Private Lives
Noel Coward's paean to those couples who are perfectly suited in theory, and in practice a hot mess.
Overview
We've all known those couples who have so much in common they're perfectly suited in theory, and in practice an apocalyptic mess. That tenuous relationship has never been better recorded than by actor, playwright, wit, dandy, and logical Oscar Wilde successor Noel Coward in his 1930 play, Private Lives.
Five years after his divorce, the terminally ironic, never dull Elyot (Toby Schmitz; Coward originally wrote the role for himself, which gives you a clue as to just how good the lines given to him are) is on honeymoon with his new wife, Sybil (Eloise Mignon), in a Normandy seaside resort. His similarly acid-tongued ex-wife, Amanda (Zahra Newman), is also on her honeymoon, to Victor (Toby Truslove), in you guessed it, comedy fans the exact same lodgings. As is not atypical of those stung by a challenging, equal romantic partnership, this time around, they've each chosen comfort. Sybil and Victor are idiots, and Amanda and Elyot will feel their mistake keenly when they're forced to meet again.
Private Lives is fun and cannot be anything but, which makes it a good choice for set designer extraordinaire and Belvoir artistic head but first-time director Ralph Myers. It's forgivable that there's a whiff of unsureness about the opening scene, then, although oddly enough, it's not at all helped by the awkward, grandly minimal set, unclear on when it's a hallway or a terrace.
After Amanda and Elyot retreat to her Parisian apartment, things get smoother positively silky once an unexpected Phil Collins breakdown bonds both the actors and the audience. It's a shortcut to intimacy, but you really believe this and other moments that conjure a couple's private in-joke. Moreover, it's the first shot of modern, riotous energy in the production, and from here on in, the characters have a runaway chemistry that builds to a wickedly climactic reunion breakfast. Coward's barbs are still so sharp and rousing, and it's exciting to watch the two Tobys at the top of their very different comedic games.
At the same time, it is getting a bit repetitive seeing Schmitz play the smartarse, Truslove the schmo, and Mignion the ingénue. Belvoir should be careful to keep challenging its fine recurring actors. In this case, Mignion is perhaps even miscast, seeming more lost and infantilised under a giant blonde wig than a daffy scene queen in her twenties could possibly be.
There's one further oddity in Private Lives: It has a rather casual, even glamorising, approach to domestic violence, one that jars with the attempt to transplant it to an unspecific present. Other anachronisms may pass quietly by, but this comes as a jolt.
Image by Heidrun Lohr.
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