Time To Kill

WHEN we go to the theatre we expect to be asked to suspend our disbelief but there is a limit, and ‘Time to Kill’ is a badly written, badly plotted, implausible load of drivel. To justify that opinion, no more is needed than a brief resumé of the play’s premise: four housewives on an affluent estate in Maidenhead decide that the local Lothario is responsible for the death of a neighbour, so they lure him to the house of one of their number, where they handcuff him to a chair, dress up in (badly fitting) legal wigs and gowns borrowed from the local dramatic society and put him through their version of a trial. Here, ‘Desperate Housewives’ meets drawing-room drama meets ‘Witness for the Prosecution’ – perhaps a superb writer at the top of his form might make it work, but author Leslie Darbon isn’t and wasn’t and doesn’t.

One of the play’s unusual attractions for a company is that it has four strong parts for women, and in this production four talented actresses are to be admired for giving a near-impossible task their very best shot. The blame lies not with them but with whoever chose the play. Maggie – mixed up, not to say bonkers – is central to the drama and is conscientiously interpreted by Trish Binding. Her diction is superb, but ironically, that virtue is one of the things that makes her character seem rather sterile and prevents it from developing fully. Dawn Hollington plays Jane, who on the strength of her law degree is appointed judge of the trial, and is hard to believe in as she struggles to convey the stern arbiter of justice one moment and the wronged victim of the accused’s philandering the next.

One of the play’s weaknesses is that it builds up melodramatic tension and then suddenly lapses into broad comedy; most of the latter is provided by Liz, well played by Rebecca Christie as a ditsy airhead who is nevertheless working hard to keep her life together despite her boorish husband. Perhaps the most convincing of the four is Cathy Williamson as Helen, unconfident and emotionally dependent on support from Maggie.

Of the two men in the piece, Brian Woolton as Maggie’s husband, Don, never really looks comfortable, which is not surprising as he has too good an acting track-record to have become caught up in this car-crash of a play. The revelation of the evening is Karl Standing as the accused, Alan Sexton. It is hard to believe that this is his first acting role, for he is totally comfortable and natural on stage and is a name of which Little Theatre aficionados will surely hear more.

Due praise must also be given to the set, which is a faithful reproduction of 1980s suburbia, yet converts easily to suggest a courtroom’s layout.

Perhaps I have missed something in this extraordinary play. The 1980s were the era of feminism, so is it about women’s right to take revenge on men who regard them as no more than sex-objects? Given the period in which the play is set, is it a coincidence that the name of the character who takes the hardest line in the quest for retribution is Maggie? Is the banality of much of the dialogue a comment on the banality of suburbia? Or is it just a rotten piece of writing?

In its nearly-100 years, the Little Theatre Company has put on some memorable productions. It is a racing certainty that in the next 100-odd years, it will put on many more. But this one is best forgotten.