Cover

Two facts seem to uphold Cover playwright Ed J Smith's world view: that all human beings subsist on deceit, and that The Artist was really, really great.

Two brothers take their dates to the cinema one evening in central London. When they cross paths at their absent father's flat, the elaborate network of manipulation that has been holding together each brother's life—from their childhood and student days, to ambitious Rebecca's real motives for allowing herself to be courted by posh James, to bohemian waster Molly's sexual practices—collapses. Intercut with brief moments of silent film-style narration (choppy lighting, vaudeville physical comedy, dialogue boards), the show is really a complex conversation between four people, running the gamut of class, relationships and ambition. But each individual is harboring their own secret. In particular, the mystery of who the brothers' mysterious father really is lingers over their evening.

Cover's premise is promising. But when the show reaches its climax(es), the structural tools set up in the first act—including those jarring vaudeville cuts—seem to disappear, or perhaps simply fail to tie themselves up in a satisfying way. And while the more lighthearted moments of the performance are truly stand-out, some jokes seem dated by such a slight time margin as to make this critic feel overwhelmingly snarky – hashtag jokes, casual use of “wingman,” even the reference to 2011’s The Artist which is so present in the show’s structure.

See Cover for the talent, but expect more of a soap opera than a satisfying work of fiction.