Every third Tuesday, down-on-his-luck musician Chip and college philosophy professor Gus have a sanctified appointment: in the back room of their local sports bar, they meet to play table tennis. It’s an important routine: as Chip mutters, vibrating with anxious frustration after getting off the phone with a wife who’s just divorced him, “I need to play ping pong.”
Putting (top)spin on the tried and tested buddy dynamic between Chip, a high-strung, crabby guy, and Gus, his affable, too-talkative, clueless friend (à la Planes, Trains, and Automobiles), two-hander Chip and Gus: A Comedy with Balls is rapid-fire right off the bat- sorry, racket. Actors, writers, and directors John Ahlin and Christopher Patrick Mullen pull off the incredible feat of playing table tennis while exchanging quips, word play, grammatical and philosophical quandaries faster than Chip can retrieve errant balls under the audience’s seats. If a great rally feels like a great conversation, why not have both?
The clever, tightly-packed script’s joke per minute rate is emphasised by great physical comedy: laser-focused Chip hits every ball with aplomb, while Gus, head in the clouds with Socrates or Heraclitus, barely makes an effort and wins anyway. There’s something immediately cosy about Chip and Gus’ fast-talking style, and the premise that sports is a pretence for intimacy between men – that friendship, parallel life disappointments, and identity crises could only be held and mediated by a little orange ball once a month.
The conversational table tennis and the actual table tennis can sometimes feel like painting with the same colours – a lack of contrast, or negative space, that perhaps undermines the more grounded character drama Chip and Gus wants to become in its final moments. But it’s sweet, it’s funny, and it’s pretty damn good ping pong.
Chip and Gus: A Comedy with Balls, theSpace @ Venue 45, until 29 Aug (not 16,23), 6.20pm