Upstart Crow presents a curious play about power and relationships

Filed under “they don’t make ’em like this anymore” is The Dover Road by A.A. Milne. If that name sounds familiar at all, that’s because Milne achieved global and eternal fame as the creator of Winnie the Pooh. But before diving into children’s books (which he later regretted tremendously), Milne was a fairly successful novelist and playwright.

In 1921’s The Dover Road, he imagines an eccentric rich guy who, to amuse himself, waylays London couples eloping to France to teach them a lesson about relationships.

In this production by Boulder’s Upstart Crow Theatre Company, the original three-act is trimmed to two, with Director Katherine Dubois Reed doing a nice job dusting this one off and adding a few fun touches of her own. It’s a drawing-room comedy with plenty of dry English wit overlaid by some wacky elements from both Milne and Reed.

The show opens on the first pair of victims — Leonard (Ben Johnson) and Anne (Jo Niederhoff) — who’ve been in a minor car accident on their way to Dover. While their chauffeur sorts out the mess, they find their way to the door of the eccentric Mr. Latimer (Mark Bradford) and are greeted by his enigmatic butler Dominic (Robert Mitchell). He assures them the place is a “sort of hotel” and tells them dinner will be served in five minutes.

This prompts a series of flabbergasted protestations from Leonard, a quintessential British twit played with John Cleese aplomb by Johnson. Like Python’s Cleese, Johnson is quite tall and at times uses his height for comic effect. Leonard is running away from his wife with Anne, with plans to marry in Paris. Unbeknownst to them, Latimer has been spying on them, setting up an elaborate tap to show them the error of their ways.

His prescription is a week of togetherness where they aren’t allowed to leave the house. That’s all they’ll need, he figures, to see the bloom fade from the rose of their ardor.

Trapped

Never mind the legality of kidnapping people and holding them prisoner. With some mild hints from Latimer at violent reprisals if they try to leave, the couple settles in for the experiment. Anne seems like she may harbor some doubts about the situation, and Niederhoff is convincing as a young woman who’s starting to wonder what’s she’s gotten herself into.

As Dominic, Mitchell is spot-on as the dry-as-dust butler with an eerie knack for appearing precisely when he’s needed. Bradford plays Mr. Latimer as a cross between Jeeves and Spock — a polite bastard with the power of money behind him to carry out his little game. I thought Bradford was a bit stiff in the role, and might benefit from channeling, say, a bit of Gomez Addams’ wacky energy.

Reed adds some of that by giving the house staff some quirky business. Footmen played by Joseph Bowman and Austin Moore might burst into a juggling routine or make an exit on their hands. Chambermaids Priya Devanesan and Stefanie Okestrum use elaborate flourishes with napkins and tablecloths as they serve course after course of pretend food and drink.

Things pick up in Act Two when Anne and Leonard meet another couple that’s been in residence for the past week and getting ready to leave. In a preview of many a rom-com to come (and shades of the plot of Rocky Horror), the other couple includes Leonard’s wife Eustasia (Daphne Moore) and some schlub she’s running away with named Nicholas (Harlan Haskins).

After the reveal, it’s off to the races as Latimer’s machinations start to bear fruit. From their exchanges it becomes clear that Nicholas and Eustasia have undergone the same treatment now being visited upon Leonard and Anne. It’s also evident that Nicholas has had enough of the annoying Eustasia, but when he tries to shift his attentions to Anne after the other two reconcile, he gets friend-zoned.

As the play ends, we hear the arrival of another couple that’s been in a contrived wreck, and the cycle begins anew.

It’s a solid production of a pretty funny comedy that may represent one of the most  bizarre form of couples’ therapy imaginable.