The Fans Review Private Lives

Motianna's Review

Tuesday, March 12

From Spoon to Meat Axe in No Time

Well, I finally made it to London to PL, too. I even made it to the Olivier Awards in time – but someone else didn’t – guess who? The event as such was quite amusing – a good introduction to English humour and entertaining and our stay. The people there were very friendly and locked our luggage in a kiosk that was not used at the moment. Awfully nice of them, in fact everybody was over there, beginning with the conductor on the fast train from Heathrow who said "splendid" to everyone, which made us smile like children under the Christmas tree. From then on – the tickets purchased through the Internet miraculously were all valid, to my never ending amazement – this trip was bound to be a success. I had had my doubts – tearing at my hair and biting my nails for the whole night in advance with my grown-up’s voice saying: "This is about the silliest idea you have ever had, it will be awful, not to mention childish and you will pay for it – dearly": Well, I kind of did, but it was worth it. Every penny.
The Awards: Well, enjoyable even for a complete idiot as me to British theatre, but dragged after a while, as someone said earlier. People announcing other people, people entering the stage, people leaving the stage, people talking a lot – just like life. And I had my doubts, again, as to PL winning anything at all. There were no cheers when the play was mentioned. Some places were empty – could have been the fans that knew beforehand? And when the wonderful and charming and awfully nice Ms. Duncan gave her acceptance speech, my doubts were confirmed. What use could it be to cut her award in two and give A.R. half of it, if he was to receive his own? But you never know and so the child in me kept hoping against hope, perhaps my English had failed me as it has done on occasions well known to this guestbook *gg*.
But when the award went to someone whom I can’t even faintly recall, it was very much like later that afternoon when walking in Hyde Park I admired some wild geese or some such flying very beautifully in formation and they shit me on the head. Well, of course I told myself awards don’t necessarily mean anything, and it’s kind of a society event – I sat near someone who looked like Robin Cook, even if I don’t recall who that is or was (I just looked him up in the Internet, and he sure looked a lot like him, and he was born in February 1946, as someone else, if ever you wanted to know *gg*, my classical education can’t be that bad, after all). So nothing you should set your hope on.
But I was nonetheless a little disappointed on his behalf which is of course idiotic, too. I hoped that he had known beforehand and staid in bed instead of attending this stuff to get over his cold. Well, I sure understand why he gets colds all the time and it has not entirely to do with all of us wanting him to sign every cold night. We had wonderful sunny weather in London, sure, but it was damned cold even for us bloody "Germermans" in coats and scarves and such, and the "Brits" were sitting outside of cafes, in short trousers and t-shirts. And HE surely didn’t wear a scarf when I saw him. (Hint to our transatlantic fans: The English must be born without kidneys, was the conclusion my companion and I reached after a night at a pub, therefore they eat them, and they overheat the rooms to have energy enough to go through the cold February in clothes I would wear in summer in Italy, but I digress). I saw Ms. Duncan after the show in bright sunlight and was amazed at how good she looked (not a little jealous, no). She looked like she was in her thirties, which simply can’t be, and had a figure becoming a teenager – one not stuffed on sweets and fast food, that is. And to me she seemed sweet and nice in no small degree, giving autographs and allowing photos to be taken. I liked her a lot and this encouraged me to reconsider the stage door thingy. Actually, real people, older and of a different sex than me, did that quite naturally, so it can’t be to bad, I thought.
But doing it is really another question. Believe me. Well, the day of the play arrived and I was not nervous at all, no not in the least. I was like a rock, calm, quiet and tranquil. And I just wanted to be a rock. Don’t let anything like a play and an actor I had especially flown over to watch disturb me. The day before I had searched the whole of London for videos, dvds and most of all, the CD of WLS. It was simply not to be found - sold out. People were happy to help me – something which I would like for German stores too, but I digress again – but mostly quite ignorant of the thing. I had a wonderful conversation with one girl at a store that didn’t have it either, but who knew about Alan Rickman and liked him – which was nice for a change as the awards brought the undeniable as well as terrible fact to my mind that there are things and people on this earth, even in London, that are not in the least connected with the realm of Rickmania. Well, I at last got the CD 2 hours before the play started and only after I told them they must have it, as the Computer in the other store had told me so. *argh* I think I created quite a need for this stuff in London for which I will be rewarded some day, I’m sure. Ah, well, I kind of was, already.
