Don't expect to make any important discoveries when you see George Bernard Shaw's You Never Can Tell. There's a reason the play is seldom produced these days: It's a decidedly minor work, with only passing references to the great Shavian themes of Fabian Democracy and Creative Evolution. Yes, it features at least two "new" women, who are supposed to be intellectually formidable, but it gives them so little opportunity to display their intellect, we never really feel that they're as special as Shaw claims. And yes, there's a scene where the irresistible Life Force drives a man and a woman together despite one of the partners' hesitations. But it all happens with so little Shavian philosophizing, it might be mistaken for nothing more than a case of good old sexual attraction.
You Never Can Tell is an early Shaw play (1897), written years before masterworks like Man and Superman (1901), Major Barbara (1905), Pygmalion (1912) and Saint Joan (1923). So the play is mostly of interest to diehard Shaw fans who want to know what their hero was up to in his early days (or not so early; he was 41 in '97). As for the rest of us, the experience is a mildly pleasant, mostly trivial one. And we can't help but think: If Shaw hadn't written this thing, would it have ever been revived?
The story is about the Clandon family — Dolly, Philip, Gloria and their Mother. When the play begins, the Clandons are just back in England after having spent 18 years in Portugal. Now that they're back, the children have decided to insist that their mother tell them who their father is, or was. At first Mrs. Clandon puts up some resistance — all she'll say is that she once had to protect Gloria against Dad's temper — but eventually she has her solicitor admit that the guilty party is a bad-tempered, wealthy landlord, Mr. Crampton (a lot of first names are missing in the play).
We meet Mr. Crampton in the play's very first scene, when Dolly is having a tooth pulled by his penniless tenant, the dentist Valentine. And we also see Valentine fall head over heels for Gloria Clandon. Anyway, they all end up at lunch together (improbable as it seems), at which point Crampton decides that he wants custody of Dolly and Philip, and Valentine decides that he wants Gloria for a wife. The children rebel, Gloria demurs, and a comically self-absorbed lawyer is called in to make some sense out of the situation. At the end, everyone pairs off, there's a lot of dancing, and a wise waiter reminds us, "You never can tell, sir: you never can tell."
If it all sounds contrived and insignificant, well, aside from a few good lines here and there, it is. Fortunately, the acting in the Asolo production is so good, you can almost ignore the artificiality of the play. Best of all is Sharon Spelman as Mrs. Clandon, a 19th century woman who writes book after book about the coming 20th century as it relates to cooking, creeds, clothing, conduct, children and parents. Spelman plays Mrs. Clandon as imperious but sympathetic, a lady of integrity who got out of a bad marriage before it could get worse, and who has raised her children in the latest "scientific" manner.
As for the children, Jennifer Plants, Dan Schultz and Kim Kennedy Blair do a fine job with them. Plants especially is amusing as a life-loving chatterbox ready to turn any situation into a party. But Schultz also is delightful, and Blair wonderfully manages to live up to Shaw's description of her: "the incarnation of haughty high-mindedness, raging with the impatience of a mettlesome dominative character paralyzed by the inexperience of her youth."
Scott Bowman as the dentist Valentine is all young love and good intentions, and Patrick Egan as a sage waiter is just spunky enough. Paul Weidner's direction is likable; Vicki S. Holden's period costumes are in every case excellent; and Steven Rubin's set, framed by high columns and featuring a precisely detailed old dentist's chair, is visually stunning. As usual, the Asolo puts on a top-notch production.
Alas, the play isn't really worth it. The Shavian wit is there only occasionally, the Shavian indignation appears only by fits and starts, and Shavian philosophy — whether about social class or the direction of evolution — is mostly on holiday. There's some memorable dialogue here, but for the most part You Never Can Tell might be subtitled Nor Do You Need To. This is a distinctly minor work, and one that offers few rewards to the head or the heart.
Only a real Shaw aficionado will insist on seeing this one. And even that fan will find that sometimes less … is just less.
Contact Mark E. Leib at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com or call 813-248-8888, ext. 305.
This article appears in Nov 20-26, 2002.