Was actually rather good. Called "Minor Irritations" it was all about the insecurities of a not very successful actor playing his emotional turmoil off against his job in a call centre.
"oh...." sighed my friend Kate as the play started. She's having a tough time looking after the emotional insecurities of her cast, and this was like extra homework for her.
Five minutes in, some late arrivals edged in. They were all large ladies with frizzy hair and lots of bags. The play had the seal of approval of the International Association of Fag Hags.
The play's main problem was that the author starred in a play about his own life... and wasn't that good at playing himself. Worse, he couldn't actually write for himself convincingly.
But apart from that gaping hole in the middle, the play was jolly enough - every other character was deftly written and well played - it was just rather hard to believe that they'd fall in love with a borderline autistic emotional wreck given to lengthy monologues of self-doubt and sudden bursts of tears.
For the first time, i experienced the urge to heckle. "Leave him, he's not worth it!" I kept whispering, as yet another lovely waiter fell for Ben's whining charms.
But it did have one genius idea - that there's a secret American gay society that sleeps with visiting Englishmen to cheer them up and reinforce the myth that their accent is attractive. It's called the Out Of Your League League.