On top of my dear expenses (yes, in every sense of the word, we couldn’t afford anything better than McDonalds for food, I’m afraid, and if you ever as much as mention the word French fries to my ears, I’ll do something drastic), were two glossy photos I bought in a little shop that was still there after 20 years when I bought photos of – well never mind – there. Had a very nice conversation with the guy, in which he even offered us some cookies lest we starve in London – I love the English, did I already say that?! One picture of George, one of Jamie I took with me. He asked me: "You know the biography, don’t you?" to which I replied that Mr. R. would not sign that one but hit me on the head with it. He looked for it anyway and when I just had made up my mind to buy it none the less – he need not know everything, must he?! – it turned out, that it was sold out. We parted as the best of friends, him asking me what took me so long to come back, to which I answered quite fluently that I didn’t know. But of course I knew. It was life – and "munny". So we walked around with crowds of people doing the same – a sunny Sunday afternoon, Chinese New Year, furthermore, is not extremely well suited for people looking for quiet and tranquil. Did you know, by the way, that there is a play called "Life after George" playing at one theatre? Suzanne must be through with him, and set that up quite quickly, I thought.
We were at the theatre on time, having collected the tickets the day before, and had just settled down in our first row, me thinking quite nervously how many people would notice if I got sick during the play or had to use the toilet which made me look for exactly that. Queues. Looked for Liz instead, but didn’t find her. So I sat back again, shivering like a very tranquil rock as someone came and asked: "Excuse me, but I was wondering if you might be Mortianna" – well and I was and she was Liz. I had my schizophrenic moment wondering who in the audience might blackmail me with that knowledge, let alone the vivid vision of someone behind the curtain listening unseen coming out and yelling: "You! Are! Out!" Well, imagination takes you places.
Liz and I talked a little and met in the queue again later. I had the most embarrassing thoughts and nearly decided to not use my place in the front row, just in case ... Yes, I do have my humble moments, all right. I bested myself and went to my seat and the curtain went up with some waves’ noise and a rush of cold air. You could well imagine being on the beach in the first row. And then it was quite strange. I had read all the reports of everyone about the play, and I recognised each and every scene. It was a queer feeling – just as I had when I saw the stage door – well, nothing too ... demonstrative, much like a kitchen entrance, and that it is, of course. When we got there the day before, some one walked in with a basket of groceries – just like a working woman going to work when everybody else is having fun – and that’s what it is: Work, I thought. The feeling was like ... seeing New York for the first time for real - you have known that it really is there, as you have seen it many times on film and pictures, but when you really see it, you are completely overwhelmed.
I grinned like a big idiot for the whole play, when I didn’t laugh outrageously or listened intently or watched mesmerised. I didn’t notice that suit thingy, I must admit, but then again, I couldn’t see his face when he recognised Amanda. I think I have to go again, alone for that look. I looked at the others too, I admit, and they were all very very good. What should I say that hasn’t been said before? As I am quite new to this – only 2 and a half months now – I am quite on my honeymoon with this at it is. And was overwhelmed with the looks on his face I recollected from other roles, with his fast changing moods, with everything. I said, all the actors were good, but especially, I nearly fail to write that, as this Victor nearly fled from the theatre after the play and I felt so sorry for him, and loved him on the spot when he looked so surprised when actually some people ran after him to get his autograph, and he has that wonderful "fight" scene, and A.R.’s first scene with Sibyl where she asks him if he loves her and his reaction to it, well I know those two are just foils to set up the other two, but it works really good – well, I try not to be partial, I’m democratic, but still: A.R. and L.S. together on stage just "blew the roof". How they try to break free from the coming disaster, the "particle" speech, each and everything. Especially the second scene, I really had the feeling of watching them in the living room, which sounds silly as that is how it should be, but it didn’t look "stagey" at all, and I recall to have seen this play done very badly.
