Brutal Comedy: Private Lives, Donmar Warehouse, London
Noel Coward’s take on love literally equaling death has impossibly glamourous Elyot (Stephen Managan) and Amanda (Rachael Stirling) as a divorced couple who can’t live with or without each other. Unfortunately for them, and their new spouses, they end up in the same hotel, honeymooning right next to each other. It’s a 1930s new morale dilemma.
Ramping up the bitter comedy, the physical comedy side of this play is really played for laughs. But also emphasises the sadness of this destructive relationship. Having seen the Havers-Hodge production too, this version had fantastic and imaginative staging, although the lighting was very harsh. The facial expressions when the couple spotted each other were very, very funny (and yet also agonising, as then they both have to try to get away from each other — by heading to the same escape location! and desperately attempt to persuade their spouses to follow their seemingly whimsical change of mind).
We begin on an ornate divided balcony. The floor is a sea — covered in rippling blue cloth. On one side of the stage is a cellist, on the other a violinist — who together form the band who only seem to know one tune (and it’s the former couple’s ‘song’!) Mangan really emphasised Elyot’s carelessness and viciousness, Rachel Stirling was magnificent as the magnetic and infuriating Amanda, rocking the fashions and the hard make up and nail varnish of the time.
Having encountered each other and failed to negotiate a way out, Elyot and Amanda (having grappled an ornamental shrub out of the way) run off together, giggling through a transparent bronzed wall, leaving their cocktails and abandoned partners to sort things out. Laura Carmichael was unfortunately indisposed the night I saw the production — her understudy was wonderful and gave a less prissy turn as Sibyl, and Sargon Yelda was annoyingly honest, confrontational and matter of fact as Victor. I do feel that some lines had been cut though as the focus seemed telescoped towards Amanda and Elyot — who both seem so controlling that I’m not sure why their new spouses remain with them.
Juddering backwards on their balcony, the blue cloth whisks back to reveal Amanda and Elyot on a sofa (or perhaps chaise lounge) decadently clad in silk pajamas and dressing gowns in Amanda’s Paris apartment. For a grand finale, an enormous curtain swished down. Amidst clouds of herbal cigarettes, they move from deep discussions, frantic Charleston-ing and writhing passion to mutual, murderous loathing. The only way to keep the peace is a truce of silence and a code word (Solomon Isaacs or Sollocks for short). The tension and humour were unbearable as they fought to hold their peace and yet demand cigarettes, lighters etc.
With very real emotions, and physicality, Amanda and Elyot destructively exploded into aggression and abuse against each other. Elyot hurdled a glass against a wall, missing the audience narrowly. Amanda smashed her record over his head. He throttled her and flung her on to a sofa. Everything was thrown around. Rachel Stirling’s character was found beating Elyot by the gawking and appalled abandoned spouses. For good measure, the huge curtain was pulled askew.
Live music is used really well as the cellist and violinist try and fail to play a duet, the violinist stalks off in disgust and the cellist literally upstages everyone before being pushed unwillingly off the stage. It’s a really clever and fun way to start the next Act.
Breakfast in the morning is flung on the floor (not that that stops Elyot having his coffee and brioche), and civility is forced. The style doesn’t hide the substance of their lives as they try to overcome their moral/ethical conundrum. Again there is humour, especially as Sibyl tries (with Amanda) to keep polite nothings flowing smoothly. The French maid is briefly appalled by all of them.
Whilst we are perhaps meant to cast a judgmental eye on these hedonists (like a stagey neighbourhood watch) or laugh along with Amanda and Elyot, as Sibyl and Victor rapidly drop their polite veneers and prove that they are no better, ending the play in yet another throttle. After all, we like the signature couple, have ringside seats and it’s terribly diverting.
Whilst it is very amusing situational comedy and very real in its emotions, the visceral nature of the couple’s violence against each other and the play’s fashionable penchant for throttling make for uncomfortable viewing. Viewed seriously, it both glamourises and makes a joke of domestic violence and abuse. The Havers/Hodge version had an empowerment version with Hodge attacking Havers triumphantly. Thought Mangan offered a gentlemanly (and gentle) hand up to the understudy post-play, the sight of a man with his hands round the neck of his partner or a woman is really horrible watching. The elephant in the room is truly that we need to stop laughing at domestic violence and abuse — and I feel that the play needs a reappraisal through this lens. Whilst on one hand it appears to veer into celebrating ‘rough sex’ and equal, consensual opportunity for violence; on the other it shows us deeply dysfunctional and abusive relationships under a veneer of social polish and a complete lack of anger management. Much more than Sollocks is needed.
The actors are excellent and very believable — but the text needs a reappraisal…The recollection of the first time of being hit is no cause for celebration, although it does remind us that violence and domestic abuse are a hidden middle/upper class issue too.
