Word: blisse
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...story is a poke-in-the-ribs at the absurd histrionics of the Bliss family (a quasi-retired actress, her hack-writing husband, and their two long-suffering children) who invite four similarly foolish characters for a weekend in the English countryside. The plot unravels with the reception and treatment of the guests, and winds up with the visitors making a furtive escape after one memorable night...
Since the play lacks any real plot or action, its effectiveness depends on the acting techniques. Wilson has assembled a cast that, albeit inexperienced, has enough native talent to support Coward's barrage of language. Ann Bailen as Judith Bliss--wife, mother, and fading actress--musters just the right amount of scatter-brained style and melodramatic intensity to project this pivotal character. Her dramatic confrontations with the family and guests are some of the best scenes of the evening--she flounces, bounces, and sweeps across the stage in frenzied disarray, acting out her wildly theatrical interpretation of reality. Opposite...
...major failing of the production is the miscasting of Mary Layne Aherne as Sorel Bliss, the scheming, ambitious Bliss daughter. She anticipates her lines on several occasions and her diction is atrocious. Seemingly uncomfortable with her role, her acting is consistently wooden and artificial...
...flat role of the conservative diplomat. Jill Abramson vamps madly in her part as the inane and brainless ingenue, but her squeaky voice, exaggerated walk, and batting eyes quickly become tiresome. Joanna Blum is convincing as the sophisticated woman-about-town who tries (to no avail) to pull the Bliss family out of their hopeless theatrics. She, like Abramson, has a formula of winking eyes and sleek walk which loses its charm after repeated usage...
Banality and Bliss. The truth of certain maxims once thought demode and elitist now reasserts itself: for instance, that a posture of cool boredom can in itself become boring; that a perfunctory infatuation with the signs and portents of "masscult" means nothing unless it is subjected-as by Oldenburg-to a profound change and rethinking; that banality is not always imaginative bliss. And if one happens to find sense in these propositions, it is hard to take all that seriously the marginal artists whose work Alloway has selected. Their work may have this or that to do with signs...