Banyan, having put down roots as Sarasota's special summer theater company, branches out with a special brief winter treat for fans and to introduce itself to "season" playgoers and new residents. Typically, the company chose a literary work. An off-beat offering by Yasmina Reza, in a translation typically stamped by a Brit who tends toward adaptation, The Unexpected Man is less drama than incident.
A grey compartment on a train from Paris to Frankfurt both locates and occasions revelations of the thoughts of two fellow passengers. Novelist Paul is the bitter author of a book that Martha, having brought it to read, keeps in her handbag. He's an insomniac, filled with bitterness over his critics, the man his daughter will marry, his own sex life. Finally, the death of a friend, Serge, has left him like the "captain of a lost ship."
In her new blue suit and refreshed blondeness, Martha, a middle-aged mother of two, is excited to recognize the man whose works became the friends she turned to when abandoned by her lover for another woman. She, too, knew Serge as a friend and apparently is on her way to his funeral. Paul speculates that she's en route to meet a conductor (orchestral, not of another train; Hampton could have been clearer with the word "maestro" or a different phrase). Each is curious about the other, but conversation is limited to an exchange about his opening a window. They're not yet able to tear down the barriers they fancy between them. More monologued self-revelations and other-directed speculation.
Finally, she gathers her courage and takes her/his book out—and he notices! It leads to their conversation, full of inquiries. Because the book is as key to his character as her response defending it is to hers, there's mutual revelation and a bit of excitement. So what is finally reached is the possibility of a drama, just shortly before the play ends. What has taken place is an excellent workout for actors who must handle interesting writing spoken by somewhat uninteresting or at least undeveloped characters. Luckily, Nona Pipes enthusiastically conveys the woman's alternating excitement and resistance at her situation.
Looking more Gaelic-Scot than French, Robert M. Hefley, warming up, talks too often through his beard. When he hits his stride, Hefley enunciates more clearly and reveals Paul's self doubts to be worthy of sympathy while substantiating his importance as a writer.
Gil Lazier's direction is confident. Bill Wagy's projections skillfully show the passing of time and of scenes outside the window of the train compartment. (Is it a window from a door leading to an aisle that Paul adjusts?) Technical work finely supports the major focus on the actors.
