A scene from An unromantic comedy (pictures provided and published with permission - picture credit: Fiona MacPherson)
An apartment painted in grey hues. Minimalist and modern decor; I always read this aesthetic as something incomplete or insincere. It is ordinary, a blank. Small personal details reveal themselves to you: a photo of a dog, an album cover print of Frank Ocean’s Blonde, liquor bottle adornments on a shelf, trinkets and a modest Jesus idol on another, a simple couch with cushion and comforter – reminders of the fact that someone indeed lives here. And that’s when Jason (Lyle October) impedes the space’s lifelessness, bringing his brewing personality into the room through hyping himself for a romantic evening in his loft apartment. While I might be describing the set as insipid, perhaps this aesthetic is a reminder that An unromantic comedy is a play which explores the incompleteness of dating and love in your thirties. Before the performance sets itself into motion, personally I’m becoming drawn to what the set might reveal about the complexities it is clamping onto. The space tells me that I am about to meet people who are trying to fulfil themselves; and this capsule, this apartment, is the meeting place to endure the pain of incompleteness. I’ve digressed.
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What this team accomplishes is the practice of engagement; everyone in the theatre was laughing, commenting, gasping – An unromantic comedy is, at its centre, loaded with comedy. Taking a look at the inner narratives of the play, I am posed questions that have my eyebrow muscle in a flex.
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An unromantic comedy, written by Rosalind Butler and directed by Craig Freimond, is a comedic investigation into relationship mayhem. The play revolves around Jason, who mistakenly texts his ex-fiancée, Robin (Tamzin Williams), inviting her for a romantic dinner. The reason for the couple’s separation is that Jason, in one moment of weakness, swived with Robin’s now ex-best friend, Nonhle (Awethu Hleli). Things get awkward when Jason realises whom he’s actually invited, and the tension draws tighter when not only Nonhle shows up for dinner as well, but the state of their connections and the clashing of their wants all make contact in a night of disorder and jumbled communication. This production first made its debut in 2014 and was nominated for a Naledi in the Best New Script Category. It is now showing at the Baxter for a two-week run over 4-15 February 2025.
A scene from An unromantic comedy (pictures provided and published with permission - picture credit: Fiona MacPherson)
It is at this stage that I want to move away from discussing a general summary of the plot and reveal how things unfold. This play is funny. The dialogue is witted and assured. October, Williams and Hleli bring strength to their performances and complement the text and Freimond’s direction. Awkward moments feel awkward. It’s a play which knows where it wants to go, and it takes us on the journey. There were many moments when I found myself ad-libbing in the theatre because the frenzy thrilled me. In that way, the play is approachable because it is exciting and dramatic. What this team accomplishes is the practice of engagement; everyone in the theatre was laughing, commenting, gasping – An unromantic comedy is, at its centre, loaded with comedy. Taking a look at the inner narratives of the play, I am posed questions that have my eyebrow muscle in a flex.
What I’d like to attempt is a reading of a moment in the play which left me pensive, a moment which opened the spine of the play. I want to highlight why I think this comedy, while still achieving its laughs and “satire”, perhaps betrays its own characters and takes missteps towards its assumed premise. I think about how realistic it is for clarity to align itself with an evening of chaos, even if for a split second. And while it is possible to say that the action of the play is simply indicative of what happens in real life, I propose that there is a missed opportunity for an alternative, more focalised reality, one which sheds light on the blind spots that could have been explored in An unromantic comedy. As it is described, Jason is a commitment-phobe, Robin is a hopeful traditionalist and Nonhle is free-spirited and unsettled. In the play, what I think Butler is alluding to is that the characters are more than their symptoms; they each have some aspect which either redeems or blights them. It comes down to a preoccupation with making things even. Having each character on the same playing field, no one is entirely wrong or right. This allows for characters who are easy to empathise with and understand, since imperfection is resonant. Yet, the “equalising force” is present so that the play can make choices which feel showy to elicit more action, not to take us somewhere sincere.
A scene from An unromantic comedy (pictures provided and published with permission - picture credit: Fiona MacPherson)
An aspect of the play which I adore is that these characters communicate with earnest; they sit in the situation. The dialogue is free-flowing. Jason and Robin overcome the initial awkwardness and fall into a meaningful catch-up session; the characters in this moment are trying to reconnect through candour. Robin is concerned that she’s running out of time to start a family, while Jason argues that his priority is freedom and that “family is the root of dysfunction”. Sex as a result of choice (and nature’s course) is brought up quite often, and even though Jason says his one moment with Nonhle was “just sex”, by the end of the play all the characters agree that “nothing just happens”. Throughout the exchange of Robin and Jason reflecting on their relationship’s pitfalls, it’s still very clear that there is a level of affection between the two of them; and when Nonhle joins the gathering, it’s also evident that these interpersonal connections still have meaning, and it brings the play to spirited rounds of chaos and tenderness. The part of the play which left me pensive was the climax. An enraged and dispirited Nonhle reveals that Robin was also unfaithful at one stage in her relationship. This means that we have a tit-for-tat-cum-forgiving final moment, but this choice is, to me, not needed. This twist has startling ramifications for all of the characters, but it is all sacrificed for a few extra laughs and a fine ending.
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I think this play discusses tradition versus the individual. The characters reinvent themselves on the basis of rejecting or accepting the traditional markers of a 30-something.
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I think this play discusses tradition versus the individual. The characters reinvent themselves on the basis of rejecting or accepting the traditional markers of a 30-something. I see Robin as a madonna character – someone who is assumed to be blameless – and it would have been interesting to explore her flaws, had they not become so tangible and basic. There’s this moment in the play when Robin talks about her desire for a daughter, and that as time slips away she sees this far-seen daughter fading away. In effect, she’s saying that her youth is slipping away and her fulfilment is out of reach. She later also says that her therapist believes she has commitment issues, and I think this is the attribute which makes Robin such an interesting character – and the play is in many ways about her instead of Jason. Robin’s failure to acknowledge her debilitating knack of having expectations, and her obsession with commitment and tradition, is where she fails. This is never really handled in the play. And for her lowest moment having to be admitting that she cheated on Jason, cheapens the narrative. Why does her resolution have to imply that her regret towards Jason is also self-loathing disguised? I’m still completely unsure as to why it truly bothers me, but I think the audience could learn more and laugh more if there weren’t a preoccupation with putting all the characters at fault (for the same thing), but rather a layering of the transgressions in ways which honour not only the intelligence of the audience, but also the sensibilities of each character. Yes, what Butler has done reflects reality and is still entertaining, but there’s a lot more to harness in conversation when we slightly tilt the conventional. There’re still so many things I have to pose, but in retrospect this one decision undercuts the whole tone of the play. There was an opportunity for something much more spellbinding.
A scene from An unromantic comedy (pictures provided and published with permission - picture credit: Fiona MacPherson)
But perhaps go and watch this play for yourself. October brings to life the lexicon of masculine folly, while still making his character charming and clever; his physicality really is quite natural as well. Williams takes Robin’s character to a balance between angry and joyful retribution, while keeping her character’s composure classy. Hleli brings bursts of colour to the play, expertly delivering comedic timing and a maturity to Nonhle’s otherwise indifferent character. Go into this play asking yourself if love is enough, if your personal ultimatums have an antonym. Go into it ready to check in with your partner about your expectations of each other. (And go into it ready to laugh, of course.)
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