'The Explorers Club' review: Big laughs and bigger absurdity in The Dio's latest

Photo courtesy of Michele Anliker Photography

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You don’t need to catch every sly aside and jab at pompous British high society to fully enjoy Nell Benjamin’s Off-Broadway farce “The Explorers Club,” now kicking off The Dio’s 13th season. Under the direction of Dio co-founder Steve DeBruyne, the production leans confidently into its absurdity, pairing a terrific ensemble with an equally indulgent dinner experience. The sold-out crowd I joined was as helpless as I was, breaking into near-constant laughter at this delightfully ridiculous sendup of the patriarchy in 1879 London. Benjamin (Tony-nominated for “Legally Blonde”) stuffs the script with plenty of jokes, and while not every bit lands (can they ever?), the hit rate is so high that the occasional miss barely registers. If anything, the sheer volume of punchlines becomes part of the show’s charm, a breathless comic momentum that rarely lets up.

From the moment the show begins, the joke is already in motion. Matt Tomich’s scenic work operates as a richly appointed clubroom complete with leather chairs, mounted trophies, dark wood paneling, and a well-stocked bar of brandy and cigars. It’s a boys’ club in every exaggerated sense, so rigid in its identity that the mere suggestion of change feels sacrilege.

That change arrives in the form of Phyllida Spotte-Hume, played with buoyant determination by Sarah B. Stevens, who makes an immediate impression as both earnest and quietly subversive. She has, by all logical measures, earned her place in the club, but logic is hardly the governing principle here. Chief among her detractors is Professor Sloane, played with scene-stealing zeal by Donovan Leary, whose ongoing horror at “The Woman” becomes a running gag that never overstays its welcome. Leary’s indignation gives the character just enough grounding to make his absurdity land. Opposite him, Mark A. Eddy’s Lucious Fretway floats through the chaos with a daft charm, torn between his duty to the institution and his obvious affection for Hume. His attempt to reconcile those impulses fuels one of the show’s better comic engines, especially when paired with Sloane’s hilariously apocalyptic warnings about sin, temptation, and the vague threat of enlightenment.

Hume’s case for admission hinges on her discovery of the NaKong Tribe in the Lost City of Pahatlabong, a premise that immediately signals the play’s willingness to wade into messy comedic territory. Benjamin’s script pokes fun at colonialist attitudes, though not always with the sharpest precision, and occasionally the humor risks feeling dated rather than pointed. Still, the introduction of Luigi, played with fearless commitment by Nicholas Balfour, brings the gag into full, chaotic focus. Painted head to toe in vivid blue (looking like he just walked out of James Cameron’s “Avatar”) and adorned with tribal trinkets, Luigi exists in a comedic space all his own. Speaking in an invented dialect, with playful help from dialect coach Cate Gillespie, he reacts more than he participates, becoming an observer of the absurd society that’s trying, unsuccessfully, to categorize him.

What keeps Luigi from being a one-note joke is Balfour’s physicality and attention to detail. Every glance, every delayed reaction, builds a character who is both alien to the group and, paradoxically, the most honest presence on stage. The running bits, from his face-slapping greetings to his tribe’s spoon-shaped deity, layer in just enough specificity to elevate the character beyond mere gimmick.

The rest of the ensemble leans fully into the play’s heightened tone, creating a whirlwind of intersecting comic threads. Dale Dobson’s Professor Cope channels manic energy as he parades around with “Rosie,” a cobra draped casually around his neck, while Dan Morrison once again proves his knack for physical comedy and accent work as Professor Walling, whose devotion to his caged guinea pig borders on spiritual. Christopher Bateson’s Harry Percy arrives midway through the show like a hurricane, injecting a fresh burst of chaos as a swaggering explorer whose ego is matched only by his colleagues who perish on past expeditions. His presence sharpens the show’s satire of reckless adventurism, and his obsession with immortality fuels some of the production’s most tightly executed jokes.

Still, for all its strengths, the script occasionally overreaches. Some jokes, particularly those tied to cultural satire, feel more blunt than incisive, and a few running gags stretch a beat too long. But DeBruyne’s direction keeps things moving at such a brisk pace that the show rarely lingers on its weaker moments. If anything, the production understands that its greatest asset is forward momentum, letting the next joke sweep in before the previous one can fully settle.

That momentum peaks in a standout sequence where the club, attempting to shield Luigi from Sir Humphries (a gleefully officious Gleen Bugala), appoints him as bartender. What follows is one of the night’s biggest laughs, as Luigi hurls drinks across the stage with alarming speed, forcing the cast into perfectly timed, reactive chaos. It’s a sequence that encapsulates everything the show does well: precise physical comedy, ensemble trust, and a willingness to push a joke just far enough without breaking it.

Behind the scenes, the production’s craftsmanship quietly supports the madness. Norma Polk’s costumes reinforce the exaggerated elegance of the setting, while Eileen Obradovich’s props add layers of visual humor (the glassware alone becomes part of the comedy). Joe Wright’s fight choreography ensures that every physical beat lands cleanly, a necessity in a show so dependent on timing and impact.

And then there’s the meal, which feels less like a gimmick and more like an extension of the experience. Whether you opt for the on-theme bangers and mash or take a safer route with chicken and potatoes, the dinner complements the show’s tone: hearty, indulgent, and just a little excessive. Even the intermission apple cobbler, cheekily billed as imported from “Pahatlabong,” plays into the evening’s immersive charm. I’m told it was hard to get it through customs. 

In the end, “The Explorers Club” succeeds not because it’s perfect, but because it knows exactly what it wants to be. It’s big, silly, and intermittently sharp, carried by a cast that commits fully to its heightened world. If a few jokes miss their mark, the sheer velocity and enthusiasm of the performance more than make up for it. DeBruyne and company have crafted a production that doesn’t just invite laughter, it demands it, and more often than not, it earns it.

IF YOU GO:

THE DIO’s production of THE EXPLORER’S CLUB continues through August 9th. Tickets, which include dinner and a show, can be purchased here.