New Statesman (1996), Oct 29, 2001
The house of Elyot. (Private Lives)(Review)
KATHERINE DUNCAN-JONES.
KATHERINE DUNCAN-JONES finds comfort and escape in a
heartless Coward comedy
The programme of the gloriously lavish new presentation of
Private Lives claims that "the play is set in the 1930s".
Actually, it was written by a peripatetic Noel Coward in
1929, and first performed in 1930. Like his male lead, Elyot,who has recently travelled all around the world, Coward
was enjoying travel in the Far fabled flatness of Norfolk.
The play occupies the same historical moment as Evelyn
Waugh's Vile Bodies, and shares with Waugh's
novel an enchanted fascination with the brittle flippancies of thebright young things who loll around in silk pyjamas sipping
expensive drinks. But while Vile Bodies incorporated
plenty of unmissable satire -- "last week's Prime Minister"
and the like -- Coward's play shows no satirical teeth whatsoever.
Most of us today don't want to encounter any
uncomfortable satirical stabs, judging by the eager delight
of the audience at the Albery Theatre, who applaud both of
Tim Hatley's sets before a single line has been spoken, and
often impede the elegant pace of Coward's dialogue with
loud and over-prolonged laughter. It's a bit of a mystery to
me why Coward's artificial froth is so hugely popular at the
moment, but simple escapism must have a lot to do with it.
Today, the play feels like a classy period sitcom. It can be
seen to have pioneered the now trite soap/sitcom conceit of
a divorced couple who find themselves getting together
again. "Some day I'll find you," murmurs that repeated
phrase of "potent cheap music" heard by Elyot and Amanda
on their French honeymoon hotel balcony. It is also sung
by them as a faltering, sexually hung-over duet in Amanda'
s Paris flat in Act 2. The attempt either to find or to
rediscover an elusive "you" who will solve or shelve all
deeper problems is the comedy's bitter-sweet quest. The
lives of its two couples are not so much "private" as socially
decontextualised, perhaps reflecting Coward's own
vagabond hedonism. No one has a job, or children, or
apparently any expectation of or desire for such ties. The
only parent mentioned, Sibyl's mother, is a remote, offstage
bogey. The comedy celebrates a world of moneyed young
people who enjoy easy access to both divorce and
contraception, and who can shamelessly despatch a tired
maid t o make their coffee and tidy up the furniture they
have smashed in their sexually charged fisticuffs (well
choreographed by Terry King). Incidentally, the crudely
farcical presentation of the French maid, Louise (Alex
Belcourt), in an oversized Lyon's Corner House cap is a rare
clumsy touch in Howard Davies's generally coherent
production.
Each of the principal characters hopes to "find" the
unquestioning adoration of a marriage partner to give
value to an otherwise vacuous existence. But none of them,
except for Sibyl at her "big moment" near the end, is willing
to acknowledge any reciprocal obligation to be faithful,
loving or generous. Such moral shallowness could be
alienating, but Alan Rickman brings an un-Cowardlike
gravitas to Elyot that hugely strengthens the comedy. At
times, it seems almost as if, like his contemporary and
near-namesake T S Eliot (his "Ash Wednesday" was
published in 1930), the man has a tormented and
self-critical inner life. Rickman is beautifully complemented
by the elegant Lindsay Duncan as Amanda, combining
feisty intelligence with flawless comic timing. Her cool
assumption of the role of society hostess in Act 3 is
particularly brilliant, and she sports her fashionable hat at
breakfast time as if to the manor born.
Coward admitted that he didn't give the other characters,
Victor and Sibyl, much of a chance -- they were just "a
couple of extra puppets thrown in to assist the plot", even
though Laurence Olivier was to play Victor. But Adam
Godley and Emma Fielding bring a gawky innocence to
these roles, and it is with some dismay that we see, at the
play's close, that these innocents have learnt to mimic the
savage sparring of the more experienced couple. But the
curtain falls: it was only ever a silly, shallow comedy, and
perhaps that's why, for all its heartlessness, it is strangely
comforting.
Private Lives is at the Albery Theatre, London WC2 (020
7369 1730), until 6 January 2002
Full Text: COPYRIGHT 2001 New Statesman, Ltd.