Theater review: The 39 Steps isn’t without its Hitches

The trouble with The 39 Steps, currently playing at American Stage in a well-crafted, well-acted production, is its species of humor. In a world that includes The Book of Mormon and The Producers, not to mention South Park, The Simpsons, and Family Guy, it’s hard not to be impatient with adapter Patrick Barlow’s PG-rated, respectfully clean nod to old Hitchcock films and their put-upon, resolutely decent heroes.

So yes, Jed Peterson is impeccable as Richard Hannay, a secret agent against his will, and yes, the beautiful Juliana Davis is just right as femme fatale Annabella, Scottish bride Margaret, and girl-next-door Pamela. But these portrayals, along with the inspired clowning of Joey Panek and Richard B. Watson (too many characters to name), are presented in a show that’s so married to its 1930s timeframe, you’d think Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor and Monty Python never happened.

This is in no way inevitable: a satire set between the world wars need no more hew to its own era’s sense of propriety than does Spamalot have to feature only medieval comedy (whatever that might be). Nevertheless, Barlow has self-censored; and the result is as lukewarm as anything that might have turned up in a British music hall 75 years ago. It’s refreshing for a few minutes, then it gets tiresome. When Sarah Silverman and Amy Schumer sneeze, it’s more interesting.

There’s nothing about the story 39 Steps tells that isn’t ripe for a more coruscating parody. Richard Hannay is a wealthy Londoner bored with life and himself, without a profession or a lover. Hoping to raise his spirits, he goes to the London Palladium, where a performer known as Mr. Memory is displaying his prodigious mental talents. But in the middle of the show, a mysterious brunette enters Hannay’s balcony box and fires a gun. Soon thereafter he finds himself suspected of murder and enmeshed in a dastardly plot to steal Royal Air Force secrets, and must set off to save the English nation (and himself) while being pursued by police.

The quest takes him to Scotland, where he meets a lovely and unappreciated redhead named Margaret (but no sex, please, etc.), and then he’s thrown together with a brash blonde who hates his guts and feels sure he’s a criminal (but no sex, please, and so forth). At the end, it will take all his ingenuity to prevent the oh-so-vital secrets from crossing the Channel.

Imagine what a Seth MacFarlane or even Mad Magazine might do with these rich materials; then witness instead what adapter Barlow comes up with. He relies mostly on two types of comedy. First, his 39 Steps is one of those shows that demonstrate just how resourceful the theater can be in conveying scenes one would think more exclusively cinematic. So we get to see Hannay chased along the face of a speeding train, or jumping into a body of water, or spending time motoring in a noisy car. Some of these segments, sharply directed by Stephanie Gularte, are brilliantly rendered; but if you’ve seen Shipwrecked! or Around the World in Eighty Days, you recognize the tropes and aren’t too dazzled this time around.

The second and more prevalent type of comedy is simple caricature. Panek and Watson are over-the-top Scotsmen or lingerie salesmen or bad guys or police officials, and Davis is a thickly accented Mysterious Woman or young bride. As funny as these exercises in excess may be at first, we soon have enough of them, and long for other types of humor. (The characters’ abuse of the Scottish accent in particular ceases to be funny after the thousandth occasion.)

Jerid Fox’s set is a real success, though: a nearly bare stage backed by a gray brick wall within which a tall gray gate looms ominously, all framed by a proscenium. And Catherine Cann’s period costumes are terrific in all cases, not excluding the dresses in which Panek cross-dresses. Sound designer Jonathan Williams deserves kudos for defining several places with their key sounds, as well as for some neat audio gags in both acts.

But oh this show is tame; something for the kids, maybe, or for your prudish great-grandmother.

As for the rest of us, is it so wrong to want plays that speak to us now? 

This article appears in Nov 26 – Dec 2, 2015.