‘Tomatoes’ crosses the pond halfway

Make no mistake, the cultural differences between Britain and the United States go far beyond the pronunciation of tomatoes versus to-mah-toes.

Giles St. James, played with perfect British reserve by Jamie Flanery, delivers a devastating speech early in the Interplayers’ production of “You Say Tomatoes,” that lists just a few of the reasons the British don’t like America.

Our superficial obsession with youth.

Our streak of aggression, both personally and politically.

Our worship of the almighty dollar.

Our need to blurt out every thought and emotion to strangers.

Meanwhile, New Yorker Libby Daniels, played with a likable verve by Stephanie Brush, rattles off a few British deficiencies.

Their obsession with the past.

Their overemphasis on acting “proper.”

Their acceptance of the mediocre.

Their maddening reserve, which precludes honest human emotion.

This cross-cultural romantic comedy does a surprisingly good job of showing the implications of these differences. Playwright Bernard Slade, born in Canada, leads us to the conclusion that each culture could stand to learn something from the other. This is not exactly a shocking conclusion, admittedly, yet it does have the considerable virtue of being true.

The play does not work as well as a romantic comedy. The opposites-attract love story between reclusive English novelist Giles and go-getter TV producer Libby left me with the following conviction: It’ll be three months, tops, before they go back to fighting like English bulldogs and American tabbies.

This is certainly not because of the quality of the performances. Flanery, with his tousled English hair, his perfect English accent, and his rumpled sense of dignity (even while wearing mismatched socks), had me believing to a certainty that he was British – even though I know better. He’s a local actor, and, on the strength of this performance, one of our most talented.

Brush was lively and funny. It was easy to see why Giles would go bonkers over her. She began the play with a broad Brooklyn accent, which she, thankfully, discarded for more subtle shadings. One interesting issue with Brush: She plays at least 10 years too young for a character who is supposedly well into her 50s. I simply accepted that she was one of those Americans whom Giles accuses of being absurdly fit and youth-obsessed.

Barrie MacConnell was great fun in a supporting role as a kind of dotty Edward Everett Horton eccentric. Erica Chiles-Curnutte continued to impress with her considerable comedic skills in the role of Daisy, Libby’s Southern sidekick.

This play had an interesting directorial division, reflecting the play’s theme. London-born Nike Imoru directed the first act, while American Stan Brown directed the second act. The differences this made in the performances, if they existed, were too subtle for me to detect.

However, my favorite directorial moment came in Act One, in a scene in which Giles, straining against his British reserve, commits a series of what you might call drive-by kisses of the astonished Libby. This scene clicks on the comedic level, the character level and the symbolic level – he wants to sweep her passionately into his arms, but the British don’t do passion.

Slade’s script is by no means a comedic masterpiece. It deals in too many clichés – British houses are too cold, New York cabbies are too crazy – and it descends to too many sit-com-like condom jokes for that.

Yet it serves as an entertaining primer on the state of this ancient national character clash.

After you see it, ask yourself this question: Which culture do you find most appealing? You might surprise yourself.