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Joe Penhalls Dumb Show, created to demonstrate the gimcrack underbelly of the world of television and its cousin, tabloid journalism, is certainly a professionally written consort. It is fast, witty, and with juts the right amount of sarcasm. The author certainly knows what he is lecture ab step to the fore the story of two journalists, Liz and Greg, going undercover to reveal the conundrum smell of a TV merry named Barry is totally believable, as is Barrys reaction to this take downt.It is even set in a very crabby and very correct setting, as the hotel room seems to have a vivification of its own, fashioning the viewers feel the impersonality of the situation. The actors work well, creating the atmosphere of a factual verbal duel. However, the play leaves angiotensin-converting enzyme with a strange feeling of incompleteness, of both not understanding what the play is about and understanding too well, making it a memorable play in a bad sense experience of the word. I t is difficult to say why this effect is obtained. Perhaps it is because the author understandably shows that he sympathizes with none of the characters.They atomic number 18 demonstrated, indeed, from an insiders stratum of view, and an evil-meaning insiders at that suitably sleazy, with that peculiar professional sense of dark-skinned, almost sadistic temper that only people of the profession understand. Even proper intentions argon visualised in such(prenominal) a way that they seem false and egoistic. When the journalists speech of information being free, it is so obvious that they speak of this noble ideal only for getting their moneys worth, that any person that set this virtue to some extent is forced to cringe from the falsehood of it all.When the comic speaks of the right to privacy, we hear of the right to remain silent at arrest. It is the diddly-shit of lives, dug up and shown to the public gray, vile, and incredibly banal. Such things, for some reason, are al ways seen as incredibly realistic, no matter how well they are executed. I do not see the reason for this. Plays that work with the lows of life are necessary and, naturally, realistic. However, life isnt a zebra, divided into black and white.It is more like a peacock with too many strains, demonstrating variant things, but all too proud of itself. There is never such a thing as a real black color in life, nor a real gray. Everything has its silver lining, and this play, showing only the lows for, even the last scene where Liz tries to redeem Barry is not pretty is not virtually positive. Such single-mindedness, while admirable, does not pull in for the realism that the author was move to create. It is actually the actors that liven up the show reasonably.The stereotypical jokes put into their mouths come to life because of their talent. Their reactions to one another are shifting, living. The little points of their acting such as Dippolds ambiguous reactions to the duo o f men, or Barrys acting in the jokes he is given imply much deeper characters, which are so much the styrofoam stereotypes. They were meant to be that way the situations are supposed to play out on the archetypical level, reaching within. However, the archetypes chosen are too alter for that.They are things everyone can relate to on a merely looking level, just enough to sympathize a bit which is not some enough for a play. Thus, to make the point, the characters should have been created alive by the author, with somewhat more character. They should have been anchor points for personal interest in the play even if mere tools in the conflict between professions, they should have been good tools. Instead, we see mostly the interaction of the stereotypes of the respective professions, much like laborious to saw with a cardboard saw.The actors save the day here, livening up the characters and liberal them more depth than Penhall seemed to intend. The play is a good example of a professional skit, yet nothing more. It is made all too give-up the ghost what the point is supposed to be the conflict of freedom and privacy however, it is not deep enough, nor controversial enough for such a topic. The author assay to work at the golden middle, and failed professionally, thus, non-abysmally, but he didnt make it anything great, either.It is a story about archetypes, not an archetypical story. Nor is it a personal story, showing how people get affected by this sort of conflict. It attempts to be both, but is neither, and thus leaves the viewer puzzled as to where the true point is. One wants to look for hidden meaning, for the simplicity is unbearable, but there is nowhere to look for hidden meaning. To create a piece with only one meaning and have it still be a work of cunning is the work of a genius. Penhall is not one.