PRIVATE LIVES

PRIVATE LIVES

London Classic Theatre 

at the Civic Theatre, Chelmsford

26.10.2017

for The Reviews Hub

Coward’s frothy comedy of manners was concocted – as a vehicle for the Master and Miss Gertie Lawrence – at break-neck speed. And that’s how it’s delivered by London Classic Theatre, in Chelmsford for the 12^th date of its national tour.

All over in and hour and three-quarters, including the interval. Realistic characters performing in classic Coward style – speeches to the front, consonants sharp and precise. The pace is often a plus. The four actors have achieved a chemistry that enables subtle interchanges while rattling through the speeches like well-oiled machine guns. But there is a price to pay. Difficult decisions have to be made about which lines will be allowed a laugh, and some of the worldly wit, a few of the bons mots, must fall by the wayside.

The piece is nothing without style, and Michael Cabot’s production has plenty of that. The set – by Frankie Bradshaw, who also designed the costumes – is masterly. The Deauville balconies have twin french windows, with louvred shutters, and twin bistro tables, separated by a row of standard roses. During the interval, the stage is transformed into the flat in Paris, elegantly furnished and dressed with nods to Erté and Tiffany. There are some lovely frocks, too, though even the most sheltered upbringing will have encountered a more ”ravishing” dressing gown than that sported by Elyot here.

Four splendid performers capture the mannered style very convincingly. The first honeymooning couple we meet is Jack Harwick’s Elyot, relaxed in spats, and Olivia Beardsley’s Sibyl – kittenish and breathlessly gushing as she takes in the harbour view. The most tremendous coincidence has the next suite occupied by his ex, Helen Keeley’s langorous, vampish Amanda with her new partner, Victor [Kieran Buckeridge, whose physicality, and physiognomy, seem perfect for the period]. His “rugged grandeur” is somewhat ruffled by first-night nerves, but complications come thick and fast when Amanda spots Elyot over the rose-bushes – her reaction perfectly judged.

Coward’s own “cheap music” doesn’t get a look-in here – the hotel orchestra is both larger and more remote than usual. But the “travelling the world” speech is beautifully delivered, with its unspoken undertones of love rekindled. And when the other halves emerge in their turn, and spot the Duke of Westminster’s yacht, the difference in their reaction neatly encapsulated the difference between the two couples.

In the Paris apartment, Elyot and Amanda squeeze onto the chaise longue; their tempestuous relationship is punctuated by music from the mahogany Victrola and a tiny music box – no baby grand here – and by the time-out imposed by the Sollocks truce. These moments of respite are cleverly devised as cadenzas, allowing the actors and the director to bring in subtleties not explicit in the text.

The two doors recall the symmetry of the Deauville balconies; the violent row at the end of the piece – like Elyot and Amanda, Sybil and Victor find their fights a heartbeat away from passion – echoes the confrontation at the end of Act Two.

The breakfast scene – the quartet crowding behind a small table, Elyot and Amanda happily munching brioche as their partners argue – is exquisitely done, a perfect end to this bracing sprint through Private Lives, in a stylised, and stylish, interpretation. Another fine production of a great play from this enterprising touring company.

