breaking away
by Douglas Messerli
Noël Coward Blithe Spirit / Los Angeles, Ahmanson Theatre, the performance I
attended was the matinee of January 11, 2015
Having now written on a play that I still do not perceive as deeply
profound, I have little more to say. Let me just begin by admitting that, as
great as it is to see Angela Lansbury exuberantly performing at the age of
nearly 90—one of five memorable occasions when I have seen her perform
brilliantly on stage (I’d seen her previously in Dear World, Gypsy, Sweeney Todd and The Best Man)—she cannot compare to the impervious fortress of
eccentricities created by Margaret Rutherford. Despite her wonderful comic
timing, and her balletic machinations as she prepares to collapse from trance
to trance, she is reasonably sane when compared with Rutherford’s rendition of
Madame Arcati. And, understandably, she appears a bit frail. Still, since
nearly everyone, including myself, is in love with Lansbury, it hardly matters.
That she is still “here,” after all these years, and her clowning through the
mad séances and hocus pocus mutters of Coward’s dark comedy is enough! The
remaining cast members, particularly, Charlotte Parry as Ruth, Charles Edwards
aa Charles, and Jemina Rooper as Elvira are all capable and convincing.
What did strike me seeing the play version of the work, embraced in the
theatrical conventions of its original subtitle, “An Improbable Comedy,” was
just how serious this work really is at heart. Yes, Blithe Spirit is still funny, to which the guttural howls of the
man seated behind me attested; the entire audience, indeed, laughed on cue,
particularly when Charles was attempting to converse with his spectral ex-wife
Elvira while explaining his extra-sensory perceptions to his understandably
skeptical current wife, Ruth. And Madame Arcati is simply, as they used to say,
a hoot: a wise owl who knows she’s odd and loves being so; offended only when
she is described as an amateur, she knows well that, daft or not, she is the
“real” thing. And there were moments, of course, in which even I could not hold
back my giggles.
Yet, as Barry Day, writing in the play’s program, pointed out, Coward’s
play shares a great deal with the works of Harold Pinter such as The Homecoming or even the farces of Joe
Orton (on my mind, since my companion and I recently saw a production of his What the Butler Saw). If the characters
express a series of witty bon mots,
they are aimed with all seriousness at one another. As Day points out, in this
play Charles Condomine is not only “between women,” but is a kind of
bigamist—and utterly enchanted, at least for a while, by the situation. Ruth
provides him a highly organized, efficient and intelligent existence, wherein
she even helps, so he declares to Elvira, with his writing. Elvira, on the
other hand, imbues with life with a blithe spirit, an ethereal and comic
lightness and beauty that Ruth cannot provide. In short, Ruth is the real and
ordinary, while Elvira, even when she was alive, was simply spirit. The balance
is perfect, particularly for a man who appears to have little to offer himself.
His major occupation, we must remember, is writing rather predictable murder
mysteries, such as the one on which is about to embark, concerning a fraudulent
and murderous medium. The fact that Madame Arcati is neither a fake nor has any
evil intentions but actually does—with the help of their hyper-energized
servant, Edith—conjure up a ghost, nixes his boring story. It seems doubtful,
at play’s end, that he will write again—unless it is to recount his horrifying
experiences with marriage and the dead.
What has begun as a kind of domestic comedy, accordingly, ends, quite misogynistically, as a tale of man who, having finally weaned himself away from the women he has used and abused all of his life, is condemned to wander the earth just as his wives are doomed to inhabit his now ruined habitat. One might also argue, on the other hand, that Charles has finally entrapped his women in the domestic world at which he saw himself as the center, but which he is now free, however pointlessly, to escape. Whatever is “out there” may be without love, but it possibly may provide new adventures nonetheless, a life he formerly could not imagine.
Los Angeles, January 12, 2015
Reprinted from USTheater, Opera, and Performance (January 2015).
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