The stage was fabulous, this hotel was unbelievable, from the first row it really looked like a real hotel, well I know that from up whatever that was called at the Awards I could see that those festive looking Roman or whatever walls were not so solid after all – but this really worked for me. Absolutely fabulous. Never a dull second, during the whole play. Everything fit perfectly, at least for me. And my companion said the play was well worth watching, he liked it a lot, even not being a Rickman fan, well, not even knowing him and looking out for „someone awfully good looking in HP with no success" – well, he’s my brother, not my lover, so I couldn’t exactly choose him – he liked him very much for his behaviour at the stage door, found him awfully nice and seemed to recall him when I mentioned some films – yes those. He even had the good humour to endure my quoting some (ah well, you know me better, don’t you?!) lines of my favourite (so far) characters, and the meat axe was added to that list on the spot.
It was like a dream really, and it finished much too early. Liz and I met again and she asked (I’m sure it was her, because I couldn’t speak): "So shall we do the stage door thing?" to which I managed to utter a "yes" as I could think of no other words at the moment. So we stood in this alley, or place, I had seen so many times before and shivered from head to toe. The picture my brother took from both of us shows two women beaming like angels – well, I felt wonderful, to say the very least. How Liz felt, she described much better herself. My fingers had some difficulties though, because while waiting for him and trying to hold the glossy photographs, the programme, the CD and two pens (warning on the guestbook: be sure you have a pen, well I told you I’m something of a control freak) the pens constantly dropped which caused me some embarrassment. And then the door opened and Adam Godley nearly ran out of it. I felt so sorry for him, but I couldn’t move – I was a rock, mind. Thank heavens other people could and followed him to get their programme signed. Might as well be he would have much preferred to get out unseen, but I felt all this racket about Mr. Rickman and not getting noticed at all himself, must be a humiliating experience.
Well, I didn’t notice Emma Fielding going out, but suddenly he himself came out, and I do not remember if Ms. Duncan came before or afterwards as I was badly smitten by the sudden cognition that this really happened, to me, I was really there and that this was not just another picture on the internet. That brilliant perception brought the poor pens down to earth some time again. Well, I stood there mesmerized and noticed that he actually talked to people, which nearly made me flee the place, as I could only imagine to summon up enough courage to hold out pen and programme and CD and whatever to him, let him sign and run away and be done with. Well, the shivering got worse as more and more people got their autographs, pictures and what else, and Liz and I were still standing somewhat apart. One thing I remember out of my completely dazed condition was when he moved sideways :-) while someone was taking a picture of him. He said: "Oh, now you have a picture where I look like that" and making a funny face as if caught in moving, and posed for another one. That brought to my mind the reports about him being very conscious about how he looks, but at the same time it was a kind reminder to ask him before you take a picture and a sign of his caring for the fans having nice pictures of him. And it is really a good idea, I think, to ask him before you take a picture - if you can bring yourself to open your mouth, that is. And apart from sheer politeness. Because I think, the pictures taken by surprise don’t do him justice in any way, and if he goes the lengths he does to please us all, for which I for one cannot admire him enough, he deserves good pictures to be taken. And of course back at home it’s nicer by far to dote on pictures that really do him justice and not think: Uh, why did I go there anyway? Just kidding, the "surprise" pictures just make me want to put him into bed, make him some camomile tea or whatever and force him to rest – well, unused motherly feelings. Astonishing, don’t you think, what the man can bring out in one?
The other thing I remember was the little girl running up to him and asking him: "Can I get a hug?" to which he answered: "Sure" with a smile that could have illuminated the whole of London, let alone this alley. Then she hugged his legs and it was really at heart-warming moment. Not that the hearts of anyone there needed any more heating, I suspect. So, you Americans, it might be a good idea to work on practising this transfiguration thingy Professor McGonagall teaches at Hogwarts and be able to change your appearance into that of a child. Just an idea!
Well, at the moment at the stage door, no such motherly feelings or brilliant ideas were in me. I was as excited and timid as my niece of 3 years when she has to meet someone she hasn’t seen for a while. But I got quite anxious too, as there were less and less people and still we stood kind of away – in my case owing to the deep voice of my grown-up in my head, still insisting that this was totally ridiculous behaviour and she would not want to be seen having anything to do with it. But now the ruthless teenager in me took over and moved behind a man who had been standing in front of A.R. much too long anyway. So now I was really near and for some reason or other, the pens were safely in my hand and didn’t drop anymore. I remember standing there and watching him from about half a metre (whatever that is) and begin to just imagine