There’s no denying there’s the guilty pleasure of schadenfreude in watching two twenty-somethings argue with each other for the best part of an hour.
From the outset, director Sarah Majland has the two characters move around each other like unevenly matched opponents in a ring with David consigned once again to play audience and punchbag to Phoebe’s caustic cock of the walk.
Once the initial argument over a play is displaced by more personal matters, it is clear this could become a blood sport, though what makes the sparring in Tell Me You’ll Think About It more appealing is the unexpected moments of comedy to be found in this creditable debut from Lyndsey Ruiz.
Phoebe is a failed actor turned aspiring playwright with writer’s block, who breaks up periods of staring at a blank page with reviewing plays written by others. In work as in life, neither her mother complex nor the chips on her shoulder in any way moderate the cascade of her opinions—which are always right and delivered with no noticeable concession.
David, an engineer, is enviably functional, moderate, slow to resort to shouting and unburdened by emotional baggage, setting aside a possibly blinkered hero-worship of his perfect dad.
Although in the tight back-and-forth of the dialogue the power shifts somewhat between the pair, Phoebe’s uncompromising forcefulness, portrayed by Ruiz with undercurrents of neurotic energy, means there is no uncertainty over allegiances.
What emerges is a sense that Ruiz has formed the character of Phoebe first and arranged the role of David in service to it, creating a play about her, not a play about them.
Nonetheless, Boyan Petrov’s sensitive David is quietly strong, demonstrating the patience of Job in the face of Phoebe’s ongoing provocations, his ordinariness significantly more appealing than her unstoppable gush of censure.
Phoebe and David’s first encounter reminiscences recall a sweet meet-cute, which reveals what they first saw in each other, leaving his general balance and her over-emphatic everything begging the question why are they still together. Somehow, his need for her to be interesting and her need for him to feel stable, doesn’t seem like enough.
Ruiz has tagged a predictable, even Hollywoodish coda to the play which cuts its legs from under it. Ending with the darker conclusion of the earlier combative action would be significantly more impactful.
But Tell Me You’ll Think About It shouldn’t be judged by its ending. Throughout, moments of keen observation and some fine lines of dialogue raise questions about legacy, ambition and relationships.
Reviewer: Sandra Giorgetti