A
dozen years ago when I last saw William Congreve’s comedy of 1700, I
wrote that it was “a play more admired than strongly liked”, and Rachel
Kavanaugh’s Chichester revival confirms that attitude in me at least. I
am not one of the most consistent fans of Kavanaugh’s direction, but on
this occasion she puts herself and her cast entirely in the service of
the play (if not always of the Festival Theatre’s acoustics). The
faults are Congreve’s.
Foremost among these is the length to which he takes the Restoration
stage’s fondness for polished banter. “Show, don’t tell” may not have
been in currency as a dramatic maxim three centuries ago, but there
must surely have been a fundamental presumption in that direction.
Here, the pre-nuptial negotiation scene between principal lovers
Mirabell and Millamant (Jo Stone-Fewings and Claire Price) is a thing
of beauty, but otherwise… well, by my reckoning, fully an hour of the
evening’s two and three-quarters had elapsed before characters stopped
alternately explaining matters to each other and engaging in foppish
“raillery” and something actually happened, this being simply the
entrance of the more broadly comic character of Sir Wilfull Witwoud,
played with deadpan bluntness by Jeremy Swift.
Sir Wilfull is in many ways an obvious audience favourite, yet
Congreve’s preferences clearly lie with Mirabell and Millamant and with
the doyenne of their social circle Lady Wishfort. This latter is a
character well within Penelope Keith’s most stereotypical constituency,
but the actress is neither given any real opportunity by the
playwright, nor does she make any of her own, to impress upon her
portrayal any individuality or, to be frank, memorability.
There is much elegant sporting of a variety of perukes (albeit in
mane-like styles reminiscent perhaps more of a Heavy Metal festival
than of Williamite England), and self-congratulatory exchanges between
supporting fops which are almost as crystalline as the couple of dozen
chandeliers on Paul Farnsworth’s set. However, neither Stone-Fewings as
wooer-in-chief Mirabell, Richard Clothier as the scheming Fainall, nor
Keith as the supposed arbiter of all kinds of propriety, makes a
lasting impression. In 2000 I concluded that this a Restoration comedy
that “does not
rollick+; on
this occasion, with the sole exception of Swift’s Sir Wilfull, I repeat
that verdict more emphatically.
Written for the Financial
Times.