The Executioners

Bunglers of the theatre of the absurd are likely to find that they have achieved the ridiculous: so, a little sheepishly, the cast of Auckland's production of The Executioners pulled a bunny, instead of a tiger, out of the hat. I suspect that the play could have been horrifying—but without our generous imagination and critical somnolence, this presentation startled only by ineptitude. Intense drama may take place on a bare stage, but proficient actors are required.

Here we had all the bareness and none of the skill. Characters were stiff: the two boys jerked into action like puppets when they spoke, and stopped in mid-giggle when their speeches came to an end; the mother dispensed with gesture, and her voice, though more audible than her two sons', adopted regular staccato patterns, like a fugue for solo typewriter.

The prompt had the best voice— and a corresponding part. The production was not aided by its minor eccentricities. Why, for example, should a boy whose shorts demonstrated extreme youth be sporting a beard?