what kind of look I had on my face. Well, I have the photos by now, and believe me: Silly is one thing, but happy comes with that often! Well, he talked to someone or else, and suddenly he looked at me, friendly enough, I imagine, and his gaze fell onto the CD, that was uppermost in my hands – beneath the pens. And then he said, over the shoulders of the man standing between us something like: "Oh, you have it", or making an acknowledging face contortion of some kind, and I said "yes", and somehow the man moved away and I stood in front of him and (now I can quote from the 15 seconds of video my brother took, and I still cringe on the floor with embarrassment when I watch it, but I try to cope with that) he talked about the CD being sold out, and I said yes, I had hunted it down through the whole of London, and that there was nothing against those stubborn Germans, on which he grinned this half-sided grin of his, on which I nearly died on the spot, but it got even worse.
He signed it and said: "It is a very nice CD", and I said: "Yes, I love it", and then while he signed my programme as well, my mother and the grown-up in myself could not bear it any longer, this teenage stuff, and took over and I told the poor man, while he was writing: "And I got to listen to it on the Internet, so never say anything against it again!" on which he gave that snare again and I was so ashamed of myself that as soon as I got back my signed programme and pen I ran off, without even thanking him for the play and the autographs and all and would have run for miles on end had it not been for my brother who asked me: "No photograph?" on which I only whimpered: "Noo". But I stopped and turned around and saw Liz standing beside him and suddenly remembered that in the long-ago time before his arrival we had talked about having our photograph taken together. So I hurried back to the other side of the man, and I hope I at least muttered something like "Excuse me" but I can’t be sure of it. The picture shows two women trying hard to win the silliest face of the day contest, while the man in the middle just doesn’t try hard enough and looks very beautiful. Afterwards I ran off and as there were so many people in my head at the moment, the child wanting to cry with embarrassment, the teenager wanting to stay there forever and just watch, the grown-up harping on the other two for their silly behaviour, I took to trying to pack my treasuries in my rucksack, which somehow didn’t work, instead of watching the man for every single second. Well, I felt and still feel quite foolish because of that, but as even Georgiana admits to behaving like English was her third language in his presence, I haven’t done so bad in my second, after all.
We then took to the second nearest pub, me asking on the way, why we did that and didn’t stay around for the time being on which Liz, ever so sensible, answered, "Because he would call the police then". Well I still don’t know. Perhaps it would have been worth it. As it were, we had a nice but much too short time together in the pub, Liz and I venting about the films and the play and that we had done it and all. As Liz’ mom acted the grown-up part of myself quite beautifully, as if she had been brought there especially to do exactly that, my teenager had its way. The two pints of what they call its did wonders to my empty stomach and my full head and so we had quite an agreeable time, after Liz and Mom had left as well. My brother listening with great patience he seems to have earned raising two little girls to my exceedingly childish "Did you see his face in that?" and "Oh, I behaved like an idiot, I’m so ashamed!" and so ons. I couldn’t have chosen a better travelling companion. For the rest of the trip the already well-established "thingy" (and my brother doesn’t even know the film) was joined by a "What?" ever so often.
I had the time of my life in London and am ever so happy that this virus befell me and I simply had to go – despite all the grown-ups around and in me calling me crazy. For this experience I can’t be thankful enough to the man and I really appreciated his behaviour at the stage door. He is there, really, and copes with childish ways by grown-up women in an admirable way, trying to make it as easy for them as possibly can. I haven’t done this fan thingy in my whole life and could not imagine someone being more worthy of it, even if he’s completely unaware of it. I explore so many roads I couldn’t have dreamt of formerly and most of all come to realize, that it is good that there are disparate things, contradictory opinions and feelings in myself as in everyone, in society and on this guestbook.
Now I’m home again and beside the photos to remind me that I really was there I have a herpes the size of Arizona showing the excitement I enjoyed there. And that is a small prize I’m willing to pay for such joy, in our days, believe me – even if it hurts like hell and looks disgusting. Well, if someone knows of a job in London, for "munny", I surely gladly take it. Just mail me, as long as there’s enough spare time for me to write and of course internet and vcr available. Trust me, I’m worth it.
Well, I just go and apply spoon and axe to myself, thank you, to save you the trouble. In which order, what would you suggest?

