This is probably as good a time as any to ‘confess’ to my fondness for watching bright young people in silk dressing gowns sipping cocktails and exchanging witty remarks. Anthony Page’s production of Noel Coward’s 1932 play Design For Living is lovely to look at and ought to satisfy my longings to escape into an artisan Parisian loft, a luxurious London apartment or a state of the art New York penthouse (designed by Lez Brotherton). Lisa Dillon’s blue-grey evening gown is also quite stunning. However, I never think it is a good sign when the design is by far the best aspect of a production. This is not to in any way devalue the designer’s work, but because I feel that the aesthetic ought to complement the play, rather than being the main attraction. It was quite a shock to discover that the man who is considered by some to be the greatest all-round theatrical talent Britain has ever had and whose plays I have very much enjoyed in the past could have written such an unrelentingly tedious piece.
It is easy to see why this play caused a stir in 1932: Gilda, an interior decorator, is living openly in Paris with her painter lover Otto, then Otto’s playwright best friend Leo (originally played by Coward himself) turns up and she runs off back to London with him. Eighteen months later, Otto returns and they sleep together as Leo is away at a house party in Surrey. Leo comes back early and he and Otto get drunk and share a kiss. In the meantime, Gilda has absconded to New York with old family friend Ernest. Not only is it all hopelessly dated nowadays, but (to this reviewer and her companion) not even at all witty. It employs the kind of visual and verbal humour found in bad sitcoms in which the audience knows exactly what is coming and laugh because their anticipation is vindicated when it inevitably happens.
Lisa Dillon (so good in Cranford) has the thankless task of trying to breathe life into a character who initially shows some promise, being a woman who has no intention of marrying because she doesn’t want children and has no need to obtain social position, but quickly becomes irritating beyond belief with her incessant rhapsodising about of a whole lot nothing. As her two gentleman friends, Andrew Scott certainly milks the frightfully affected camp mannerisms and Tom Burke looks quite good in a vest. It all comes to a head with the excruciating drunk scene that goes on forever. In real life, drunk people who think they are being so terribly amusing are the very opposite. It is no different on stage.
What was the point of reviving this? There was no doubt that a large percentage of the audience thought it was laugh-in-the-aisles hilarious, but there were also several seats that were abandoned after the second interval. I could have gladly pushed these narcissistic, vapid characters who nevertheless are adored and indulged by their creator out of the huge French windows of Gilda’s fabulous penthouse. It seems like rather an insult that the audience is supposed to root for them. It was hard not to be reminded of that ultimate dig in After The Dance (a superior play in every way imaginable)- “Don’t be a bore.” Well, Mr Coward, what an absolute bore you could be. I would much rather sit next to Terence Rattigan at a dinner party.
Originally posted on A Younger Theatre
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