The Book Club

Rodney Fisher’s version of The Book Club refreshes Roger Hall’s 1999 original script by using references to recently published novels in a tale of suburban intrigue arising from housewife Deborah’s inclusion in the local book club.  The intrigue begins as a mere frisson amongst club members at an author’s acceptance of their invitation to speak at their meeting—and becomes something more for one particularly enamoured club member.

That so many such disparate characters could appear in the body of so few actors—one, to be precise—is testament to Amanda Muggleton’s sublime ability to fully communicate both message and messenger simultaneously.  In several consecutive breaths, we see plainly the interactions of a wiry Welsh woman, an imminently expectant mother, a large-bodied utter snob, and a sexually provocative Swiss publicist, amongst others, all with suitable accents and characteristic mannerisms.  Muggleton’s performance as this can of disparate characters is mesmerising and at times hilarious.

Muggleton’s familiarity with her audience is so natural and immediate that she manifests an enviable freedom to occupy roles she couldn’t possibly wish to be identified with—and, along the way, to intersperse ad libbed lines that added marvellously to the play’s wit.

This is not simply a comedy; Muggleton’s character evokes genuine depth of feeling for her ability to reflect upon her effects upon others. But you’ll walk away from this play feeling that you’ve had an evening of risqué fun and possibly that you’ve learned something about yourself in doing so.

John P. Harvey