Ken Jacques

Absurd Person Singular at Scripps Ranch Theatre.

Alan Ayckbourn’s three-act “black farce” (his word for it) takes place on three consecutive Christmas Eves. Each ends up in the kitchen. Over that span of time characters flip-flop and somber shenanigans prevail. Ayckbourn needed a third act to carry out his pattern of rises and falls, though his second act’s impossible to follow.

In act two, it’s Christmas Eve at Geoffrey and Eva’s. He’s a “sexual Flying Dutchman” out chasing women, and George, their Yak-sized dog, chased everyone into the kitchen.

Now Ronald teeters on a table trying to repair a light socket. Marion was standing seconds ago but swilled so much Boodles gin her body avalanched to the floor. Compulsive-cleaner Jane’s elated; she gets to scour the oven. Husband Sidney’s trying to repair a drain — the last thing this social-climber had in mind.

And Eva? She just swallowed an armada of pills and crawls around in a daze trying to commit suicide.

Everyone’s so busy, they don’t notice her. And she never speaks. But given her eroded state of mind, what appears to us as High Absurdist farce might seem to her as same old, same old.

Absurd Person Singular at Scripps Ranch Theatre.

Ken Jacques

This is a notoriously difficult scene. Just mapping out the physical logistics — not to mention where the focus should be at every step — is daunting. It’s also solid evidence why Brian Salmon should direct more. And soon. His staging for Scripps Ranch Theatre is truly impressive.

His cast is of a piece — another sign of quality direction. Susan Clauson’s a hoot (albeit a sad one) as ditsy Jane. Charles Peters is precise and assertive as driven, eventually dictatorial Sidney. Fred Harlow eerily funny as often-clueless Ronald (he’s a banker? That’s SCARY!).

DeNae Steele plays three different Eva’s, all to good effect, but the mute in act two’s the most eloquent. As Marion, Teri Brown convinces first as a social snob, then as a let-it-all-hang-out dervish. Appropriately icy as Geoffrey, Jonathan Sachs does an extended, egocentric monologue that’s creepy.

Andy Scrimger’s set and Angelica Ynfante’s props turn one kitchen into three, each representing a different ladder on the social hierarchy. Ryan Dietrich’s costumes underline these subtle differences.

Absurd was Ayckbourn’s breakthrough hit in 1972, most likely because of the goofy/grotesque second act. But also how he layers contrasting events in the same space, the way Neil Simon did with Plaza Suite in 1968.

What remains constant in Absurd: Sidney, Ronald, and Geoffrey are male chauvinists. They range from bullying to ignorance and have an ingrained sense of dominance. No one questions it; no one, it seems, knows how to. This is why Jane cleans, Marion drinks, and Eva’s desperate for an exit — and why one would hope that Absurd is a “period” piece.