Fault Lines

Two college buddies approaching middle age meet for a long delayed drink, apparently intent on renewing their friendship, only to be interrupted by an irritating, motormouthed, relentlessly curious stranger, whose true agenda steadily becomes apparent as the smiles fade and his "bar talk" grows more probing. Idealism, ambition, honesty, trust, love and guilt mix and clash, and the play is smart enough to know that such conflicts are rarely resolved neatly. Things get worse, but there is no assurance they will get better.

Like the tangled personal connections it unravels, Fault Lines has an uncertain relationship with reality. Its characters are demonstratively verbose in that style that pedants never tire of telling us is 'unrealistic', and the play is all the better for it. The balance achieved between Stephen Belber's script and the actors' delivery allows their unrelenting loquaciousness to remain conversational and emotionally honest.

The plot, however... Unless you find its mounting absurdity repellent, then you will be gripped; you'll want to see where this leads, and in all likelihood you won't see the denouement coming. But that's only because it's so damn improbable. Fault Lines has one of the unlikeliest plots I've seen at the Fringe yet, and that's saying something. 

Fortunately, the dialogue and the daring, multi-talented cast that delivers it ultimately save Fault Lines. With their remarkable capacity for both comedy and pathos, the actors respond to the contrivances of the plot with as much disbelief as the audience... Which leaves one to wonder: maybe the play knew exactly what it was doing all along?