Southern Comforts is as frothy as the crown of a fine
barista’s cappuccino, and as wispy as the downy hair on a baby’s
head.

Kathleen Clark’s featherweight play, about finding—and
keeping—love in later life, is given a capable and sometimes
charming production by the crew at Invisible Theatre. Amanda (Maedell
Dixon, looking much younger than her character’s intended 70-something
age) appears one Sunday afternoon at the New Jersey home of Gus
(Douglas Mitchell), also a youthful looking 70-year-old. He is
distracted by his chores and a Yankees game, and has little interest in
the contribution envelopes from church that she’s come to deliver.

A storm is brewing, and as the deluge commences, he offers her
refuge. She introduces herself, explaining to Gus that she is from
Johnson City, Tenn., and is visiting her daughter. She offers her hand,
and when they shake, a mighty thunderclap rattles the rafters. Hmmmm.
Could this foreshadow things to come?

They are from different worlds. He’s a stolid, retired widower, as
rough-hewn as the granite and flagstone he worked with in his
stone-mason days. She’s an ex-librarian, a soft yet strong Southern
belle who never met a conversational silence she could tolerate.

She is inquisitive, yet politely so. He is uninterested, yet
politely so. But, lo and behold, within a few scenes’ time, they have
become a couple, although a rather odd one. Despite contrasts in how
they view the world, their willingness to be intimate emotionally and
their politics, they decide they are good company for each other. Their
attempts to work through their differences give rise to some great
one-liners and more than a few good grins. Heck, they even elicit a
couple of genuine guffaws.

That seems to be playwright Clark’s primary intent. She doesn’t give
us complex characters; there’s no real probing of the nature of love in
later life; there are no sharp edges and no dips into the dark side.
Gus and Amanda do stumble into a conflict which might threaten their
union—in this world and in the hereafter—but, generally,
Clark skims the surface like a stone skipping across water. But, hey, a
good stone skip takes some skill, and it’s a rather pleasurable
diversion.

So if we can forgive the play for what it isn’t, IT’s production
gives us plenty of reasons to enjoy what it is.

Mitchell and Dixon, both talented and skilled pros, are firmly
committed to their characters. Even though Mitchell sometimes seems to
be channeling Archie Bunker, and Dixon’s Southern accent would make a
true Southerner grind her teeth, they make the best of what Clark has
given them. Most importantly, guided by veteran director Harold Dixon,
they handle the humor unselfconsciously,
rarely—rarely—giving into contrivance in search of a
cheap laugh.

James Blair does an exceptional job—as we have come to
expect—of creating a workable set on IT’s tiny stage. The action
takes place in Gus’ living room, which in the first act is totally his
territory. Sparse and utilitarian, this is definitely Man Country. The
small shelf on the wall is lined with WD-40, paint thinner, bug spray
and the like—and from a brass coat rack dangles a fly swatter.
Great details.

For the second act, when households have merged, Blair remodels Gus’
bare-bones room into a Home Sweet Home, engineered with a woman’s
sensibility. Since there’s no stage curtain, this transformation
happens in full view of the audience during intermission, and the
stagehands cast themselves as movers. Many audience members seemed
quite transfixed by this bit of transparency; it was like a bonus scene
on a DVD.

Gail Fitzhugh’s sound design is also noteworthy. The songs she
selected for scene changes not only redirect the viewer’s attention
from “dead time,” but anchor the viewer into the story of our
love-struck couple.

Although Southern Comforts is a slight piece, it is
entertaining and done well. If your taste in theater leans toward the
bold, dark, strong espresso kind, you might want to steer clear. If,
however, you have a yen for a frothy, decaf, nonfat latte, grab your
tickets before they’re gone.

This article appears in Nov 19-25, 2009.