THEATER REVIEWS : ‘Henceforward. . .’ Takes a Long Time : Ayckbourn’s Knack for Comic Invention Comes Through Once Play Picks Up Pace at Camino Real

Alan Ayckbourn’s gloomy view of the near future in “Henceforward. . .” gets a suitably claustrophobic reading at the Camino Real Playhouse. But this dark English satire needs a lot more than that to avoid being taken for merely portentous.

Despite Ayckbourn’s reputation as “England’s most successful and prolific playwright,” in the immortal words of probably every magazine profile ever written about him, he has poured forth his share of overrated products from the assembly line. “Henceforward. . .” is one, even though its second act displays his usual knack for comic invention with greater-than-usual ingenuity.

Set in an unnamed city “sometime quite soon,” this unsatisfying morality play from 1987 revolves around Jerome (David Kelso), a composer who lives with his NAN300F, a female domestic robot originally built for child-care duties but re-engineered for household chores.

It is one of Ayckbourn’s better jokes that NAN malfunctions much of the time and even when operative is wackily out-of-sync. She can’t go into the kitchen without bringing all the pots and pans crashing down on her head. Out of the blue, she’ll deposit a mound of dirty laundry in the middle of the living room and leave it there for no particular reason. God forbid she mistakes your face for a child’s.

But compared to NAN (who is played by two different actresses for reasons that cannot be divulged without giving away the play’s most pleasurable irony), Jerome is worse than inoperative: He is a desperate human being. His creative juices are totally blocked. He hasn’t been able to write a note in four years--ever since his wife, Corinna (Alice Ensor), left him and, more importantly, took their young daughter with her.

Meanwhile, the grim conditions of life are everywhere apparent.

Jerome’s bachelor apartment is sealed off from the neighborhood, “a genuine no-go area,” as one character describes it. Steel window shutters are bolted tight to fend off attacks from local marauders (a gang called the Daughters of Darkness). The building entrance is guarded by the vigilant eye of a video camera that pipes pictures to a TV screen dominating the apartment.

Since this is the not-so-distant future, the TV screen also is all-seeing: It even monitors incoming phone calls. And one of Jerome’s associates (Kirk Mitchell) keeps phoning in, to be put on screen again and again in progressively worsening straits until he finally peters out like a bad joke.

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Director Jill Forbath has chosen to highlight those and other televised scenes, perhaps in the belief that it would add splash and sophistication to an amateur production--which it does, to a small degree. But at the same time there is something inherently undramatic, even tedious, in watching a character in a play watching characters on his TV screen.

It must be said that the Mark Taper Forum’s professional staging of “Henceforward. . .” two years ago in Los Angeles was as monotonous, though it relied less on TV and was infinitely more polished.

In fact, most of the play’s first act is inert as written. The tedium of technology takes up far too much time, as does the dull stasis of seeing Jerome at work. If there is anything less stirring on stage than a writer at his word processor, it must be a composer at his tape recorder.

Jerome’s music--and I use the term loosely--is created by flicking switches. And what, precisely, does Jerome compose? Once upon a time it was advertising jingles. The more serious works--the real compositions, if you will--are manipulated excerpts from conversations recorded by hidden microphones.

Anyone who enters his apartment is subject to surreptitious taping. This technique--pioneered by J. Edgar Hoover, let’s remember, and perfected by Richard M. Nixon--is surely a revealing commentary on Jerome’s nature as an artist.

But why are we supposed to take him seriously if Ayckbourn doesn’t? All the hemming and hawing about the plight of a depleted, self-devouring artist--who doesn’t seem to have been a real one in the first place--sounds bogus.

Ayckbourn gets back to form in the second act, though, when the plot of “Henceforward. . .” finally shifts into gear. It involves a ruse Jerome has concocted to see his daughter again. Having hired an actress (Jane Krakowski) to play his fiancee, he pretends domestic bliss. This, he hopes, will persuade his ex-wife and a welfare officer (Rollo Sternaman) to allow visits from his daughter.

When it comes to the performances, allowance must be made. Most of the actors are young and inexperienced and are in way over their heads. They’re supposed to be British but that’s usually hard to tell, except for Ensor, who carries off the proper accent and manner without wavering. Lisa Hallsted takes a brave stab. Ditto Kelso and Sternaman.

There’s no question that Forbath and company are ambitious and that they understand what the play is about. And they do get considerable mileage from NAN, easily the play’s most entertaining twist.

One thing the troupe can do to improve the production without much effort is speed up the pace. When I saw it, the first act seemed interminable. It actually took an hour and 20 minutes, still too long (especially after a curtain hold of half an hour).

* “Henceforward. . .” Camino Real Playhouse, 31776 El Camino Real, San Juan Capistrano. Thursdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. Ends Nov. 20. $14-$19. (714) 494-8021. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes. David Kelso: Jerome

Kirk Mitchell: Lupus

Lisa Hallsted: Zoe

Katie Bent: Geain, age 7

Kelly Sheahen: Geain, age 11

Alice Ensor: Corinna

Rollo Sternaman: Mervyn

Kerene Barnard: Rita

A South Orange County Community Theatre production of the play by Alan Ayckbourn, directed by Jill Forbath. Set design: Steve Forbath. Costumes: Diane Green. Lighting design: Michelle D. Evans. Dialect coach: Linda Davies. Video production: Richard Butnik. Video print graphics: Loren Willman. Video art director: John Noble. Original music and offstage voice recordings: James Trace. Blaise Gillespie Song and voice-over: Lauren Almond. Incidental music by Patrick Doyle.