So let’s say you have two friends and they’ve been married to each other for, oh, 10 years. And one night they decide to entertain you with all the kooky, charming things they’ve done and said since they started dating. Their story’s mildly amusing, but this couple is so “normal,” you might have heard approximately the same tale from a dozen other marital units. When they first met, he knew it was love but she hardly gave him a second thought. The night they got engaged, he put the ring in an unmistakable place, but she overlooked it. Then they had a baby who cried for hours at a time, but when he finally administered a pacifier, the infant was at peace. He still wants sex at every moment, but she’s satisfied having it only on occasion. Each has complaints about the other, but not to the degree where it threatens their liaison.
Sound pleasant? Well, that’s pretty much the shape of You Say Tomato, I Say Shut Up!, currently playing at the Jaeb Theater of the Straz Center in Tampa. The play, by Annabelle Gurwitch and Jeff Kahn, is about a certain “Annabelle” and “Jeff,” and if it weren’t for some occasionally clever writing, you might expect to hear much the same from your real friends, who are no less interesting, and who don’t charge admission. Still, it’s nice in a sitcomish way to hear Annabelle say that “you can’t Botox your uterus,” and when Jeff asks, in a moment of pique, “Why do you always have to be right?” it’s fun to hear Annabelle answer, “I don’t have to be — I just am.” Then there’s that neat line about the expansion of Annabelle’s behind during pregnancy “like a Starbucks franchise,” and the couple’s redeeming realization that they have “matching crazies.”
In fact, the writing is so TVesque, it makes you wonder whether you really had to go to the theater to enjoy it. Which suggests a certain hierarchy: first choice, go visit some dear friends and ask them all about their relationship. Second choice, turn on the TV and watch reruns of Seinfeld, which cost you nothing and are ingenious. And third choice, go to the Jaeb and get to know Annabelle and Jeff, who treat their entirely conventional lives as if they were screaming for cute expression because what, after all, is theater but TV without all the messy electronics? Fourth choice is up to you.
The arc of their love story is as sensible and familiar as every other story on the subject. He met her at a party in Hollywood, when she was cooking pancakes as part of the catering team. He was immediately smitten; she, no romantic, gave him her phone number even though she was seeing someone else. During one of their first dates, he mustered enough courage to put his arm around her. Later, when she had to be in New York for a month, she left her kitten “Stinky” with him.
Eventually, she announced that she was moving in next door — and finally, one day, situated somewhere between Carmel and Big Sur, he popped the question. Her pregnancy was difficult, and she delivered two weeks early. Dealing with the baby tested their patience — and raised havoc with their sex life. When she was too tired for coitus, she would offer him a “lie-backer” — he did all the work while she just lay there. Occasionally they faced the special crises of our time — for example, his habit of friending attractive women on Facebook. And so on and so on … You get the picture: a perfectly credible relationship such as most of us have or have had, only we never thought to put ours on stage. As Annabelle, Gabrielle Mirabella is a tough, assertive chick, believing in coincidence but not fate, in getting laid but not getting mushy. Jonathan Van Dyke as Jeff is three parts Teddy bear, one part sex addict, and he easily convinces us that he ultimately wore Annabelle down with his relentless good will. Patrick Walsh’s direction is crisp and ingratiating, but the uncredited set, featuring nothing but three nicely set tables on an otherwise bare stage, has a bargain-basement feel. In fact, the whole Jaeb stage seems too wide and deep for this show; maybe if we were crowded right up against Annabelle and Jeff, their unexceptional lives would feel more significant.
So think of it as a celebration of the ordinary, the average, the commonplace loves of our time. Enjoy the nimble writing.
And at the end, when you walk out of the theater, re-enter the burning, turbulent maelstrom of real experience.