Jobsite Theater at Straz Center for the Performing Arts, 1010 N. MacInnes Place, Tampa, through Feb. 5. Thursday-Saturday, 8 p.m.; Sunday, 4 p.m. $24.50. 813-229-STAR, jobsitetheater.org.
What The 39 Steps, playing currently at Jobsite Theater, has is ingenuity, verve, and an irrepressible slapstick energy. What it lacks is subtlety, modulation, and any significance whatsoever. Making fun of an old Hitchcock thriller which holds no privileged place in the minds of its audience, Steps mostly seems irrelevant. Why are we watching Patrick Barlow’s parody of the film (itself based on a minor John Buchan novel)? The answer wants to be: to prove that even a high-octane thriller can be represented on the stage. But the Jobsite production is so loud and confusing, I never really could tell who was where during the train chase, who was who among the secret agents, and why oh why were there so many “comic” Scottish accents.
With so much over-the-top monkey business failing to amuse most of the time, it was only Matt Lunsford, as earnest main character Richard Hannay, who was consistently impressive. The other three actors — Amy E. Gray (who eventually had some good moments), Brian Shea, and Spencer Meyers — were so excessive in many of their impersonations, it became hard for me to distinguish one exaggeration from another.
I’ve seen other, and better examples of this genre of theater, in which a very few actors on a nearly bare stage present a world of difficult scenes. A while ago there was Shipwrecked! at the Gorilla Theatre, and before that there was Around the World in 80 Days at Sarasota’s Florida Studio Theatre. In both cases, there was a satisfying precision to the brouhaha, so that one knew precisely when a character was battling a sea monster, fighting Apaches, or riding an elephant. But as directed by Katrina Stevenson, The 39 Steps is loud and, too often, crude; it asks us to laugh at the excesses of its cast even when those excesses keep us from following its story line. Doing my best to pay attention, I’m still not sure I know what I witnessed.
Here’s what I do know: Richard Hannay, an ordinary Englishman, goes to a West End show one night and sees the remarkable Mr. Memory, who can answer any question with encyclopedic accuracy. A mysterious woman comes into Hannay’s box and eventually goes home with him. She’s stabbed in the back by an unknown assailant, and has just enough breath left to warn Hannay that enemy spies are trying to get top secret information out of the country. Hannay finds himself heading north to Scotland on a quest, but he’s followed by bad guys and by police who suspect him in the murder of the femme fatale. All kinds of mischief ensue once he reaches his destination, and he realizes that his actions may determine the safety of England itself.
Lunsford as Hannay is wonderful: sincere and somewhat bumbling, he represents the good, decent citizen who loves his country and feels an obligation to come to her aid. Amy E. Gray has a bad start — her mysterious Annabella Schmidt is more cartoon than character, something like Natasha in Rocky and Bullwinkle — but in two other parts, she’s more human and, at times, touchingly lyrical.
And then there are the “clowns,” Brian Shea and Spencer Meyers. Both are gifted actors, though you’d never know it from watching Steps. Playing dozens of parts, they seem comically clamorous as the outset — and then reprise the same boisterous energy until it becomes tedious. What they need is modulation — piano here, forte there, adagio at some moments, allegro at others — but what they give us are loud, crashing chords without cease. There are moments when this approach is, in fact, funny; more often it simply tries too hard to get a laugh.
Stevenson also designed the nifty costumes, and Brian Smallheer is responsible for the minimal set and the very useful stage properties. David M. Jenkins’ clever sound design includes music from Psycho and, where appropriate, from cloyingly sentimental romance movies. Interesting how the bits and pieces of the set and sound are so much more satisfying than the overdone acting they put in context.
But this is one theater production in which more is less. And these 39 Steps come across as a noisy blur.