Michele's Review

Until 3rd March, Alan Rickman is playing Elyot Chase at the Albery Theatre, London, with Lindsay Duncan as his soul-mate and bęte noire Amanda. Essentially the story of two extremely unpleasant and selfish people who mess up everyone else's lives as well as their own, Private Lives is set in the mannered 1930s and is therefore perfect for Mr Rickman's 'camping skills' (think of the Sheriff of Nottingham). It's like Hamlet (full of quotes), and the temptation to do it 'over the top' is for many actors irresistible.

So what a nice surprise it was to realise that this Elyot was actually someone real - someone irritable, tetchy, anxious to please, nervous, tired, bad-tempered, and remorseful. In other productions, the moment when Elyot sees Amanda for the first time in5 years is full of gleeful anticipation as to what havoc and mayhem they are about to cause: in this one, a part of you didn't want them to meet at all, because they weren't stereotypes but people of depth and feeling who could really get hurt. I don't actually like Noel Coward's plays - I feel they are stilted, self-consciously written and principally vehicles for Coward's own enormously inflated ego - so any actor who can make these cardboard characters into flesh and blood has a rare talent.

And 'playing it straight' made it all the more hilarious when, at certain points, Mr Rickman lets Elyot descend into such dreadfully camped-up histrionics that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It ought to have been bad acting - except, of course, that it was no such thing, but consummate good acting looking like bad, and therefore absolutely exquisite. This is an actor who can wind an audience around his little finger and never missed an opportunity to prove it. And his comic timing is impeccable: watch out for the point in Act 2 where Amanda hits him over the head with a table. It is very fast, very slick and (surely, surely) very painful. The audience collectively winced; it's the sort of moment when an actor has to know exactly what he's doing. His expressions, too, are a delight - his face can be very fluid when he chooses, and he exploits this gift to the full, by turns subtle, dynamic or exaggerated, showing just what a fine stage, as well as screen, actor he is.

He also has a rather lovely and haunting singing voice, which I don't remember having heard before, and which renders the somewhat hackneyed old songs of the second act fresh and poignant. Elyot and Amanda sing If love were all (originally from Bittersweet), but Elyot alone has the lines,

But I believe that since my life began / The most I've had is just a talent to amuse.

Although they are usually sung with a good dose of flippancy, he put such a delicate and wistful sadness into his voice as he sang them that your heart almost broke.

I'm afraid all this hasn't changed my mind about Noel Coward, but it has opened my mind to the possibilities of Noel Coward as played (and improved - heh heh!) by Alan Rickman. Delicious!

Being…… himself

After seeing Private Lives, my friend and I went to wait at the Stage Door; after such a wonderful evening, it seemed the least we could do. It was very cold, and we had to wait an hour before Mr Rickman came out, and my feet got very numb. And was it worth it?

