At a time when live theater seems populated with cats, social misfits and men in masks, Noel Coward's crusty, upper-crust Brits feel quaint and dated. But aren't they reassuring? And fun. When think pieces are the order of the day, sly, stiff-upper-lip comedy goes a long way.
And "Private Lives," currently in revival at the Pioneer Memorial Theatre, goes the distance. The play - a quick-paced drawing room comedy from Coward's jolly old England of the '30s - is a warm stop during a cold time of year.Brush up your Coward. Come to his cabaret of manners.
"Private Lives" - like so much of Coward - deals with bedeviling domestic relationships. In this case, two marriages: Elyot's marriage to Sybil (Max Robinson and Joyce Cohen) and Amanda's to Victor (Anne Stewart Mark and Craig Wroe). The fly in the ointment - or better the grease that makes the plot machinery grind - is the fact Amanda and Elyot were once married to each other, are still in love - and hate. And each of them ends up honeymooning with a new mate in the same hotel at the same time.
When Amanda and Elyot flee to Paris and leave their new mates planted, the sparks - not to mention the shoes, pillows, record albums and cigarette lighters - start to fly.
Robinson is back at PMT from the East Coast and - yes - he's brought his full arsenal of hang-dog expressions, chirpy voices and comedic instincts. He's one of the few performers who can send theatergoers into the aisles clutching their sides and slapping their knees just by buttering a piece of toast.
Anne Stewart Mark is a good foil for him. The two have worked well and often in farces and romantic comedy in the past, and they have each other down like a pitcher and catcher. Mark plays it aloof. Robinson plays it pained. Mark acts superior. Robinson wounded. The result is a tortured twosome that behaves like an odd couple coupling of Thomas and Oliver Hardy.
In the auxiliary roles of Sybil and Victor, Cohen and Wroe do the most with what the playwright has given them. Coward flattens the two characters out in order to set the principal couple off in high relief. And Cohen and Wroe - wisely - never try to overplay the parts. He's a manly Englishman with a bit of bluster about him; she's a shallow schoolgirl. What you see is what you see.
The fine direction of Charles Morey is one reason things click along so well. Morey likes to play his comedies hot - giving audiences more language per minute than any director working in the valley. The downside is there's often not much room to build to new levels of intensity and dialogue gets flying so fast that jokes get washed away before anyone can titter. The upside is the play moves along briskly and keeps an audience engaged and on its toes. Personally, I prefer a bit more leisure. But how you view the pacing and slapstick physical comedy here is really a matter of taste.
Sets are gorgeous, with Amanda's Paris flat especially lavish and lavender. Costumes are dead on, as are the lights and music.
Ah, and Ellen Graham, as the frumpy French maid who appears just long enough to bust up the tension between the couples, is dour and convincing.
In other words, buying tickets to this one could never be considered "pound foolish."