By Page Laws

The Virginian-Pilot | Jan 31, 2023 at 1:46 pm

NORFOLK — What’s so funny?

Well, I’d have to be a psycho to try to explain why “The 39 Steps” at Virginia Stage Company is so flat-out funny. I’m getting vertigo at the very thought of such scholarly acuity and daring! But here goes.

Step aside, Aristotle. Dr. Laws will attempt to explain why this MacGuffin-filled takeoff on Alfred Hitchcock and other old spy-thrillers can make a body ache with laughter.

My first indication of monkey business was the presence of two new mezzanine-level theater box seats built far downstage right and left, plus a new large cameo portrait — the outlined profile of a chubby man’s face — at the apex of the proscenium. The profile seemed to match a curious disembodied slow and creepy voice that intoned “Good eeeevening,” and proceeded to warn the audience to turn off cellphones or face dire consequences. But why “remodel” a theater that’s on the National Register of Historic Places?! Why add fake box seats (later seized upon by the actors for their antics) when there were already lots of them available? Perhaps they didn’t want the genuine ones covered with blood?

But don’t bother looking for 39 steps — to the mezzanine or anywhere else. What are “The 39 Steps”?

Shtick around. Maybe someone will let us know. …

But first let us dispense with the provenance of the production in question, taken from the Samuel French print edition: “The 39 Steps, adapted by Patrick Barlow from the novel by John Buchan from the movie of Alfred Hitchcock licensed by ITV Global Entertainment Limited and an original concept by Simon Corble and Nobby Dimon.”

For a sense of historical context, the novel dates from 1915 and Hitchcock’s movie from 1935.

The VSC production has a similar hero, Richard Hannay, played by an agile, cheeky fellow named James Taylor Odom who is tasked with saving England and therefore the world from a dastardly Nazi masquerading as a British Professor Jordan (who, like his castmates, plays many other parts). The actor is one Steve Pacek, last seen as Miss Tracy Mills in “The Legend of Georgia McBride.”

Pacek is also billed as “Clown #2,” implying the presence of a “Clown #1,” who indeed exists and is deftly played by Michael Di Liberto (a master of half-audible, comic, mumble speak). Kristen Hahn joins in as Annabella Schmidt, Margaret, Pamela, and any other female role that sashays her way and hasn’t been grabbed by one of the men.

All four actors are brilliant physical comedians, guided by a clearly sadistic director, one Mark Shanahan, who is surely making actors run and jump and role-switch much faster than Actors Equity allows. To prove my point, the stage directions on Page 96 of the French edition read: “Quite a lot of this show depends on your actors’ level of Olympian fitness. It has proved an invaluable aid to weight loss.”

Weight loss? As if that were ever desirable!

At any rate, there are four actors playing dozens of witty/witless characters. Their goal? Apparently to mock every conceivable cliche from the Golden Age of Cinema, with special attention to the portly Master of Suspense and his oeuvre. (“Good eeeevening!”) Someone is also out to disembowel the very notion of a spy mystery, using slow, terrifying cruelty and questionable wigs.

Here are just a few of the shticks that poke at the ribs of spy-thriller fans.

Hannay, our world-weary hero, begins his efforts to cheer himself up with a trip to the theater, where he meets the English (or is she a Nazi?) agent Schmidt watching an elaborate music hall number. Mr. Memory (Di Liberto) and his “compère” (emcee, played by Pacek) do an outrageous act where Mr. M is supposedly asked questions by the Wells audience. (When the compère “repeats the question,” he’s actually planting a planned query for his partner to answer onstage.)

The funniest part is their exaggerated bows to one another and the repetition of “Thankoo” (cockney for “Thank you”). This is just the start of the ongoing accent shticks, hilariously mocking Oxbridge English, German and Scottish (Schmidt constantly switches her English V’s for W’s, and D’s for T’s — classic giveaways of a native German speaker). The “ch” at the end of German words is gargled and fairly spat across the stage; likewise, the “ch” ending on Scottish words is delivered with a choking bark: “Alt-na-Shellach!” (It takes about 10 seconds to expectorate that one.) Another nice trick when accent-mocking is using naughty words (untranslated) from that language. Annabella Schhhhhh-midt (“Sch” is lengthened) is fond of saying “Scheisse” for … well, ask your local German.

Talking funny is coupled, as mentioned, with pure physical comedy of the highest and fastest order (except when exaggerated slow motion is called for). The overall joke of the play is the playwright’s implicit insistence that anything film can do, theater can do better. We, therefore, get exaggerated light, wind and sound effects meant to recall every train scene in cinematic history. Though you can’t easily put a train car onstage, you can place two actors closely standing across from two other actors to mime moving within the close quarters of a train compartment. Awkward intimacy is involved each time somebody comes or goes. It’s mime time sublime.

My favorite related film shtick is the “wind” effect, necessary each time the train compartment door opens and repeated later out on the heath where Hannay runs to escape his assailants. There’s no real wind, just a lot of choreographed clothes-shaking to simulate the wind hitting cloth.

I’ve never seen a better example than Odom’s wind shakes. Odom’s likewise a hit in his “escaping from beneath the female corpse” and his “escaping as a handcuffed couple” routines, both of which also require the antics of the talented Hahn. Di Liberto and Pacek deserve commensurate awards for their quick-change “hat tricks” and duck-and-cover instant costume changes. In the climactic melee back at the London Palladium (Mr. Memory is on again), Pacek gets to spout a line not in the script that definitively and hilariously shatters the “fourth wall” between the audience and players.

As his evil Nazi guy Jordan gets shot by an unknown assailant (all four actors are standing innocently onstage), Pacek shouts in a final complaint: “It was supposed to be a cast of four!”

One final bit of praise for this manic masterpiece: Some of its silliness is soulful. Listen for the scripted “extemporaneous” speech Hannay is forced to make when he tries to hide out on the lam at a political rally.

Hannay calls for “A world where no nation plots against nation! Where no neighbor plots against neighbor, where there’s no persecution or hunting down, where everybody gets a square deal … A world where suspicion and cruelty and fear have been forever banished!”

What a funny idea! (Not.)

And what are “The 39 Steps”?? A gang of Nazis, a secret aeronautics plan, a MacGuffin (red herring, in Hitchcock-speak)?

You got me! Or maybe I got you … .

Page Laws is dean emerita of the Nusbaum Honors College at Norfolk State University. prlaws@aya.yale.edu

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