You bet it was.

Ten minutes isn't enough to ascertain someone's character, and no-one should pass judgement on such a short acquaintance. However, that is exactly what I'm about to do.

Alan Rickman is a quiet man, his slight shyness endearing rather than awkward, and he has a most engaging, open, boyish smile (why was I half expecting him to talk through his teeth like Professor Snape? Shame on me.). He is softly-spoken and extremely articulate, looking you straight in the eye when he talks to you, always interested in what you're saying, and he has a both a perceptive sense of humour and a protective integrity about his work.

He was gracious, gentle and courteous, and stood talking with us in the freezing cold until we'd run out of things to say, photos to sign and hands to shake. He didn't mind answering any of our questions - about himself, his work, his plans - and seemed to be a man with an unassuming strength of character and a deep and genuine happiness with life. There are some people you feel, inexplicably and probably illogically, better for having spoken to, and Mr Rickman is one of those people. For a few moments his kindness made the world seem warmer (which considering the state of my feet was no bad thing).

And I assume that it is this deep-seated peace - the apparent inner calmness and confidence - which enables him to take risks I don’t think many other actors would take. This quietness and strength of character must contribute to his ability to allow himself to be 'lost' as he does. Having only ever seen him before when he 'wasn't there' (as it were), I feel privileged now to have seen him when he was, and to have spent a few minutes in the company of the man himself.

Jo's Review

Saturday, 22 December, 2001
(seen 15th December 2001)

Myself and three companions were privileged enough to witness an exceptional performance last Saturday. I speak as a experienced and extremely difficult to please theatregoer, but I can give no higher praise to this production that when the final curtain came down my female companion and I could only sigh contentedly, and believe me, it takes an awful lot to render us speechless.

The characterisations of all roles were not only perfect and believable, but lent a new freshness to a play written in the 1930s.

Coward’s deceptively difficult dialogue was handled with great skill by all cast members, and the comic timing was faultless, Elyot's often dead-panning or throwing away of lines contrasted well with Adam Godleys blustering portrayal of the ridiculous Victor. Lindsey Duncan also contrasted well with her female counterpoint, and brought a new version of Amanda to light, an Amanda with a lot of guts, who feared nothing and nobody, an adventuress who cared more for her own pleasure than she cared about giving pleasure to the men in her life.

Many of the love scenes were played in a completely naturalistic way. The effect of this was used to great comic effect, highlighting the touchingly foolish behaviour of a couple in the throws of freshly flowering love, a theme most of us can relate to freely, but also succeeded in giving the story a completely modern relevance. Elyot and Amanda, too much in love to actually like each other very much, took on a new angle, each scene swung between poignancy and great comic invention, sometimes within the space of a minute.

I must also say a word about the choreography of the fight scenes. These were excellent, when Elyot slapped Amanda around the face, a shock wave ran through the theatre, coming, as it did, so suddenly and unexpectedly, then the next moment, shock turned to laughter as Elyot "accidentally" dealt himself a blow with the table held in Amandas hands. This was just one other example of the emotional roller coaster the audience rode through out the evening - moving between one mood and the next, with much of the laughter in this scene provided by the breaks in tension.

Amanda Ooms, co star of Mesmer, described Alan Rickman as huge, and it wasnąt until I saw him perform live on stage as opposed to the medium of film that I realised what she meant. His stage presence is at times extremely overpowering, and I must admit, I donąt envy the actors who share a stage with him. It must be terrifically hard work to make one self noticed at all. That said, however, this cast are faultless, are backed up with wonderful costume and set design, and all in all the theatrical experience proved to be absolutely splendid.

It doesnąt matter what your plans are, it doesnąt matter if you like or dislike theatre, it doesnąt matter if you love or loathe Noel Coward, a play of this calibre performed by a cast of this quality does not come our way very often. Move heaven and earth, but make sure you see it!

