfussy staging, an evocative set, and deft modulation from moments of suspense-driven comedy and melodrama to touching, intimate confessions of guilt-ridden love. Dangerous Corner is shown to be more than a trifling drawing room drama, though there are conventional plot twists and witness-box speeches aplenty, and the production accomplishes both comic and tragic aspects with finesse.

Cast Credits: (alpha order): Wendy Albiston - Freda Caplan. Ben de Halpert – Robert Caplan. Martin Durrant – Charles Stanton. Lucy Grainger – Betty Whitehouse. Brigid Lohrey – Olwen Peel. Lainey Shaw – Miss Mockridge. Oliver Wallace – Gordon Whitehouse.

Company Credits: Writer – JB Priestley (John Boynton Priestley (1894-1984)). Director - Daniel Brennan. Stage Manager – Cassandra Watters. Sound Design – Pascal Sirletti. Costume - Deviant Stem. Lighting - uncredited. Technical Operator - uncredited. Furniture - Michael Friend Productions. Company – Show Don’t Tell. Thanks to: Kate and Karl and The Brockley Jack; Angie and Alex at Pollyanna; Philip and Tom at Pacific Playhouse; Sandy Staples, Ben Bailey and Trudi, Dave, Katherine, Tabitha, Simon, Karen, Nila, Gemma, Adam and Anne for the front of house duties. Programme note: Show Don't Tell was founded in 2004 by a group of actors inspired by the teachings and techniques of Viola Spolin.

END

(c) Tara Paulsson 2008

reviewed Tuesday 13 May 08 / Pacific Playhouse

Fringe Report (c) Fringe Report 2002-2012

www.fringereport.com