On a rainy night in Truro the audience file in to a dimly lit auditorium. The curtains open onto a bright, very smart set – a stylish Manhattan apartment, boldly coloured in maroon and orange with a chrome and glass galley kitchen to one side. A young man enters from what must be the bedroom, wearing only a bath towel, and the row of middle-aged ladies behind me snigger and giggle, shoving each other and mumbling their approval. He moves around the apartment with confident ease, as though this is his place but, when a woman comes out of the bedroom in a robe, their exchange is perplexing. Not a couple at all, Camille (Karen Drury), a wealthy and successful jewellery designer, has brought this young man home from a party, and admits to a weakness for waiters with charm. She tries to pay him off but he won’t take the money and he won’t leave. His earlier confidence is replaced by what seems to be offended sensitivity, but soon becomes smug arrogance as he sits back in her arm...
Observations: Here's lookin' at you kid. Book, Film and Theatre Reviews. Selling houses: Telling it like it is.