Lette is a decent guy. He’s invented a great new plug. He’s got a face that could politely be described as ‘unacceptable’. In German playwright-of-the-moment Marius von Mayenburg’s world, it’s easy enough to visit an artistically inclined plastic surgeon and build a whole new face from the ground up. And that’s just the first few minutes. Lette’s impulsive decision triggers a chain of events that move The Ugly One from clever satire into the realm of brutal farce, making it all the funnier, and all the more devastatingly accurate.
The Ugly One is utterly hilarious and close to perfect in its construction. It’s the product of a writer who intimately understands the theatre and its function, and is possessed of the imagination and intellect to take a simple idea and push it to its absolute extreme. It takes a while to realise that the world onstage looks nothing like real life; at some point the play travels seamlessly through the looking glass, and yet everything follows with devastating logic from what seemed like an ordinary point of departure.
Von Mayenburg toys knowingly with traditional farcical conventions – mistaken identity, supposed infidelities – then drags them into the cold light of 21st-century theatre and twists them to perfectly serve his purpose. Three of the actors play multiple parts, but each of their characters has the same name; we’re told that people look identical when they’re not; in a heartbeat, a couple swap identities, but this isn’t a trick, it’s a new scene, and the setup for one of the biggest laughs of the night. Every joke is laser-sharp and every line contributes to von Mayenburg’s central concern: the question of a link between appearance and identity, the face and the self.
Sarah Giles’s direction maintains a blistering pace without sacrificing a shred of clarity. Her production moves with uncanny precision and, dare I say, Germanic efficiency, making it a perfect fit for von Mayenburg’s writing. Other than a superfluous pre-show and opening sequence, there’s nothing here that doesn’t ingeniously serve the text, making it a lean 55 minutes where more indulgent productions have blown out to upwards of 70. There’s still room in there for displays of virtuosic skill, the highlight of these being an experimental operation scored to Gig Clarke’s disturbingly lifelike impressions of surgical instruments, a sequence that continues to top itself every time you think it’s over.
Giles has assembled an impressive foursome of actors, all of whom handle the demands of the play with aplomb. Aside from his foley work, Clarke offers a fine line in deadpan as a nonplussed assistant and downtrodden mummy’s boy, while Jo Turner is entertainingly evasive as Lette’s boss and even funnier as an airy, patronising doctor. Jacinta Acevski crafts two brilliant comic caricatures from the women in Lette’s life: his wife all protestations of innocence, his mistress (a 73-year-old CEO) soaked in alcohol and disdain. Eden Falk is wonderful as Lette, displaying a delicate awareness of the way Lette’s character mirrors of the state of the play. Falk starts out playing the seemingly simple role of the beleaguered straight man, then slowly warps into an unrecognisable creature of arrogance, narcissism and delusion.
There’s a nagging sense that this production isn’t quite as riotous as it should be, and it’s unclear, in the end, whether there’s enough heart in the enterprise to elevate it above an impeccably executed exercise. Griffin plays kick off early, and there’s a chance The Ugly One may not stick in your head all the way to the pillow a few hours later. For the 55 minutes you’re in there, though, it’s a terrific ride, and you won’t be bored for a second.
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