Thinking about cheating on your wife?  Maybe first you should take in Andy James Hoover’s Corner Pocket (directed by Bridget R. Durkin).  After an evening of watching recently murdered professional pool player Glen O’Hara (James Liebman) juggle the ghost of the wife who is accused of murdering him (murdered herself soon after), his not-so-grieving girlfriend (who bounces back surprisingly fast), and the two sisters who work to make sense of his tragic ending (one wild and flaky, one ordered and logical) one can easily see that Glen might have been better off keeping his cue stick in his own pocket.  Because nothing about what leads up to his chalk outline seems to have been worth it.

Corner Pocket begins with the deceased widow, Manayunk  (It’s where I was conceived) O’Hara (Virginia Logan) … discovering she’s a ghost – fated to hang out in her house and watch her husband’s sisters converge until she and her Spirit Animal Guy (a very animated Eric Sutton) figure out her next step, which could be Oblivion, Reincarnation or some other choice — clearly spelled out in a pile of brochures which she’s encouraged to peruse.  But Manayunk is having none of it.  She’s an angry one – still mad at her husband for cheating on her, now even madder that she’s been murdered.  Unfortunately some details of how it all went down are hazy so she’s hanging around till they get cleared up.  In the meantime she’s going to wreak all the havoc she can which – to her and Guy’s surprise – is quite a lot.  Then again, she didn’t make her way to being a world ranking pool champ by being a pushover.  However, this woman is angry – so sit back.  This revenge plot could take awhile.

Alexandra Hellquist in Corner Pocket (Photo Credit: Ellen B. Wright)

Soon enough Glen’s sisters arrive; level headed Karen (Kari Swenson Riely) the older of the two who carves out a living as a chef and is back at the house to get things in order.  Within moments her free-spirited much younger sister Kym (Mary Schneider) arrives with no notion as to what she’s there for except to hang out, talk about what happened, and put various odds and ends into her huge bag.  After some exposition and more surreptitious theft ex-mistress (and another world ranked pool champion) Tessa (Alexandra Hellquist) arrives at the house.   There’s some arguing, some things blow up, Glen makes an appearance, some people become possessed (or at least, compelled), the past is shown through some flashback reenactments, puppets make an appearance (of both the shadow and hand variety), there’s a fight scene which includes a goldfish, there’s a strip down that leads to a lesbian make-out scene and … let’s see … am I leaving anything out?  I may be, but rest assured, Hoover didn’t.

There’s a lot going on in Corner Pocket.  To be fair, a  lot of the action makes sense.  But  a lot more of it pulls the focus from the main plot so drastically that it’s difficult for the audience to find the thread back to the main plot whenever it does appear.

In an effort to keep things interesting Hoover has not only written dynamic characters and delivered a thoughtful script (which is where he should have stopped) but then added in far too many bells and whistles, overdressing his story like a Jersey Shore cast member who’s on her way to the club.  The script contains just a few too many cutesy movie references, the addition of puppets would have worked better as sound cues and the random partial nudity (all but two characters strip down to their skivvies) seemed pointless (yes, even in the lesbian make-out scene).  And I’m someone who’s all in favor of seeing random stripping – if it serves the plot.  But very little of anything here served the plot which, at its core, was actually very intriguing and something I would have loved to have been able to enjoy, if only the story could have stayed out of its own way.

Bridget Durkin’s direction is  jumbled and overblown with far too much scenery chewing in an already busy production.  Characters are entering, exiting and playing from too many spots in the theatre and audience seating blends in with the stage which was distracting and pulled focus.  There are moments when there’s so much going on that between the action, the sound cues and the props this felt like a three ring circus.  Just because your characters play pool for a living doesn’t mean the action has to ricochet around the theatre like errant billiard balls.

A subtler hand might have eased a few of the crazier angles and let some of the deeper points of the story resonate.  For instance, during a moment when Glen is confessing to his wife that he loved his mistress in a way that didn’t interfere with his marriage the moment was genuine and true; you could honestly believe how this man got to the point of being with two women, needing them both equally and not seeing how one had anything to do with the other.  This is the heart of the play.  This is the very reason we’re here – it’s why Manayunk can’t move on, and why she’s driven by so much rage.  But just as the notion begins to crystallize the crazy carnival of Hoover’s story takes hold again and the focus is pulling away in all directions.

Corner Pocket can’t decide if it’s an exploration of the afterlife, an analysis of where betrayal lies within the parameters of a marriage, or just a good old fashioned ghost story.  Any one of these paths could have been pulled off well, but all three just didn’t make the braid that Hoover was hoping to execute.  It’s a wonderful thing when all the side-plots coalesce into a greater point instead of just creating noise that obscures the main plot.   With the right combination of re-writes, new direction and reworking Corner Pocket could be a solid bank shot.  But as it stands now it’s a scratch.

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• Joking Apart: To The Happy Couple!

