An absurdist comedy, Cuckoos was written in 1990 and assigned by its author (born in 1956) to a group of plays that he called "the Theater of Excess." This designation is certainly a fitting one. Manfridi's works have been widely performed (there is even a theater named for him in Finland); but if this play is typical, he is an appallingly bad dramatist.
One has to give him credit for coming up with an amusing premise. A fortyish woman, Beatrice, has picked up Tito, half her age. They repair to Tito's apartment, indulge in anal intercourse, and discover that they cannot pull apart. Tito phones his gynecologist father, Tobia, and entreats him to come to their aid. Modesty leads the fornicators to take refuge under an unfolded parachute, where except for their heads they remain for the rest of the play. From then on, amusement vanishes. The smug father arrives, attempts to separate the pair with a retractor. When that fails, he concocts a liquid and injects it in Tito's rump, which doesn't help. Periodically, Tito has a noisy, involuntary orgasm. The three converse, and it turns out that they are not the people they thought they were.
Much of this chatting is tiresome and annoyingly padded. Manfridi tacks on a bloody end that is unmotivated and unconvincing. Sir Peter Hall directed the London premiere three years ago. It is incomprehensible why he would want to waste his time reviving it now.
As the father, David Yelland elicits a few smiles. Jessica Turner and Mark Rice-Oxley show courage. The translation is by playwright Colin Teevan, head of drama at Queen's University, Belfast. Why the title Cuckoos? Beats me.
