Indio, CA
There are nights when the world feels too loud and too heavy, and you can almost feel the dust of it settling into your nervous system. For me, the best thing about art in any form is that it enables you to reset back to factory settings—where you get a break from the world around you, and you are reminded of the importance of the arts in our lives. A refresher reboot. That’s what this production delivered: a few hours where the room fills with laughter, and the noise outside the theater finally stops winning.
For the most part, this play was exceptional—because this cast is every bit as professional-grade as most professional theaters. I have to give credit to the director Tanner Lieser, for his choice of cast, and his ability to get what I think is the level of consistency and timing that is so needed in order to perform any of Simon’s plays. You see that consistency—and that level of expertise—across the full show. This is a play I had not seen before, so it was a treat.
And here’s the thing that matters with this script: it’s a writers’ room play. It’s a room full of people talking fast, thinking faster, stepping on each other’s jokes, jockeying for position, and still somehow trying to produce something clean enough to make an audience roar. That interconnectedness is essential, because in large parts of the play a majority of the characters are on stage at the same time. If the timing slips, the whole thing slips. If the pacing drifts, the humor evaporates. But here, the humor never stops—it’s on set, throughout the whole of the play—and the cast keeps the engine running.
Neil Simon, at this moment in the story
A note on where Simon is “standing” when he writes this: Laughter on the 23rd Floor is a 1993 play that looks back to the early 1950s, focusing on the star and writers of a live TV comedy-variety show, and it’s widely described as inspired by Simon’s own early career as a young writer on Your Show of Shows (and related work in that era).
That matters, because it directly supports what you’re sensing in the writing: Simon is drawing from lived observation—workplace rhythms, personality types, the specific madness of show business pressure—and converting it into character-based humor. Biographical sources regularly describe Simon as someone who drew extensively from his own life and upbringing for his writing, especially his New York experiences and the worlds he actually lived in.
And yes—this play sits in the shadow of that time. The story is set around 1953, when the political temperature in America was shaped by fear, accusations, and public paranoia (the Joseph McCarthy era), and the play is often discussed as reflecting those undercurrents behind the comedy.
Which is why, for me, it lands as a slightly minuscule mirror of what America finds itself in today. But it didn’t keep me from enjoying the show—and I’m sure it won’t get in the way of a majority of the audience. The laughter in the room told the truth.
A seamless machine: timing, craft, and the “work” of comedy
For me, the play was seamless. Each actor played their character the way Simon created them, and the timing was exceptional—and even made fun of, when one character tries to put on the writer’s hat and finds out that comedy is hard, that it doesn’t come easy, and that timing is everything.
I found myself wondering if Simon is also playing with the audience—aren’t these writers exceptional, not only in what they write, but in how they approach life? Simon seems to be saying: you are here for a reason, and I’m the reason. But that may be too presumptuous of me. He might merely be reminding us that in comedy, timing is everything, and that writing is as much work as acting out the parts of the characters.
And speaking of work: I have never acted before for a reason—mostly because while I can clearly analyze what is said, I could never remember my lines. That might be funny for the main character of this play, where (pretending to) mix up lines becomes part of the act, part of the personality, part of the joke. In my case, it often shows up when I can’t remember the lyrics of a song, so I tend to make up the lyrics depending on the sound of the word and not the word itself. Here, the character does it flawlessly. And that trait is not lost on me—which is part of why I like this play so much: it makes room for the human glitch, and turns it into something humorously understood.
Two performances that deserve the spotlight
While the cast is exceptionally—evenly—talented and professional in their depictions, there are two actors I feel need to be highlighted.
First: Max Prince, played by Sheldon Safir. His character’s humor—said a number of times in the play—is based not on what is said, but on the way it is said differently, but in the same way, so we still understand the meaning. It throws us off guard because what we expect to be said is already in our head—we beat someone to the punch because we “know” what word will come next—and then of course it isn’t. The meaning shifts. Our expectations get sidelined. Its the show’s obsession with how fast comedy is made and how language misfires and becomes the laugh engine.Suddenly it becomes humorous because it reroutes the conversation in a way we didn’t prepare for.
And then there’s his physical comedy—again, timing is everything. What is funny at the moment, Max’s Brando-as-Caesar sketch leans into physical comedy and extended “death” business, caused by a 12” kitchen knife. Falling to the floor, Max, continues to fall flat and then rolls around the floor, in pain, like a child. Which is funny because the timing is right. And the response by the audience confirmed the jokes, and Shel’s success. Done at the wrong time, this could have been tragic. That’s the razor’s edge this kind of comedy walks, and Shel walks it.