Heather's Review

Wednesday, October 3, 2001

The play is performed almost exactly as Coward originally wrote, although all references to the character's ages and the age difference of only seven years between Sybil and Elyot were obviously deleted, but in my opinion the play works better with the main characters being older than their thirties. The sets are very nice and rather large - expect roughly a half hour intermission between acts 1 and 2 to change them, but it's well worth the wait. The costumes are simple and fitting. Act 2 is especially fun to watch - played with both actors barefoot, in pajamas - a crowd pleaser indeed!

I had been told that when you go to theatre previews it really is a different show every night. You never know what will be changed or what minor errors will be made from one performance to the next. This play was no exception. On the first night, in act 2, when Elyot put on the record that he and Amanda were supposed to dance across the stage to, the music DIDN'T play! The two covered beautifully and danced to dead air, in perfect time, until the tune finally joined them in the last seconds of the song. At the matinee Sunday, there were a handful of little 'accidents'. Sybil's hat fell off in act 1 (gently and promptly replaced by Elyot). When the gong was struck in act 2 to symbolize then end of one of the 'Solomon Isaacs' sessions, it fell over on the piano instead and during the fight scene between Elyot and Amanda in that act, the record she was supposed to break across his head bounced off without a crack. The books and papers he was supposed to throw at her bedroom door when she slammed it all missed the mark and when he retreated to his own room at the end, he slammed his door so hard that it flew back open instead of staying closed (this happened in more than one performance). On Tuesday night, the last pillow Amanda threw landed in the front row of the stalls instead of at its intended target . . . It was a lot of fun to watch and the audience loved it all.

There are so many things about this play that I love I couldn't possibly list them all . . . The fight scene is outstanding, as well as the dance. The song by Alan at the piano is a very sweet memory to be cherished. Every subtle glance, half smile, wave of the hand and spoken word is a treasure in itself. I'll always remember the first moment when the curtain went up and I saw that beautiful white hotel and a few moments later when Alan first glided out onto the balcony ... and every moment after is better and better. Rest assured, you will laugh more than you have in a long time and walk away thoroughly impressed. To quote Elyot, the best way I can think of to describe the experience honestly is to say that is, "Unbelievable. A sort of dream"... I'm sure everyone else who has the chance to see the play will completely agree.

Anne's Review

This review was first posted in Suzanne's Guestbook

Private Lives was delicious; I love Noel Coward anyway, but this was something else. Lindsay Duncan is good, the other two characters are adequate (played rather as though they were reading from the script, but it's early in the run ...). AR was indescribably good - he owns the words, resisting the rather strong pull towards Cawardisms. It's about the first time I've actually seen anyone do a Noel Coward play as though it meant something, and as though the words were natural. There is a tendency to camp it up a little which AR avoids neatly. The staging is beautifully done; whoever designed the set needs major applause. Ok, AR-type details ... he spends Act 2 in a pair of black silk pyjamas. This is *not* a bad thing, believe me ;) He wears 1930's suit cuts perfectly, and looks spectacular in black tie (uh, I think that style of dress is a 'tux' in the US, if that helps). A reasonable amount of chemistry with Lindsay Duncan. Actually, a fair amount of chemistry with the audience ;) Generally delicious enough to send me straight into the gutter - there's a line in Act 2, where AR's character has been describing his travels around the world, and Duncan's character says "Take me, take me ..." Well, it turns out that she means take me to go and see these places - I assumed she meant something else entirely at that point, but then she did have AR lying onto top of her. Literally. I met AR afterwards, doing the stage door groupie thing. Well, actually, having a coffee in the café behind the theatre. He came out and I decided that it was an opportunity not to be missed - so I have a signed programme, and had a surprisingly coherent conversation with him (about the play - told him I enjoyed it, he said he'd had fun doing it this evening, I said it showed ... he grinned at the Snape pen that I handed to him for him to sign the programme ...

Fausta thanks Jo, Heather & Anne for their reviews