Some people have these effortless lives; they’re naturally thin, they’re quick to laugh, they work to play, they enjoy their time off, they don’t give much thought to trifling matters and somehow everything is easy for them, things go their way, and they almost never suffer a bad day.   These people give off a certain glow – and make the others around them seem not so much dull in comparison but almost tarnished. Meet Richard and Anthea (Michael W. Murray and Aleksandra Stattin) two happily unmarrieds who glide through their life and are blissfully ignorant of the teeth gnashing, behind-the-back grumbling, and sideways glances their dear friends are prone to exhibit whenever they’re in the proximity of this Golden Pair.

James Liebman, Michael W. Murray and Aleksandra Stattin (Photo credit: Gili Getz)

Joking Apart, written by Alan Ayckbourn and directed by Peter Jensen is not so much a play about the happiness of two people over the course of twelve years, but rather a play about how a life of uncomplicated, fluid existence can chip away at those who must bear witness to it.

Richard’s business partner, Sven (James Liebman) and his wife Olive (Stephanie Seward) make a first impression that’s a bit swanky and pretentious, but as the years roll past Sven’s jealousy of Richard’s innate business savvy and Olive’s jealousy of Anthea’s natural lithe figure make their puffed up personalities easily deflatable – even as their figures become bloated over the years from too much abundance with too little fulfillment.

New to the neighborhood when the play starts are Hugh (Michael J. Connolly) the new vicar, and his skittish, proper wife Louise (Alison Blair). As a couple they have a very specific idea of how things are done, but soon enough, the more Hugh is exposed to the joie de vivre exhibited by Richard and Anthea the more the audience (and perhaps even Hugh himself) finds that the strict boundaries of “we don’t do that!” are more Louise’s edict than joint decisions arrived at by the couple. Even their never-seen but oft-alluded-to son, Christopher, is a pale copy of the (also invisible but nonetheless) robust children of Anthea’s who seem to thrive in the chaotic bubble created by Mum and her live in partner.

Added in to this jumble is Brian (Sebastian Montoya), connected to the group in a number of ways. He not only works for Richard and Sven but also – long ago . . . and that includes Before Richard – was a shoulder to lean on for Anthea when she left her husband with her two little children in tow. For three months he provided shelter, emotional and financial support, and in the course of those months he fell madly in love with her. Never brave enough to admit it he’s kept quite all these years, satelliting around her glowing world, nose pressed against metaphorical glass, aching with longing but too sorry, and sorrowful to press on with his own life.

Sebastian Montoya and Anisa Dema (Photo credit: Gili Getz)

Throughout the years -  and the weekends that make up the years  – Brian often brings his latest girlfriend (emphasis on girl) to stay with Richard and Anthea. A steady stream of differently named but similarly featured young girls – Melody, Mandy, Mo (all played by Anisa Dema) do their best to distract Brian from his singularly focused unrequited admiration for Anthea. Some gals are more successful than others, some are less bothered to play second fiddle than others. None last long enough for any of it to matter.

Ayckbourn manages to give the audience an interesting gift in the characters of Richard and Anthea – at once he shows us that while it’s very nice to have everything you ever wanted, including the admiration – even the envy – of those you surround yourself with, it doesn’t necessarily make you a fascinating person. For all their shiny, sweet, glowing bubblyness there isn’t much dimension to Richard and Anthea. Without the wrinkles of a bad marriage or distant children (such as we see with Hugh and Louise) or failing health (Sven) or aching disappointment (Olive) there’s not much character building in them.  They’re pleasant enough, but aside from their energetic happiness, what else do they really have to offer?

Aleksandra Stattin is wonderful at capturing Anthea’s innate charm and instinctive charisma. She wanders around her garden unaware of the true affect she has on others – that the men love her, the women seem to simply tolerate her through a mesh of utter annoyance. She’s too much for them: too much beauty and magic for the men, too much unapologetic ease for the women. Stattin walks the fine line and makes you understand Anthea, even like her, while still being able to understand what it is about a her that vexes those around her so much.

James Liebman’s Sven is the yin to Stattin’s yang, encompassing all that can happen to a person when nothing goes right. Sven, someone who “is never wrong, even when he is” is pompous and arrogant at first meeting, but his house of cards soon dissolves when he finds it harder and harder to keep up with Ricard’s good fortune – especially since they are equal business partners. A tennis match between Sven and Richard is the perfect metaphor for their relationship; what is pure sport and just fun for Richard is steely competition for Sven. Sven wins, of course, but only when Richard plays the game with his non-dominant hand. Liebman doesn’t over stretch Sven’s faults in order to expose them, he simple coats every action with a thin veneer of self-righteousness that at once makes Sven laughable and pitiable, especially as the years draw on.

It is the span of time which drives this plot, and Joking Apart almost seems like two plays; the one in which Richard and Anthea never age, never worry, never slack, never lose . . . and the play all the other characters are in where everyone feels the ravages of time. It is this juxtaposition of these two worlds that really stirs the emotion and creates the tension of this story.

For all those who have ever wondered if the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, you need only to witness the fence being torn down during Act One of Joking Apart to know – it’s not really about where the grass is greener. Look closely and you’ll find – anything that green is bound to be astro-turf.

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