Theater review: 'Arsenic and Old Lace'

Joseph Kesselring’s “Arsenic and Old Lace” (1939) is probably the funniest play about two charming old lady serial killers ever written. It may also be the only play about two charming old lady serial killers ever written. Either way, it unfolded on stage at the Players Centre.

In another theatrical rarity, the play’s protagonist, Mortimer Brewster (Stephen Voutsas) is actually a drama critic—and a sympathetic character, to boot. His maiden aunts, Abby and Martha Brewster (Meg Newsome and Miss Cathy Hansel-Edgerton), have launched a new charity in their Brooklyn based boarding house. Their mission statement, if they had one, would read: “Ease the broken hearts of lonely, single old men by killing them.” The auntie assassins accomplish their mercy killings with a cocktail of elderberry wine laced with arsenic, strychnine and cyanide. The expiring gentlemen are not informed. Or the police, for that matter. (As the Bible says, “The good that you do, do in secret …”)

The tenants’ mortal remains wind up beneath the dirt floor of the boarding house basement. They’re interred by Teddy Brewster (Jalex Scott)—Martin’s lunatic brother, who thinks he’s President Teddy Roosevelt, and consequently believes he’s burying yellow fever victims in the Panama Canal. Bully.

This elderberry euthanasia goes unnoticed—until Mortimer finds a stiff in the window seat. Sadly, this discovery kills his chances of reviewing the premiere of “Murder Will Out.” Mortimer also has second thoughts about his marriage proposal to Elaine Harper (Sally Fint), the worldly-wise minister’s daughter. Insanity not only runs in the Brewster family—it gallops. In those eugenics-minded days, Mortimer’s scared of passing that lunacy on.

In case you haven’t noticed, the plot is wacky, arch, screwball and macabre. (Charles Addams had been drawing cartoons since the early 1930s and probably felt slightly ripped-off.) But, wait, there’s more!

Mortimer’s other lunatic brother shows up—Jonathan Brewster (Mark Woodland). He’s a non-sympathetic psycho-killer who’s had plastic surgery multiple times to evade the law; his latest face resembles Boris Karloff. He’s accompanied by his plastic surgeon, Dr. Herman Einstein (Ren Pearson), no relation to the celebrated physicist.

Long story short …

Bodies are switched, identities mistaken. The plot ties itself in a pretzel, and then magically sorts itself out. Aside from an evil plastic surgeon and a possibly poisoned shrink, everybody winds up in the sanitarium or prison where they belong. In other good news, Mortimer discovers he’s illegitimate. And the marriage is still on!

Sara Logan directs this farrago with a screwball comedy vibe. The original play was three acts—which sounds like a taste of laugh-free purgatory. Logan gets it done in two, and keeps the laughs coming.

Voutsas makes the most of his “Sane Guy in a World of Lunatics” persona. Newsome and Edgerton archly dish out a blend of poison and church lady nostrums. Woodland doesn’t look a thing like Boris Karloff, but he’s nailed Frankenstein’s “Fire bad!” grunt and manages to look sufficiently menacing. Fint’s plucky Elaine should get her own column at Mortimer’s newspaper, pronto! Scott’s Teddy bravely shouts “Charge!” and bounds up the stairs as needed. Pearson comes as close to a Peter Lorre imitation as … as I don’t know, you bloated idiot!

You may not have seen the play. But you’ve seen the characters before.

It’s an Old Joke Universe. The actors happily goof around inside it. What else can they do?

Kudos to Jeffrey Weber and Tim Beltley for tricking out the play’s unbelievable reality with a believable stage set and costumes, and to Owen Leonard for his lighting.

For what it’s worth, some of the old gags are good. The play’s stuffed with theatrical in-jokes—including references to “Helzapoppin’,” critics who write reviews before seeing the shows, and a nod to what Harlan Ellison calls an “idiot plot.” (I.e.: a plot that only works if everyone’s an idiot.)

At one point, Mortimer complains about a preposterous scene in a murder mystery—while Jonathan acts out what he’s saying beat for beat. It’s comedy gold.

Realistic? Never.

This production gets as close to camp as humanly possible without bringing Batman and Robin on stage. The play is wacky, arch, screwball and macabre, and hilarious—and not believable for a second. Fun fact …

While Kesselring is the official playwright, credit for the comedy goes to his rewrite men: Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, the play’s producers.

Kesselring’s original draft was a dramatization of a series of real life boarding house murders. It was realistic indeed.

And not very funny at all.