Jim Cunningham and John Middleton Photo by Lauren B. Photography

Of course, Groucho Marx and T.S. Eliot were two of the twentieth century's most brightly shining lights in their respective fields, Marx in the realm of comedy, Eliot in the literary arts. At the time of their one dinner together, Marx was 74 and Eliot 76, and it is fair to say that the lion's share of both men's brilliant careers were behind them. This leaves a rich trove of origin stories, career triumphs, failed marriages, political positions, and more from which Hatcher spins a masterful speculation that is both intriguing and entertaining.

It is also a fact that the dinner began with an exchange of letters between the two men, starting with a letter from Eliot requesting a photograph of Marx. Marx, in turn, requested a photograph of Eliot and, upon receiving it, wrote back to his correspondent, "I had no idea you were so handsome." It is likely that many audience members share that thought–that is, not knowing how handsome Mr. Eliot was, or if he was handsome at all. Almost all of us (and I question the need for the word "almost" in this case) can visualize Groucho Marx, with his prominent mustache and eyebrows, clunky eyeglasses, balding pate, ever-ready cigar, and slouching gait. We are also familiar with his sly, wise-guy fast talking banter. On the other hand, T.S. Eliot is a presence in our minds as Nobel prize-winning poet, playwright, essayist, and critic, but none of those require us to see his visage or to have an idea of how he sounds.

It is, therefore, a testament to the two actors portraying these figures, Jim Cunningham as Marx and John Middleton as Eliot, that both feel like solid representations of the real thing. Cunningham has the speech and movement down pat, and though he doesn't have the string-bean frame of Groucho Marx, he bears Marx's signature facial attributes. His ability to issue a quick retort and to use eye-rolls and head bobs to distinguish between what he says and what he means seal the deal. Middleton does not need to meet any pre-conceived notion of Eliot from a physical standpoint, since most of us will have none, but his appearance as a stoop-shouldered Oxford don feels authentic, as do his dour expressions when making a serious point and a habit of mischievously curling his lips upward when trying to be funny (Eliot must and does try; for Marx to be funny is like breathing). His accent is British with a thin slice of Mid-American, reflecting the fact that he was born and raised in St. Louis and didn't move to England until he was 25. Amber Brown has designed starchy costumes for each gentleman that bolster our belief that they are who they claim to be.

Under Michael Robins' astute direction, their encounter begins with both men behaving somewhat awkwardly, each a bit intimidated by the high stature of their dinner companion. As they dispense with their hesitations, their conversation becomes quite candid, broaching such topics as how their lives of celebrity were launched, living with fame, failed marriages, encounters with imposter syndrome (though they don't use that term), and what lies ahead for them. Eliot makes much of winning the Tony Award for his play The Cocktail Party (in 1950) and is chagrined when Groucho suggests to Eliot that his plays (in 1964) aren't performed anymore.

Each reveal the very human man within their iconic public images. When Eliot pushes back on Marx's self-deprecation declaring "You're Groucho Marx!," the comedian responds, "Not by choice." (Groucho, born Julius Henry Marx, had youthful ambitions to become a doctor but quit school at the age of 12 to contribute to the support of his family).

Some time is spent on accusations that Eliot is antisemitic, drawing upon lines from his written work and noting his close relationship with the poet Ezra Pound, who openly worked with the Italian fascists, supported Hitler, and was quoted as saying "Roosevelt should be hanged." Eliot defends himself from these accusations and questions whether it is fair to hold a man to statements made many years ago. He posits that as a Christian, it would be a sin to be antisemitic, though history has taught Marx that this belief does not always match reality. When Eliot draws on a statement by Marx decrying "Jewish humor," suggesting that perhaps Marx is a bit of an antisemite himself, Marx rails back that he has never mined his Jewish heritage as a source of jokes, never wanting to be funny at the expense of Jewish dignity, and declares "I was never a Jewish comedian."

Lest you fear the play is a long talk-fest, fear not. Their dinner is not all talk. For one thing, the fourth wall is nonexistent, as they freely acknowledge that that are enacting their dinner together for the benefit of an audience. There are devices such as telegrams being delivered in the middle of a speech, taking their encounter on a new course. There's a bit of audience participation too–if you shrink from this, avoid the first row.

They also indulge in a number of "highlights" from their respective careers, with verses from Eliot's work (including one that would later become best known as a song in the musical Cats), reenact Eliot's favorite scene from the Marx Brothers' movie Duck Soup, and create an episode of "You Bet Your Life," the quiz show Marx hosted from 1947 through 1961, the first three years on radio before the show made the move to television. There are a couple of musical bits as well, including a number from Gilbert & Sullivan's The Mikado, in which Marx had appeared as Ko-Ko in a production broadcast on television in 1960.

There is the slightest bit of a narrative chord running through their dinner, concerning whether or not Groucho needs permission from Eliot–or, as the poet prefers, Tom–to include his letters in a collection of letters Groucho is preparing for publication. (The book, "The Groucho Letters," came out in 1967). In an even slimmer thread, Groucho shares with the audience his wish to ask Tom to speak, when the time comes, at this funeral, which reveals something about aspirations that never fit into his public persona.

The notion that these two men from such vastly different realms of the wide world known as "the arts" would dine together seems like a venture into the absurd if not for the fact that it really happened. In this imagined depiction of how that dinner could have gone, we see the common chords between two men both wanting their work to be appreciated and understood, and struggling with the "civilian" parts of life–like marriage–while living in the public eye. We find that, when it comes to humanity, we are all human. We also have the opportunity to reconnect with, or encounter for the first time, samplings of their tremendous work, between them offering insights into the human condition and brash entertainment.

Groucho Marx Meets T.S. Elliot is narrow in scope, but nonetheless is an inventive and stimulating play, delivered with affection and with wit. It makes for a great time at the theater, and a wonderful way to honor Illusion Theater on its 50th anniversary.

Groucho Marx Meets T.S. Eliot continues through March 15, 2025, at Illusion Theater, Center for Performing Arts, 3754 Pleasant Avenue South, Minneapolis MN. For tickets and information, please call 612-339-4944 or visit illusiontheater.org.

Playwright: Jeffrey Hatcher; Directed by: Michael Robins; Scenic Design: Joseph Stanley; Costume Design: Amber Brown; Lighting Design: Dante Banegerdes; Sound Design: C. Andrew Mayer; Creative Consultant: Evan Hatcher; Vocal Coach/Additional Music: Justin D. Cook; Stage Manager: Rachel Lantow

Cast: Jim Cunningham (Groucho Marx), John Middleton(T.S. Eliot).