Word: mr
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...entire story takes place in a staid Victorian parlor an Angel Street, London, in 1880. Gas lights, spats, hand-kissing, penis envy and everything. Mr. Manningham (Edward Kaye-Martin) is tormenting his lovely Victorian wife (Innes McDade) in those early scenes, trying to convince her very subtly that she is going insane. Of course, in Victorian England, nothing could be worse than being called crazy. And how does...
...takes a portrait off the wall and hides it behind a cupboard and when his wife enters the parlor, Mr. Manningham authoritatively interrogates her on the whereabouts of his missing painting. Getting frantic and confused, Mrs. Manningham admits that she must have hidden the thing, quite unbeknownst to her own conscious mind. Mr. Manningham's conclusion is that she must be crazy...
...even Mr. Manningham can't be all bad. And even Mrs. Manningham can't be all that ridiculous. The way these two work themselves up over misplaced painting and lost grocery bills is really silly. Indeed, she is so neurotic and he so didactic that the couple resembles an unlikely marriage of Diane Keaton and H.L. Mencken...
...Rough (that's right), a feisty and eccentric ole London detective, who sweeps in with a bottle of Scotch whiskey and the story of an ancient crime commited right in Mrs. Manningham's parlor. John Guerrasio brings the play to life with his odd characterization. Mrs. Manningham settles down, Mr. Manningham's motives are revealed, and Rough sprouts about the stage with his Holmesian moustache and pipe, becoming both the saving touch of credibility to the play, but also the final measure of mystery that escalates this belated tale of Victorian constipation into something of an adrenalin surge...
George Burns, who does an agreeable turn as Mr. Kite, the mayor of Heartland, explains that the idea of a second band worried everyone: "We didn't know how they would sound." Well, they sound all right, enough like the Beatles to be respectful, enough not like them to take note of the eleven years that have gone...