The author certainly

Joe Penhalls Dumb Show, created to demonstrate the sleazy underbelly of the world of television and its cousin, check journalism, is certainly a barterally written play. It is fast, witty, and with juts the right amount of sarcasm. The author certainly knows what he is talking about the story of two journalists, Liz and Greg, going covert to reveal the secret flavour of a TV comic named Barry is totally believable, as is Barrys reaction to this reddent.It is even set in a precise particular and very correct setting, as the hotel room seems to have a life of its own, making the viewers feel the impersonality of the situation. The actors work well, creating the atmosphere of a sure verbal duel. However, the play leaves one(a) with a strange feeling of incompleteness, of both non understanding what the play is about and understanding in any case well, making it a memorable play in a bad sense of the word. It is difficult to say why this effect is obtained. Perhaps it is becau se the author clearly shows that he sympathizes with none of the characters.They be demonstrated, indeed, from an insiders point of view, and an evil-meaning insiders at that suitably sleazy, with that peculiar professional sense of black, almost sadistic humor that only people of the profession understand. Even good intentions are depicted in such a way that they seem false and egoistic. When the journalists talk of information being free, it is so frank that they speak of this noble concept only for getting their moneys worth, that any person that values this virtue to whatever extent is forced to sneak from the falsehood of it all.When the comic speaks of the right to privacy, we hear of the right to remain silent at arrest. It is the dirt of lives, dug up and shown to the public gray, vile, and incredibly banal. Such things, for some reason, are always seen as incredibly realistic, no matter how well they are executed. I do not see the reason for this. Plays that work with the lows of life are necessary and, naturally, realistic. However, life isnt a zebra, divided into black and white.It is more like a peacock with too many colors, demonstrating different things, moreover all too proud of itself. There is never such a thing as a real black color in life, nor a real gray. Everything has its silver lining, and this play, showing only the lows for, even the last scene where Liz tries to redeem Barry is not pretty is not closely positive. Such single-mindedness, while admirable, does not make for the realism that the author was trying to create. It is actually the actors that liven up the show somewhat.The stereotypical jokes put into their mouths come to life because of their talent. Their reactions to one another are shifting, living. The little points of their acting such as Dippolds ambiguous reactions to the duo of men, or Barrys acting in the jokes he is given imply very much deeper characters, which are so much the styrofoam stereotypes. Th ey were meant to be that way the situations are supposed to play out on the prototypal level, reaching within. However, the archetypes chosen are too shallow for that.They are things everyone can relate to on a merely superficial level, just enough to sympathize a bit which is not nearly enough for a play. Thus, to make the point, the characters should have been created alive by the author, with somewhat more character. They should have been anchor points for personal interest in the play even if mere tools in the conflict between professions, they should have been good tools. Instead, we see mostly the interaction of the stereotypes of the respective professions, much like trying to saw with a cardboard saw.The actors save the day here, livening up the characters and giving them more depth than Penhall seemed to intend. The play is a good example of a professional skit, yet nil more. It is made all too clear what the point is supposed to be the conflict of freedom and privacy however, it is not deep enough, nor controversial enough for such a topic. The author attempted to work at the golden middle, and failed professionally, thus, non-abysmally, but he didnt make it anything great, either.It is a story about archetypes, not an archetypical story. Nor is it a personal story, showing how people get affected by this sort of conflict. It attempts to be both, but is neither, and thus leaves the viewer puzzled as to where the straightforward point is. One wants to look for hidden meaning, for the simplicity is unbearable, but there is nowhere to look for hidden meaning. To create a piece with only one meaning and have it still be a work of art is the work of a genius. Penhall is not one.