There is another player I connected with; Ira, played by Herb Schultz. He embodies the exact character Simon created so completely that you are not seeing the actor play the character—you are seeing Ira come through the door, and every time—late, talking about invisible and non-existent medical issues—it’s like someone wandered in off the New York street below, and somehow ended up in this room, mistaking it for one of his many Doctor’s offices. That kind of performance made me want to see more. That’s when I know I’ve experienced something exceptional: when I can remember the play, the humor, the story, and all of its characters. And once a performance hits that level, it doesn’t just entertain—it sticks. And it follows you out of the theater, because the moments keep replaying in your head, and the characters keep showing up like you’ve actually met them.
For me this production is unforgettable. Take it from a man whose husband set our wedding day on February 14 so that I would never forget our anniversary. There is a word for that, manipulative, or maybe just smart. Simon’s is constantly smartly manipulating us into thinking one thing and then delivering something quite unexpected. One instance is when Ira and Brian’s petty bet escalates until it becomes supremely irrational. The competition ends, and the wage, their shoes, become the next victim. Ira distraught, grabs the shoes and rushes to an open window, and sends both pairs sailing out. Like a punchline that refuses to stop at the edge of the room. Because it doesn’t end there.This where Simon gives his not so imagined writers, another opportunity to hone their craft.
The play is full of moments like this—too many to catalog, but impossible to miss.This happens later in the play, when Ira tells Max that “you’re crazy”, and then blurts out, “You don’t have to take my word for it. Ask my shrink. We’ve been analyzing you for the last 10 months. We finished me last year so this year we did you.” Which makes perfect sense in a play about comedy writers: we’re watching characters manufacture surprise, right in front of us. Simon makes the audience part of the ever evolving material. Our laughter is his product.
The story is the thing
The way I look at the arts is that it is about the story. The story is the thing—and how that story is told, both in its inception and its re-interpretation, makes all the difference. An exceptionally funny play can entertain. But a great play will reach an audience across time. It creates great entertainment while at the same time telling a story that may be relevant to us. Unforgettable art is trixy like that: it entertains you and brings you into the story in a personal way, giving that story real meaning. And after all these years since it first made it to the stage, (1995) it still seems to have relevance—at least to me—and given the amount of laughter coming from the audience, that’s not the exception but the rule.
There is one more teaching moment that isn’t lost on me. Simon frames it quietly but clearly: nothing is permanent. The fictitious lives of his writers are in motion—like his, and like ours—always in a state of flux. The play has a beginning, a middle, and an end, but just as my husband describes how I tell stories, it’s middle, middle, middle. The cadence shifts, and it can change on a dime—often like his humor, not where you expect it. It changes direction and runs us through a myriad of emotional experiences. Simon reminds us that where we are now is not where we end up. And as White Suit Milt says, after his newly discovered divorce, “we worked out a nice settlement”: she gave me “a beautiful picture of the house.”
Go see Laughter on the 23rd Floor, and let the desert loosen its grip for a while. Trade the glare and the grit for a few hours inside a room where laughter keeps arriving on time. This is the kind of art that’s both entertaining and tricky—it sneaks past your defenses, pulls you into the story, and reminds you what it feels like to simply laugh. And that is its own kind of relief.
DTW – Desert Theatre Works
Neil Simon’s “Laughter on the 23rd Floor”
Run: January 23 – February 15, 2026 (as listed on the ticket/event page).
Typical performance schedule (as posted by DTW): Thu/Fri/Sat at 7:30 PM and Sun at 2:00 PM.
Indio Performing Arts Center — 45175 Fargo St., Indio, CA 92201
Tickets
Buy online: DTW sells tickets online via their ticketing pages (including their Showpass listing for DTW).
Buy by phone: Call the DTW box office: (760) 980-1455.
Box Office: (760) 980-1455
Email: info@dtworks.org
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About the author.
Marty Treinen is an artrepreneur, arts educator, writer, and co-author of Universal Creative Intelligence: How the Arts and Sciences Propel Human Experience. His career bridges the arts across the full spectrum of creative practice, cultural experience, and education—all grounded in the belief that the creative process is essential to human evolution. Treinen’s work underscores how Universal Creative Intelligence, shapes not only how we tell stories but also how we live them.
As a columnist for The Palm Springs Tribune, Marty covers theater, film, visual and performing arts, human-centric AI, and cultural events throughout the Coachella Valley. His reviews are known for their honesty, authenticity, clarity, and deep respect for the power of the arts, to enhance our lives.