The ‘dystopian suburban soap opera’ has become somewhat of a cliché in recent years. Between Alan Ball’s film American Beauty, Tracy Letts’s play August: Osage County, and David Chase’s television series The Sopranos, writers have managed to wring an impressive amount of drama out of debunking the American Dream. Legendary playwright Arthur Miller provided them a marvelous template to work from with his play All My Sons, currently being performed by the McGill Players’ Theatre.

Director Matthieu Labaudinière emphasizes the American setting of the play immediately with the Tin Pan Alley-era jazz that plays as the house lights dim. As the stage lights come up, we are exposed to American suburbia through the set’s white picket fence, bright red door, and lone rocking chair. Set designer Patrick Higdon also places dead rose petals around the stage and strewn tree branches at its centre to hint at the dark side of the seemingly idyllic world Miller will soon reveal.

The tree branches represent a central motif in the drama. The Kellers plant the tree to which the branches belong in honour of their son Larry, an air force pilot who has been missing in action for three years. As the play opens, Joe Keller (Oren Lefkowitz) and his neighbours Jim Bayliss (Ben Mayer-Goodman) and Frank Lubey (John Hanchar) discuss the fallen tree and the effect it will have on Joe’s wife Kate (Julianna Astorino), who clings to the notion that Larry still might be alive.

The Kellers’ other son, Chris (Matt Smith), is introduced shortly, and here we begin to see Miller wrestle with issues of class and education. As Joe peruses a copy of the local paper, Chris asks to read the book review section. Joe scoffs at Chris’s desire to be educated, and Chris shows an equal disdain towards his father’s philistinism.

Miller continues to probe the depths of these issues as we learn more about the characters. Joe owns a local factory that produces aircraft machinery. Chris, on the other hand, aspires to use his education to escape blue-collar life. The tension between these two philosophies forms a central pillar of the drama.

Much of the play’s interest derives from the relationships between these men and the two most prominent female characters, Kate, and their former next-door-neighbour, Ann Deever (Noush Kadian). Ann comes to visit for the first time since Larry, her former lover, went missing. We soon understand her motivations, as she and Chris are revealed to be romantically attached and intent upon getting married. Though Joe accepts their marriage, Kate’s attachment to Larry and her refusal to acknowledge his death prevent her from coming to terms with the relationship.

Although Miller initially presents Kate as the character who is most removed from reality, the delusions which cloud the judgements of both Chris and Joe rise to the surface as the play progresses. Both Chris’s idolization of Joe, and Joe’s refusal to admit the precariousness of the situation involving him and his ex-business partner Steve (Ann’s father) seem more and more absurd as Miller provides more information about each of the characters. By the end, we see the extent of the denial under which the three of them live under.

The complexity of these roles require the actors to embody a wide range of personas throughout the drama, and they manage (for the most part) to convey the tolls which the strife takes upon their characters. Astorino’s portrayal particularly stands out. She depicts both Kate’s initial plucky aplomb and the devastation of her self-realization to deliver a wrenching performance.

All My Sons is a deceptively complex take on the American suburban melodrama, and the Players’ Theatre has delivered a strong interpretation that deftly navigates the play’s many intricacies. Miller’s play probes issues of class, family, and war; this production makes a strong case for the continued relevance of its takes on those topics in the present day.

Though urban Montreal might sometimes feel far-removed from small-town American life, All My Sons shows the universality of the emotions it depicts.

All My Sons starts at 8 p.m. on Jan. 29—Feb. 1 at Players’ Theatre. Student tickets are $6.

“The spit takes are lame and the monkey motif is laboured.” That’s not to be taken as a particularly aggressive start to this review, rather, it’s the judgment of a character in The Drowsy Chaperone—about the show itself. The self-deprecation is just one of the many charming aspects of this year’s Arts Undergraduate Theatre Society (AUTS) production—one that, in the words of Artistic Director Fiona Ross, allows the audience to “both revel in and critique the constructs that define musical theatre.” As noted already, it even comes with its own theatre critic. That leaves yours truly in an awkward position indeed.  You, dear reader, don’t need me. You just need to see this show.

The Drowsy Chaperone may even be a bit too hard on itself. Both spit takes and monkey motif—running the gauntlet of humour extremes from slapstick to plain weird—were downright hilarious, much like the show is. The story of The Drowsy Chaperone takes place in the imagination of the Woman-in-Chair (Jami Price), the occasional interruption for commentary or by power outage notwithstanding.  This setup not only excuses, but essentially demands an all-guns-blazing approach to the performances, and AUTS’ cast and crew delivers. The result is an uproarious spoof on musical theatre tropes, the logic of Broadway taken ad absurdium (though not ad nauseam).

The show-within-a-show centres on starlet Janet Van der Graaff (Colby Koecher) and her impending marriage to oil tycoon Robert Martin (Natalie Aspinall). The maelstrom of aggrandized personalities that make up the wedding guests include a malevolent producer (Kimberley Drapack), a  dutiful butler (Cara Krisman), a ridiculous Don Juan (Chelsea Wellman), and of course, the titular chaperone herself (Vanessa Hutinec)—for whom ‘drowsy’ is really just  a synonym for drunk.

Koecher’s Janet possesses all the instruments with which a starlet works her magic. Radiant and poised, Koecher also works hard to bring performance range to a book that emphasizes the stereotypicality of its characters.

Aspinall, in addition to being one of the show’s strongest vocalists, delightfully captures Robert’s physicality, whether teetering on roller skates or delightfully tapping away his cold feet.

While most of the cast display well-tuned senses of comedic timing, Hutinec as the Chaperone is nothing less than a master of the craft. With well-developed characterizations and outlandish-yet-controlled physicality, Hutinec singlehandedly elevates “As We Stumble Along”—a “rousing anthem” to that almighty patron deity of McGill: alcohol—to be the best number of this production.

No less hilarious is Chelsea Wellman’s Aldolpho, the ‘can’t-quite-place-his-accent’ womanizer who swoops in to sweep the Chaperone—and the audience—off their feet. Wellman’s earnest and charming delivery transforms what otherwise could be a morally-discomforting character into one of the most memorable aspects of the show.

The Wes Anderson-inspired set design by Fiona Ross—commendably working overtime—fits well with the demands of book and stage, while also holding a trick or two up its sleeves. Sound difficulties, including microphone cues and volume issues vis-à-vis the orchestra, persisted throughout the performance, but with further ironing out, this shouldn’t trouble future runs.

A stickier issue may lie in what is also one of the defining characteristics of the show: the frequent interventions from ‘the real world.’ Some of these moments work well, such as the spit take sequence. Most have had an unfortunately lethal effect to the show’s momentum, and the potential humour of these situations is not fully developed. Further adjustments to pacing and delivery may be warranted.

Despite these difficulties, The Drowsy Chaperone remains a show not to be missed. Never before have I been paralyzed by laughter induced by—of all things—a torrent of food puns. Nor has the soft “ting!” of a character, now dressed as a cymbal-banging monkey, been more unexpected and more hilarious. A vivid and feverish celebration of the best and worst excesses of musical theatre, The Drowsy Chaperone is simply pure, unadulterated fun.

The Drowsy Chaperone starts at 7:30 p.m. on Jan. 31 and Feb. 1 at Moyse Hall. Student tickets are $15.