Tonight I attended the opening night performance of Aaron Bushkowsky’s play Farewell My Lovely based on Raymond Chandler’s 1940 novel of the same name. My companion was Ruth Brooks, my sister-in-law from New Dublin, Ontario who has not gone to a play in many (many) years. The performance was directed by Craig Hall at the Arts Club Theatre’s Granville Island Stage and they co-produced it with Calgary’s Vertigo Theatre.

A punctilious theatre critic (I am neither just an avid blogger and theatre aficionado) would crucify Aaron Bushkowsky who tinkered with Chandler’s minimal dialogue. In fact in the novel one of the cops who manhandles our flawed dick is given the nickname of Hemingway to the utter non-comprehension of the so-named.

Bushkowsky has simplified the plot so there is a tad less left to the imagination. But any play that may bring our youth to an awareness of Raymond Chandler can do no wrong especially when you can add to it a few more very nice things.

Consider that Stephen Hair who plays slightly dense cop Nulty reminded me of Trevor Howard.

He drinks.

Consider that Anthony F. (could that be Fitzgerald?) Ingram plays two parts, Marriot an over-the-top ponce, and Amthor a slippery spiritualist.

He drinks.

Consider that Emma Slipp who plays Annie Riordon and  Jamie Konchak as Helen Grayle can not only act but also display stuff that were I a much younger man I would have had the same problem as that man with the pistol in his pocket. As Mae West said:

Cultivate your curves - they may be dangerous but they won't be avoided.

Consider that the above two women can sing very well and do so. I particularly loved Slipp’s smoky voice.

They both drink.

While I was living in Mexico a Mexican (naturally) told me, "I love those stockings with seams in the back. You start at the bottom and follow the line all the way up to the top." I would cross legs with either of these women anytime.

Consider that Bushkovsky goes on a limb and makes Moose Malloy, a black man in the presence of Beau Dixon. Farewell My Lovely, the novel has language about black people that is not politically correct. The novel’s Malloy wreaks havoc at an all-black night club. This is minimized in the play. Can Chandler be sanitized? Perhaps.

Consider that Jessie Florian (the ultimate Chandler dipso expertly played by luscious Lucia Frangione) is unable to get on with the 12-step program because of terminal circumstances beyond her control.

She drinks.

Consider that Graham Percy, tonight’s Philip Marlowe had to fit the shoes of the likes of Dick Powell, Humphrey Bogart, Robert Montgomery, James Garner, Elliot Gould and Robert Mitchum. He was none of them. But he was a tad less (for a change) hard-boiled  (3 minutes 45 seconds perhaps?) and thus easier to like.  

He drinks lots and lots.

Consider that tonight I overheard three people asking, “Have you seen the Robert Mitchum version?”

Of that latter consideration I can only assert (with one qualification that Charlotte Rampling somehow makes up for the omission) that the 1975 film does away completely with Emma Slipp’s part as Annie Riordon. I do have one puzzle in my mind, the novel’s Anne clearly tells Marlowe, “Don’t call me Annie). Why would Bushkowsky change her name from Riordan to Riordon? Perhaps it is only a program typo. Does that make me punctilious?

But any play that features one of my all-time favourite jazz standards (I have about 15 versions with Gerry Mulligan with Chet Baker or Art Farmer) My Funny Valentine with a trumpet version by Chet Baker has to merit high points for me.

Would I be that punctilious theatre critic (I assert again that I am neither) I would simply write my review in two sentences (and this is not a spoiler alert):

Dumb dick falls for the wrong girl.

Deitra Kalyns (costume designer) blué dress, I almost died when I saw Slipp wearing it.

You could get to like that face a lot. 
And don't call me Annie  
You didn't have to be rough 
Two beauties