A decade ago at The Old Vic, a revival
of Philip Barry’s
The Philadelphia
Story starring Kevin Spacey went some way towards redeeming his
erratic first season at the theatre’s helm; now, although he does not
appear onstage, Spacey has chosen the Cole Porter musical version of
the same tale as the final production of his artistic directorship. The
script’s attitude towards the American moneyed classes may also reflect
our own views of the Hollywood star’s time in SE1: beginning with
ill-concealed prejudice, then fascinated though still somewhat
suspicious, and finally entirely beguiled by the degree to which they
really do care.
As bride-to-be Tracy Lord, Kate Fleetwood is more Katharine Hepburn
(from
The Philadelphia Story
film) than Grace Kelly (in
High
Society’s original 1956 movie incarnation): her primary register
is spiky, and then periodically out of thin air she produces a moment
of insane and enchanting wackiness. Of the three suitors who coincide
to cause assorted hi-jinks in the 24 hours before the wedding itself,
Richard Grieve has the most thankless task as humourless scheduled
groom George Kittredge. Even Jamie Parker has unexpected touches of
stolidity as undercover reporter Mike Connor, chippy and hostile to
such wealth and privilege. Matters are ultimately resolved (though also
largely fomented in the first place) by Rupert Young as ex-husband C.K.
Dexter Haven (the role taken in 2005 by Spacey). A strong supporting
cast includes Jeff Rawle as lovable old soak Uncle Willie, Barbara
Flynn as the nameless Mother Lord, and a role more or less created for
this production, that of pianist/singer Joey Powell; Joe Stilgoe even
engages the audience in a warm-up routine before the show proper kicks
off.
Maria Friedman’s move from musical theatre performance into direction
is only enhanced by her touch here. Like that other musical
actor-turned-director Daniel Evans, she takes care to ensure a constant
yet unforced vivacity onstage. The household staff are always letting
their individuality show through whether cooking breakfast off to one
side (?) of the in-the-round stage or performing scene-changes, and
Nathan Wright’s choreography is synchronised without looking drilled.
Even my own usual boredom with the big, wildly prolonged show-stopping
routine – in this case to “Let’s Misbehave” – was all but banished.
Written for the Financial
Times.