LIKE cigarettes, farces should come with government health warnings. May cause apoplexy/embolisms/a sudden urge to strangle your neighbour in the stalls.
But as with fags, farces with all their insufferable plot deceits, mistaken identities and crossed-purpose conversations, have an addictive stranglehold on the British theatre-goer and Nobody's Perfect, which runs at Guildford's Yvonne Arnuad Theatre until tomorrow, was eagerly lapped up. Further evidence for those who say we're a nation of masochists.
Simon Williams stars in his self-penned play as the wimpy, divorced middle-aged statistician Leonard.
Anal by nature - Leonard started his male menopause at the age of 13, according to his spirited father Gus (Moray Watson) - and hopeless with women, consoles himself with his facts and figures.
But an inner yearning to cast off his inhibitions sees the emotionally illiterate buffoon enter a novel writing competition for a book for a feminist publisher. He wins the competition and a nice little advance. The only snag is that because his publishers are a feminist outfit, Leonard has had to write under a woman's name - no blokes allowed. His guise a non-existent ageing aunt called Myrtle Banbury.
To begin with, the false persona is maintained over the phone with the publishing house boss Harriet (Stephanie Beacham) but the second half of proceedings sees the all-too-familiar British love of men in drag in evidence, with Leonard donning the attire and mannerisms of a well-to-do, worldly-wise eccentric old aunt for Harriet's visit to her prize-winning author.
Not being much good at being a man - too uptight to chat up the girls - Leonard revels in the opportunity to play at being a been-there-done-that-got-the-venereal-disease old aunt.
Amid this deception, tested to breaking point by interruptions from Leonard's wily old father Gus and go-ahead schoolgirl daughter Dee Dee (Wiliams's real-life daughter Amy), author falls for publisher and publisher reveals she feels the same way. So two questions remain. Will Leonard pull off his scam and will he find love with its chief victim?
The hardened farce addicts sat rapt, eagerly awaiting the conclusion, applauding generously and frequently at the sort of bland material that (dis)graces most of our TV sitcoms these days.
In fairness, a few good gags did slip through the net, but they proved so many false dawns in a fog of mediocrity.
As for the cast. Well, Stephanie Beacham - minus her Dynasty big hair and shoulder pads - was hardly tested with a spectacularly one-dimensional character. There was no trace of a living, breathing person under her cold professional facade.
Leonard, though irritating with his diffidence, stuttering and use of childish code language, at least had a heart. Still, like Beacham and to a lesser extent, Watson, he still couldn't always remeber his lines and was too often overtaken by laughing fits at his own material. Well, someone had to find it funny.
James Bowman