"Farce is tragedy played at a thousand revolutions a minute," said John Mortimer. If he were alive today, Joe Orton would surely have seconded that notion. The British playwright came to prominence in the 1960s with a series of black, bawdy farces -- The Entertaining Mister Sloane, Loot and What the Butler Saw-- that usually ended with blood on the walls.
A case in point is Butler, which debuted in London in 1969, two years after Orton's untimely and awful death (at the axe-wielding hands of his lover, Kenneth Halliwell). As is obvious in the current revival of the play, Orton's intent is not just to satirize politics, psychiatry, sexual repression and middle-class morality but blow them to bits. Mixing Wildean wordplay and wit with raunchy, knockabout comedy, Butler blasts away repeatedly at its targets with a take-no-prisoners attitude.
Set in an exclusive psychiatric clinic, Butler kicks off with a horny shrink (John Walcutt) trying to seduce his new secretary (Amanda Troop), much to the displeasure of his nymphomaniacal wife (Melinda Parrtett). Another nutty, pretentious doctor (Geoffrey Wade) is introduced, plus a blackmailing bellhop (Ciaran Joyce) and a dense policeman (Jerry Della Salla).
The characters collide, hide, cross-dress and attempt to couple during the course of things, always at mach speed with lots of slamming of doors.
It takes a while for director Alan Patrick Kenny's cast to get warmed up, but once they do they bring off Orton's uniquely campy British humor in spirited, hilarious fashion -- no easy feat for American actors.