What I liked
The thing that impressed me most was the complete confidence this production has in the material and the actors. The staging is deceptively simple but incredibly effective, creating an atmosphere that feels intimate, claustrophobic, and completely authentic. The sound design and eerie pre-show music quietly pull you into the world long before the first line is spoken.
As an actor myself, what I appreciated most was the honesty of the performances. Phil Abrams and Jim Grollman never seem to be “performing.” They simply exist inside these characters. Every pause, every silence, every shift in status has weight. The chemistry between them is extraordinary, and by the end I honestly felt like I had been trapped in that basement with them.
This production understands that suspense doesn’t come from spectacle—it comes from truth. That’s what stayed with me after I left.
What I didn't like
Honestly, very little.
One of the great joys of live theater is that a production continues to evolve as the run progresses and the actors discover new little moments and rhythms with one another. That’s especially true with Pinter, where silence and subtext are as important as dialogue.
My overall impression
I’ve been a professional actor in Los Angeles for over twenty years, and after a while you think you’ve seen everything. Great actors. Great writing. Great productions. It gets harder and harder to be genuinely surprised.
DWNYC surprised me.
I walked in expecting to see a smart adaptation of Harold Pinter’s The Dumb Waiter. I walked out feeling like I had spent an hour trapped in a basement with two men whose lives were slowly unraveling right in front of me.
From the moment you walk into the theater, the production starts working on you. The eerie, eclectic house music immediately creates this strange feeling that you’re leaving ordinary life behind and stepping into another world. By the time the lights come up, you’re already leaning forward.
The staging is absolutely first-rate. Every inch of that room feels authentic, worn-in, claustrophobic, and dangerous. It doesn’t feel like a set—it feels like a real place with a real history. You’re not sitting in an audience watching actors perform; you’re sharing oxygen with two men who are slowly realizing that something is terribly wrong.
The sound design deserves enormous credit because it quietly does so much of the heavy lifting. Every offstage noise, every mechanical rattle of the dumbwaiter, every silence works on your nerves. It’s subtle, but relentless. The tension builds so naturally that at some point I realized my own heart was beating faster. I wasn’t watching suspense—I was physically experiencing it.
And then there are the performances.
Phil Abrams is one of those remarkable Los Angeles character actors whose face everyone recognizes. With well over a hundred television and film appearances—including The Office, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Big Bang Theory, Parenthood, Gilmore Girls, and Dolemite Is My Name—he has built an extraordinary career. But once this play begins, all of that disappears. He vanishes completely into the role.
The same is true of Jim Grollman, another veteran actor whose résumé spans decades, with credits including Law & Order, Homicide: Life on the Street, How I Met Your Mother, Grey’s Anatomy, Masters of Sex, and many more. Sitting only a few feet away from these two, I wasn’t watching actors recite dialogue. I was watching two human beings trying to survive an impossible situation.
As an actor myself, I have to say this is the kind of work that reminds you why you fell in love with theater in the first place.
The last time I remember being this completely absorbed by performances on stage was when I saw the Broadway revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, Brian Dennehy, Vanessa Redgrave, and Robert Sean Leonard. That production had a quality that is almost impossible to fake—you stop watching actors perform and start believing you are witnessing real lives unfold in front of you.
DWNYC has that same quality.
This isn’t flashy acting. This isn’t actors showing you how talented they are. This is A-plus, deeply truthful work that feels rooted in the very best traditions of Method acting. Every pause means something. Every glance carries history. Every silence feels dangerous. The technique disappears and all that’s left is truth.
Pinter’s tension, ambiguity, and dark humor remain completely intact, but transplanting the story into 1970s New York somehow gives the material an entirely fresh energy. It feels gritty, immediate, and alive without ever losing the strange dreamlike quality that makes Pinter one of the greatest playwrights actors ever get the privilege to perform.
What amazed me most was the intimacy of the experience. In an era of giant productions, LED walls, and sensory overload, here are two extraordinary actors, a razor-sharp script, impeccable staging, and sound design that quietly gets under your skin. That’s all they need.
Hours after I left the theater, I was still replaying moments in my head. Certain looks. Certain pauses. Certain lines. The atmosphere of that room stayed with me.
Very little theater does that anymore.
I’ve seen a lot of productions over the years in Los Angeles and New York, and I can honestly say that DWNYC is one of the finest, most intimate theatrical experiences I’ve had in a very long time.
It’s sharp.
It’s unsettling.
It’s funny.
It’s heartbreaking.
It’s beautifully staged.
It’s impeccably acted.
Most importantly, it reminds you that some of the greatest suspense ever written doesn’t come from explosions or spectacle—it comes from two people sitting in a room, waiting for something they don’t understand.
If you already love Harold Pinter, this production is essential viewing.
If you’ve never experienced Pinter before, I honestly can’t imagine a better introduction.
And if you’re an actor, do yourself a favor: buy a ticket, sit down, shut up, and watch two seasoned professionals operating at the absolute top of their craft.
This isn’t just one of the best shows I’ve seen at Fringe.
It’s one of the best nights of theater I’ve had in Los Angeles. Period.
