Photo courtesy of J. Stubbs Photography (https://jstubbsphotographyvb.com/)

“Sardines?  Sardines.  Sardines!  You don’t get to see that fish take center-stage all that often.  Anchovies?  Yes.  But sardines?”

This was indeed the conversation in our row during the first intermission of “Nothing On”, a show described as “the funniest farce ever written”, playing now at the Grand Theatre and produced by Otstar Productions Ltd.  I must have missed the show starring the anchovies, though I am perhaps more familiar with them as the often reviled pizza topping than I am with sardines – my only experiences with them being the turn of phrase about being squished into a small space and the “how many kids can we fit in a closet” child’s game.  And yet, it turns out – when given the opportunity – sardines are up to the task of delivering hilarity – for it certainly isn’t the confusing plot, the drunk and/or fighting and/or improvising cast, or the embarrassing direction and stage managing that has people selling out the run of the show.

Where to start with this disaster of a piece?  Maybe with the strange set, which included at least eight – count them, eight! – in-universe doors/exits (many of which could not seem to stay closed or be opened when called upon), doors/exits which seemed to lead to an ever changing list of rooms, and one “trick” window whose only “trick” seemed to be breaking at the wrong time, every time.  In one particularly pathetic moment, Belinda Blair, in the role of Flavia Brent, pulled a handle right off a door – and just kept on trucking.  Not sure what the right reaction would have been, but holding up the doorknob and trying to play it off as intentional was not it.

Maybe I should have started with the crazy front-of-house announcements leading up to curtain.  We were told twice (two minutes apart) that the show would start in three minutes – once by a tired sounding man who I must assume was stage manager Tim Allgood, whose last name is a trying representation of what this show was not – and once by a very frustrated sounding woman who I’m guessing was assistant stage manager Poppy Norton-Taylor.  Well, you’d think after that blunder they might have communicated – but no.  We were then inexplicably told the show would start in one minute – and then in two minutes – and then imminently – all in quick succession, making me feel smug that I had used the restroom upon immediately entering the theater as opposed to the half of the audience who apparently wait for an announcement to then run to the toilet to pressure-pee (and proceeded to miss the opening monologue). 

Not that there was much to miss, with the show opening to Dotty Otley as housekeeper Mrs. Clackett taking the strangest tone with some caller to the house, as if she had been cuckolded in some way just before coming onstage but totally unable to control her emotions – but that is never addressed.  Those late-bathroomers did miss the entrance of the aforementioned sardines, which thankfully never leave the stage at all, despite dialogue to the contrary.  In walks a weary-looking Garry Lejeune in the role of Roger Tramplemain, a real estate agent who thinks the house empty and so has brought his side-piece, the Betty Boop-inspired Vicki, for a romp in one of the many bedrooms.  Vicki is played by Brooke Ashton, who, for her part, does seem to “stick to the script” in a way that the rest of the cast can’t seem to – at least until she seems to go blind in the middle of show.

By this point, the audience had begun to turn.  We always are rooting for a show to be great when we show up – after all, who wants to spend a couple of hours NOT enjoying themselves?  And things are awkward for the audience when a show is like, meh.  But, when it becomes clear that a show is just completely falling apart – the audience can smell blood (well, not as much as the feckless Frederick Fellowes, who spent the entire show attempting to hide his bloody nose while performing as Philip Brent).  And so the mob of an audience came to life, brutally laughing when props were in the wrong spots, when it became clear that Selsdon Mowbray was drunk and unable to remember his lines, and when another backstage miscommunication led to two understudies and the primary actor in the role of the Burglar all coming into the same scene. 

I would LOVE to see the chaos happening backstage (you can, in fact, basically hear the chaos all the way out in the audience).  I can only imagine the infighting that must be occurring, which the actors just can’t seem to put down even when in character.  And with all the ins- and outs- of these characters, it must look like a VHS tape on fast forward back there.  They should do a whole second act where we just watch that hot mess transpire – now THAT would be entertaining.  Director Lloyd Dallas should be ashamed of the output here – although I’m pretty sure he just phoned this one in and has moved onto some Shakespeare play.  Might have to review that one too just to get some more hate-clicks on our website.

To those of you who have tickets to this production – good luck.  I can’t imagine it would go so poorly in the following weeks, but with such a quickly degrading group, perhaps the show will be worth the popcorn.  Although something tells me it might just be so consistently poorly done that it will be worth your applause.  You’ll have to tell me though, as I have a sneaking suspicion that at least Ms. Otley is getting paid related to this show – and that is against our eligibility requirements.  So I won’t be giving any more thoughts to this “Nothing On” – an apt title for a show where everything was tried and nothing worked – other than maybe a well-deserved Leading Actor nomination for those sardines.  I hear a completely different group is giving a go at some show called “Noises Off” at the same times as this one over at the Little Theatre of Virginia Beach – so I might try that instead if I were you.