THE PRIVATE EAR and
The Public Ear, the more conventional of the two, concerns a very square London office boy, Tchaik, with virtually no practical aspirations but with an almost religious love for his stereo system, which he gives the name Behemoth. Tchaik falls hopelessly and unreasonably in love with Doreen, a woman he meets at a concert, and turns to his hip friend Ted to show him what to do.
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Ted, a bit of a swinger in an early-60s way, is full of worldly advice, none of which helps Tchaik when he invites Doreen over for dinner. Ted even volunteers to help Tchaik serve the meal, and as quick as you can say “predictable plot twist,” Ted becomes the life of the dinner party, easily winning Doreen over and all but seducing her before dessert is served. After dinner Tchaik, only vaguely aware that he is competing with his friend, tries to impress Doreen with his knowledge and love of classical music, but to no avail. Doreen prefers something more modern than Mozart–not Benjamin Britten, as Tchaik mistakenly believes, but rock and roll.
By far the better of the two plays, The Public Eye concerns a misfit detective, Julian Cristoforou, who dresses very sloppily and has a predilection for snacking between sentences. Julian is hired by Charles, a typically uptight middle-aged British businessman, to follow his young wife Belinda. Charles is convinced she’s having an affair, because she hasn’t settled into her life as the colorless wife of a successful London accountant. She insists on doing such unconventional things as going to horror movies, wearing odd clothes, and spending time in Soho with her bohemian friends.
However, Roth and Waters’s acting sins are minor compared to David Weynand’s botched job as Charles. Weynand, who I last saw play a dragon quite well in a children’s play at the Blackstone, seems to think he’s still acting in a huge theater. He snorts and bellows and gestures, so that even those in the upper upper balcony can see and understand him. Unfortunately, Interplay’s theater is small and intimate, with only three rows and at most 100 seats–making Weynand look like an exaggerated parody of Master Thespian. If he could tone himself down, he would make a pretty decent Charles.