production photograph: Sheila Burnett

PRIVATE LIVES

PRIVATE LIVES

Made in Colchester at the Mercury Theatre, Colchester

25.05.2016
for The Reviews Hub

“Quite amusing. A bit dated.”
Soundbite in the rush to the bar after Act Two. Possibly the same gentleman who was gently snoring during the quieter Deauville scenes. I hope he stayed (awake) to see stuffy, "I'm glad I'm normal", Prynne kissed unexpectedly on the lips ...
Despite its eighty-six years, “dated” is one criticism that hardly applies to Private Lives, especially in this lively, stylish production by Esther Richardson. She brings a freshness and a physical energy to the characters, especially the women. Olivia Onyehara's elegant Sybil, for instance, is speechless with delight as she emerges onto the balcony at the top of the show. And speechless with rage and frustration in the Paris flat at the start of Act Three. The fights are very imaginatively staged: a lovely silence before the food starts to fly, and a perfect pillow fight before the shadows on the door announce the arrival of the abandoned other halves and the interval. The cream leather sofa in the appartement is creatively used. The re-united lovers spectate from it in the final moments, before packing (their shadows on the frosted glass of the bedroom door) and escaping with one last incredulous look from the doorway.
Mandy and Elly, “idiotic schoolchildren”, are beautifully done by  Krissi Bohn, a meticulously well-spoken Amanda in some superb fashion-plate frocks (”a beautiful advertisement for something”), and Pete Ashmore, slightly less clipped and acid than some Elyots, occasionally losing diction in moments of rage, but a very credible character even today. Their scenes together are magic – the hotel orchestra signals a wonderful change of mood at the end of Act One, where the “round the world” exchange is charged with barely repressed emotion.
Robin Kingsland makes a convincing, staid Victor, “the pompous ass” whom Amanda has just unwisely wed. His blustery sparring with Elyot especially memorable.
Mercury favourite Christine Absalom makes a meal of two quite inconsequential moments as Louise, the maid, mining every carat of comedy gold from her head-cold, her brioche and her tea-trolley. Rewarded with an old-fashioned round on her exit.
Sara Perks has designed a stunning multi-level Paris flat, with baby grand, double bed and bear-skin rug. It's concealed for the first act by diaphanous drapes suggesting the Deauville hotel – seagulls and lapping waves, lacking only a hint of ozone ruffling the organza.
A few deft cuts – the rodent Tiller Girls amongst the casualties – keep the action moving in this sparkling, hugely enjoyable revival of Coward's ageless comedy of manners.

production photograph by Robert Day

PRIVATE LIVES

Oldham Coliseum Theatre and Harrogate Theatre, in association with Anvil Arts, at the Mercury Theatre, Colchester
for The Public Reviews

15.03.11

until March 19^th

^{then at the Haymarket Basingstoke, March 22nd to 26th}

This Northern Coward is not the Manchester in-the-round experiment, but a much more predictable staging which started life in the Coliseum Oldham, and arrived at the Mercury by way of Harrogate.

And hugely enjoyable it proved.

Beautiful period costumes, two lovely contrasting sets [Michael Holt] – the balconies of the Deauville hotel, light and Art Deco, with the kind of curtains that billow, and the plush fin-de-siècle flat in the rue Montaigne, with its grand piano, divans and cabinet phonograph. And performances that were just as stylish, directed with affection and a practised hand by Robin Herford.

Noel Coward wrote the play in less than a week, with himself in mind of course for the peach of a part that is Elyot Chase. James Simmons' Elyot had clearly been around a bit, with his co-respondent shoes, his lived-in face and his wry cynicism. He timed the bons mots to perfection, and, like his Amanda, had an elegance of gesture which suited the period. Jackie Morrison played Amanda with superb sophistication and endearing honesty – the kitten marked for tragedy. Her voice was absolutely right, and she sang the snatches of Coward wonderfully. These two actors played very well together - I loved the recognition scene, and the domestic intimacy of the pyjama-clad tête-à-tête in Act Two. Their enforced silences were very imaginatively handled, and the famous fight was painfully physical – fight director Renny Krupinski.

Their new spouses, younger, with much to learn about the ways of the world and the foibles of the idle rich, were Maeve Larkin as a pretty little Sybil, not lacking in spirit, and Christopher Naylor as a tweedy, Woosterish Victor. The exasperated domestique was nicely suggested by Tess Alshibaya.

Music is key to the piece – Coward wrote Someday I'll Find You specially for the first production – and both piano and gramophone were effectively used [MD Howard Gray]. Not so sure about the “cheap music” in Act One: it sounded more like Mantovani than the house band at the Hotel Royal. And the sound-scape had the disconcerting effect of placing the audience in the middle of the marina.

This is not exactly a ground-breaking production, but the cast are always convincing and spark off each other brilliantly, breathing new life into these familiar lines, never resorting to cliché or pastiche. The Master's brittle wit is well served in a constantly entertaining couple of hours.

this piece first appeared on The Public Reviews