‘Heaven Can Wait,’ so must audiences
Tom Titus
To revive a vintage comedy such as “Heaven Can Wait,” a theater group
must be wary of certain pitfalls, such as an interminable scene
change late in the play which, even though it’s begun before the
preceding scene is finished, seem to take an eternity.
Audiences may recall the Warren Beatty movie version in which his
boxer character was transformed into a Los Angeles Rams quarterback,
or the cinematic oldie, “Here Comes Mr. Jordan,” with Robert
Montgomery. Segall’s over-plotted stage version is a difficult
project to produce, and this degree of difficulty extends to director
Fred Fuster’s Huntington Beach production, in which most of the
principal roles either are overacted or under performed.
Fortunately, the show revolves around a superior performance by
David Farkas as the perplexed pugilist thrust into the body of a
millionaire targeted for a premature demise by his wife and her
lover. Farkas wrestles gamely with the play’s ghastly cliches from
its 1938 time frame, but ultimately emerges victorious.
John Francis requires a more cool, confident authority in his
assignment of Mr. Jordan, the heavenly concierge assigned to set
things right. Whatever comedy is generated from “the top” comes
instead from the lively performance of Kip Hogan as his rookie
messenger who turns ineptitude into an art form.
On earth, Vanessa Ray is appealing, though a bit bland, as the
object of Farkas’ affections. Rebecca Cherkoss as his venomous wife
and Norm McBride as her accomplice both underplay their roles so
effectively that they’re hardly noticeable, thus neutralizing any
potential conflict.
If you recall Knobby Walsh from the Joe Palooka comic strip and
movies, you’ll recognize the dim bulb character enacted by Michael
Olton, manager of the pre-plane crash Joe Pendleton (Farkas), who’s
now charged with training him in his new corporate executive mode.
Olton’s dialogue is a crescendo of cliches, which the veteran actor
discharges skillfully, munching a buffet of scenery along the way.
Another impressive performance comes from Michelle Calhoun-Fitts
as a kittenish, middle-aged maid in Farkas’ new household. Robert P.
Purcell has some effective moments as a befuddled police inspector
and Ray Galindo bulls his way through the cameo of a fight trainer.
The playhouse can be commended on its ability to draw several
actors for walk-on duty in the opening segment, but this passage
could have been condensed considerably in the interest of tightening
the show. It’s bullet-paced, however, compared to the awkward
transition in Act Two from the mansion to the fighters’ dressing
room.(This problem, the playhouse declares, has since been
corrected).
At that point, “Heaven Can Wait,” and the audience has to,
shivering in the overzealous air conditioning. All in all, it’s far
from the playhouse’s finest hour.
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