Ian Bartholomew, Ingrid Craigie and Greg Hicks in Dinner With Groucho. PHOTO: Ros Kavanagh

Frank McGuiness’s latest play imagines comic genius Groucho Marx (Ian Bartholomew) and acclaimed poet TS Eliot (Greg Hicks) meeting for dinner.

The pair appear to be the sole diners in a restaurant. They sit at a table on a sawdust strewn floor, guzzle imaginary soup, steak and champagne and are waited upon by the magisterial proprietor (Ingrid Craigie), who changes her attire every course.

In a programme note, we are told that the two men actually did have dinner together – Eliot wrote Groucho a fan letter in 1961 and they corresponded until they finally met three years later. But what did these two iconic figures talk about? Not much of import, McGuinness suggests.

There are several references to their masterpieces and they enjoy quoting others’ artistic work. However, Dinner with Groucho is so intent on establishing their mutual admiration, any tension is quickly lost.

Reminiscent of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, the conversation meanders, the men occasionally break into song or a dance routine, and they indulge in a comic exchange on Shakespeare’s King Lear, before Eliot inexplicably performs some magic tricks involving eggs, cigars and a scarf.

McGuiness toys with a clever conceit but it’s a half-baked and sometimes baffling 70 minutes. Adam Wiltshire’s set doesn’t really suit the Arcola’s thrust stage, although Paul Keogan’s lighting is atmospheric.

The funniest part comes at the end when the proprietor hands Groucho the bill from an extravagant 1607 banquet for Prince Henry.

It’s nicely acted and fans of Eliot, Groucho and McGuinness himself may be drawn to the play, but this bland fare left me cold.

Until December 10
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