A play the way they used to make `em, albeit 150 years ago in Russia. In classic theatrical fashion, nothing actually happens -- nothing, that is, except secrets revealed, emotions roiled, foundations shaken and compromises made. Alan Bates, as an impoverished member of the household who pays his rent by occasionally allowing himself to be humiliated, bumbles and apologizes, abases himself and then rises to dignity, and, in a memorable turn, fashions a drunken remembrance into a comedic aria.
Frank Langella, as a foppish neighbor, pushes his flamboyance over the top (big surprise), but there's no denying the comic charge that fills the stage when he's making mayhem. Even with all the showy acting going on, there's room for Enid Graham's clear, direct performance as a newlywed learning the truth of her past, and for a story that is no less funny for being quite sad underneath.
