C'est pas la fin du monde

A cheap melodrama about morally decrepit men and the women who find the strength to survive their misdeeds. The central plotline is not believable and the characters are single-faceted and don’t really develop (big things happen to them, but the resulting psychological growth is one-dimensional too). There are two or three moments of genuine dramatic tension in the air. The evening I saw it, the audience insisted on laughing throughout, even when there was no reason to. In big part it’s because it’s a bourgeois audience seeking unchallenging entertainment that’s attracted by a play about the problems of bourgeois life, but in part it’s also the writing: the playwright seems unable to resist sticking in a good joke when it presents itself, even if the pace and trajectory of the drama would recommend leaving that out. As a result there is no sustained, disciplined dramatic arc in the play – we meander and stumble from one scene to the next until the curtain goes down.