'Seven Year Itch,' Novato Theater Company

You can scratch this one

By Mark Langton
IJ Correspondent

Article Launched: 09/12/2007 05:04:08 PM PDT

NO ONE ever went broke underestimating the arrested development of the American middle-aged male. Especially, it would seem, that generation of men who hit middle age in the 1950s.

How else can we explain the popularity of all that juvenile, sexist claptrap that passed for romantic comedies in the late '50s and early '60s? We're talking about movies like "Pillow Talk" (1959), "The Apartment" (1960) or George Axelrod's original stage production of "The Seven Year Itch" (1952), the template for all that followed, now in revival at the Novato Theater Company’s barely broken-in Pacheco Playhouse.

Which begs a question: Why?

This is a valiant effort by the folks at NTC - one that succeeds, but only in part. However, this may be the fault of the play, not the players.

"The Seven Year Itch" is not only missing a hyphen, it's lost any relevance to the way real men and women relate to each other. Even the plotline sounds like bad '70s porn, rated PG-13, for sheltered, overweight nerds.

Check it out: After sending his wife, Helen (Erin Hoffman), and son Ricky (Oliver Klein) to the shore to escape the heat of a sweltering New York City summer, Richard Sherman (David Shirk) has his marriage vows put to the test when he meets a 22-year-old model (Rachel Hempy), known only as "The Girl," who has just moved into the apartment upstairs. He starts fantasizing about her, recalling something he read at work about a "seven-year itch" (an idiom for the so-called moment of truth in a marriage when a man is driven by a primitive urge to stray). This gives Richard all the rationale he needs to cheat, believing he can blame his lack of self-control on an irresistible biological imperative!

As a result, this Steady Eddie suddenly fancies himself a Playboy of the Western World. However - as with most Axelrod heroes (Jack Lemmon in "How to Murder Your Wife," Roddy McDowell in "Lord Love a Duck") - it's all in his mind.

The entire play, in fact, is presented to the audience by way of Richard's inner dialogue, filled with Walter Mitty-like dream sequences, acted out by Richard and other members of the cast.

As Richard, Shirk is charged with carrying the majority of this show, a daunting task for any actor. He is always on stage. And, for the most part, Shirk is up to it. He demonstrates a real flair for comedy, especially during the fantasy sequences, where he is free to do things like don a monocle, play with dialect or sweep The Girl into his arms like Pepe le Pew.

However, when he returns as just plain Richard, Shirk never really connects with his audience. He breaks through the "fourth wall" to make eye contact early on, but it's inconsistent, and he or his director, Diane Robbins (making her NTC directorial debut with this play) would do well to make up their minds, one way or the other.

As the object of his desire, Hempy is more Doris Day than Marilyn Monroe. She plays it naive and cheerleader cute. At times she is quite poignant; at others, she lives up to the name of the laundry detergent she hocks on TV (that would be "Shrill," I'm afraid.). However, she also demonstrated more range during the fantasy sequences. The two performers that stood out Saturday probably have the fewest lines. As Helen, Richard's wife, actress Hoffman was absolutely spot-on as a 1950's Everymom - so much so, that she actually looked superimposed onto the set in black and white. And more than one theatergoer praised costume designer Gretta McGovern for finding an absolutely perfect little black, backless number, integral to a scene.

But it was actor Michael Cassidy who nearly stopped the show Saturday night, hilarious as the overblown writer, Tom Mckenzie. His interpretation of this blowhard brought to mind Mr. Peterman, Elaine's boss on TV's "Seinfeld." Only funnier. With inspired bits of business (cleaning his teeth in the mirror with his little finger, constantly straightening his tie, rolling on the balls of his feet, etc.), one couldn't help think that if the entire cast rose to his level of energy, it would have been a very different show.

There was nothing memorable about the set design - which is just as it should be, suitably bland - except for a metaphorical stairway that leads to a ceiling, no small feat on such a tiny stage, that occasioned a Jean-Paul Sartre joke ("No Exit," get it?).

Indeed, the design team deserves extra credit for restraint. This would be Jack Gallivan's handiwork, no doubt. He has been designing the lights at NTC for the past 20 shows, and is nothing if not subtle.

And a big honorable mention to Master Oliver Klein, a third-grader at Brandeis Hillel Day School in San Rafael, who aquitted himself quite admirably as Richard's son Ricky. Somebody call Hollywood, immediately.

Granted, there are pleasures to be found in these almost empty time capsules, but they are guilty ones, if you ask me. Certainly, for some, they may be fond reminders of what was purported to be a more innocent time. Plus the kitsch factor alone can often makes a lot of this nose-scrunching pap funnier than it's even supposed to be.

This play, like all the others in this lame genre, is to satire what "Beach Party's" Eric Von Zipper is to Marlon Brando. What these stories really are, in essence, are strict morality plays themselves, tarted up to look like inoffensive social satire. They creep me out because they instructed us how to behave.

Think about it: Women are relegated to one of three stereotypes: the prude (Doris Day), the victim (Shirley MacLaine) or the bimbo (Marilyn Monroe) -- in this case, "The Girl." Men, on the other hand, are reduced to only two: the asexual, platonic pal (the Tony Randall, Tom Ewell or Jack Lemmon role) or the somewhat less-emasculated, Slick Business Tycoon Who is the Boss of Her (the Rock Hudson or Fred MacMurray role).

Any way you look at it, these soft-core domestic sex farces perpetuated more than they parodied. This is supposed to be funny? Maybe so. Maybe I'm taking all of this too seriously. Maybe it's OK to look back - as long as you don't go back. I don't know any more.

I'm tellin' ya. Nostalgia just ain't what it used to be.

REVIEW

What: George Axelrod's "The Seven Year Itch," by Novato Theater Company

When: Through Sept. 29; 8 p.m Fridays and Saturdays

Where: Pacheco Playhouse, 484 Ignacio Blvd., Pacheco Plaza Shopping Center, Novato

Tickets: $15

Information: 892-3005 or http://www.novatocommunityplayers.com/

Rated: Two out of five stars

Mark Langton can be reached at mark.langton@comcast.net.