Hedgerow Theatre presents Jared Reed and Damon Bonetti's 'His Girl Friday'

Reed plays Walter Burns, a hard-nosed newspaper editor who balks at the prospect of losing his star reporter, Hildy Johnson (Jessica DalCanton), to a respectable marriage. He convinces Hildy — who is also his ex-wife — to cover a pending execution, in the hope of reigniting her passion for journalism and for him. Hildy insists her days in the press room are through, but it becomes clear that the lady doth protest too much.

A classic, remade

Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell made these roles famous in Howard Hawks’s 1940 film, which remains the genre’s standard-bearer. Reed and DalCanton blessedly don’t try to copy these legendary performances, but in going their own way, they show little understanding of what makes this type of comedy really cook.

Both look dynamite in Janus Stefanowicz’s retro costumes — a blue Italian-cut suit for him, a brown-check skirted ensemble for her. But any attempts at playing the period stop at the skin, as both seem too contemporary.

Reed pushes every line too hard for a laugh, as though he doesn’t trust the material (a strange thought, since he adapted it). DalCanton’s thin voice and tentative readings lack the gravitas required for a woman who’s worked her way to the top of a male-dominated field.

But the greatest problem lies in their lack of rapport. The play’s setup only works if Walter and Hildy project an undeniable, combustible attraction.

Here, Reed and DalCanton come across like courteous colleagues at best, mere acquaintances at worst. Entirely absent is a sense that the pair can’t keep away from each other, even if their coupling brings out the worst instincts in both.

Spoonful of sugar, no medicine

The screwball style is archetypal — the audience knows it will end in romance from the first beat, but the fun comes in watching how the play gets there. Under Bonetti’s direction, though, some of the key elements needed to put across a fast-paced comedy feel inelegantly orchestrated.

Doubling and tripling roles, the small ensemble — Adam Altman, Owen Corey, Jennifer Summerfield, and Mark Swift — rush in and out of scenes with workmanlike efficiency, shedding and donning costumes in a blink.

But far too often, their dialogue hangs in the air, waiting to be volleyed back. When they do manage to pound out the patter, it often results in overlapping lines, which zap the zing from many witty rejoinders.

Director Bonetti’s negative sense of pacing extends to overlong scene changes, which stop the comedy cold. Since Matthew Windham’s baffling set consists mainly of what look like shower curtains hooked to metal scaffolding, one wonders why their constant reconfiguration is necessary. Blackouts often last longer than actual scenes, many of which barely clock in at a minute.

Among the supporting actors, Altman displays the strongest sense of 1940s style, particularly when he plays Hildy’s milquetoast fiancé, Bruce Baldwin. Summerfield wrings laughs by playing several male characters, complete with top hats and fake mustaches. But she fails to bring much pathos to Mollie Molloy — endearing girlfriend of a condemned man — who begs Hildy and the other courthouse reporters to hear her side of the story.

Mollie’s shoddy treatment underscores another issue with this adaptation. Unlike the film version and its original source material, Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur’s classic 1928 play The Front Page, Reed and Bonetti ignore or elide most of the serious themes connected with the execution plotline.

Communism and political graft are barely winked at; anarchism and class-based persecution forgotten entirely. Mollie seems unsympathetic because her character lacks context.

Perhaps the adapters believe modern audiences, unlike viewers of past eras, don’t want a heaping pinch of salt with their sugar. But in an evening replete with fatal flaws, this dumbing down strikes the body blow. His Girl Friday becomes a trifle, and one without much taste.