NOISES OFF

SALISBURY PLAYHOUSE

There are times when one sits in one's seat desperately praying that a comedy will not be funny. For instance, when the man beside you has a laugh that cracks across your eardrum like Concorde breaking the sound barrier. Gradually the evening becomes the theatrical equivalent of Chinese water torture, as you edge forward on your seat, trying to spot the laugh line before him so that you can clap your hands to your poor sore ears before the pneumatic drill of hilarity starts up again. Unfortunately, Salisbury Playhouse's production of Noises Off is funny, and I've got the headache to prove it.

And yet the play itself, much lauded and applauded, is a strange ragbag which features less of playwright Michael Frayn writing as himself, and far more in his incarnation as the feeble farceur Robin Housemonger, author of the play-within-a-play Nothing On. Most of the first act consists of a staging of Nothing On: vital to the plot of the subsequent acts, but possibly rather more second-rate farce than one could comfortably swallow, despite the marvellously theatrical interruptions by the actors rehearsing this potential cash-cow. The second act - set backstage during a performance - goes on to demonstrate that Frayn (as himself) considerably surpasses his fictional alter ego, with a near-silent parade of closely choreographed chaos as Housemonger's lines ring out yet again from behind the shaking flats. Peter Rowe's direction is perfect, enabling the cast to demonstrate that in farce it is the timing as much as the gags themselves which launch the greatest belly-laughs. If farce is your cup of tea, this is lapsang souchong. Finally, the third act is a far bleaker delivery of yet another performance of Nothing On, with the tour limping to a close, the production coming apart at the seams and the grande dame Dotty Otley (Rosemary Ashe) transforming her lines into a torrent of decay and commentary, a Greek chorus behind the mask of a charlady.

The actors in the Playhouse production switch effortlessly between the on-stage and off-stage stereotypes. However, the script provides too little to allow much in the way of genuine empathy (although Ben Fox's ability to take physical punishment does elicit the odd wince and a round of applause). They move around the stage in perfect choreography, and hit their marks like true professionals. They are the ciphers in Frayn's comedy, and they play that role to perfection. For a craftsmanlike performance of farce as it should be seen this production is hard to beat. You may not weep for them and their sad, frustrated, complicated lives, but they will make you laugh. It certainly worked for the man next to me. Now if only my ears would stop ringing …

Toby O'Connor Morse

Runs until 30 October. Box office (01722) 320333