Decades before the "The First Wives Club" exacted its revenge on the male sex, W. Somerset Maugham's 1926 comedy of manners "The Constant Wife" titillated theater audiences. While women will relish the production now playing at Seattle Repertory Theatre, men may squirm in their seats as they watch their gender gleefully being taken to task.
A contemporary of Noël Coward, with a wicked wit often compared to Oscar Wilde's, Maugham exposed the infidelities, deceptions and hypocrisies of England's privileged class. Not surprising, because Maugham was an agent for British Intelligence during World War I, before he became a playwright, and a playwright before he became even better-known as a novelist. His tomes have inspired movie versions, including "A Moon and Sixpence," "Of Human Bondage," "The Razor's Edge" and "Up at the Villa." Most recently, "Theatre" was adapted to the screen as "Being Julia," starring Annette Bening in her Oscar-nominated performance.
Set in1920s London, "The Constant Wife" revolves around Constance, a faithful wife of 15 years, whose surgeon husband John is dallying with her best friend, Marie-Louise, who is also married. Rather than playing the victim, Constance denies the affair, defends her husband and friend, then opts for a sweet revenge on her spouse - and on society as well. As he deliciously reverses the roles of the sexes, Maugham manipulates his unconventional ending through a series of clever plot twists, even espousing a feminist philosophy decades ahead of Betty Friedan and Simone de Beauvoir.
Maugham's drawing-room comedy offers contrasting portraits of women. Constance's mother, Lady Culver, believes that all men stray - and women must look the other way. Constance's cynical and sexually repressed sister Martha takes a dimmer, distrusting view of manhood. Constance's friend Barbara owns her own interior decorating business and hopes to recruit Constance. Marie-Louise, Constance's frivolously fickle friend, is all tart, wearing clinging hot-pink satin during the day. And Constance's maid hides the heart of a hopeless romantic under her pristine black uniform.
Obviously, director Kyle Donnelly enjoyed himself. He imbues Maugham's work with the screwball comedy charm of 1930s films. In the background, Fred Astaire croons "Change Partners," and Donnelly embellishes each act with a dance or two. Even the butler and maid can't resist a few twirls.
If Donnelly had fun, the excellent cast joined in. Ellen Karas gives a highly intelligent performance as Constance, the worldly wise, upper-crust wife-turned-independent woman. As her prudish spinster sister Martha, Emily Ackerman provides a laughable combination of bitterness, sibling rivalry and repressed passion. Anne Allgood gets kudos for her straightforward portrayal of the modern businesswoman, while Nicole Boote adds sparkle as the impulsive maid.
Bernard, a hunka-hunka piece of man candy, is dashingly played by Mark Elliot Wilson, whose look recalls Stewart Granger. As Constance's former devoted beau, Bernard no sooner returns from China than he immediately calls on his old love. Gallant, dapper and charming as ever, he's still absolutely besotted. But will someone please teach Wilson a few chords on the baby grand, so he can await his lady love in style? That fake-sounding keyboard track has to go.
Lori Larsen's exceptional portrayal of Constance's mother Mrs. Culver solidifies Larsen's status as one of Seattle's finest actors. Her onstage chutzpah, brilliant comic timing and delivery are sublime - as usual. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Mrs. Culver has some of the funniest sound bites - even they run a bit long by today's standards. Mrs. C. gets a huge laugh when she quips, "If women were ridiculous because their husbands are unfaithful, there would surely be a great deal more merriment in the world."
As the two adulterers, Marie-Louise and John, Bhama Roget and Jonathan Fried have a hilarious seduction scene when she shows up with nothing on underneath her fur coat but crimson lingerie trimmed in black lace. While Fried proves his skill with a doctor's coat and "Say ah" stick, the delightful Roget flaunts her character as a shrewd-but-lewd bimbo who relishes the "taboo" element of romance. Over the course of the play, Fried executes a tour-de-force meltdown, from smug, well-groomed doctor to groveling paramour to disheveled, overweight husband who goes berserk when he's one-upped by his clever wife.
Charles Leggett plays Marie-Louise's cuckolded husband Mortimer, evoking images of Stephen Fry in the film "Cold Comfort Farm." Even in suspicious mode, he's sublime as the pretentious epitome of outrage, decked out in bowler hat, bow tie and walking cane. And as the all-knowing butler, Bentley, Allan Armstrong attempts to set the standard for proper decorum.
To enhance the onstage action, designer Kate Edmunds creates an elegant Art Deco set, done up in black and white, with posh oriental screens and vases of fresh calla lilies atop the matching columns framing the sliding gold doors. By Act Three, Edmunds adds bold touches of red to symbolize Constance's newfound sense of independence.
Costumer Anna R. Oliver's sensational 1920s couture for the women includes chic day dresses and hats for Constance, spiffy dowager ensemble for Mrs. Culver and a gorgeous, floor-length vintage fur coat, floozy frocks and naughty undies for Marie-Louise. She gives Bernard a natty boost in well-tailored suits that emphasize his broad shoulders and manly thighs. Mortimer remains appropriately stuffy in clothes for the portly bore, and John trades off his respectable doctor's togs for a buffoonish set of knickers.
Like Shaw, Maugham can't resist preaching his philosophies about sex, love, marriage and the upper class. Perhaps his comedy could use a half-hour trim, but there are worse things in life than sitting through an extra 30 minutes of well-spoken, intelligent language.
We do have a tiny quibble. That adorable pug at the top of the show only gets one entrance - and no curtain call. Obviously, director Donnelly wanted to plant the seeds for Constance's quip, "Men are so helpless, they're just like dogs." Ironically, the crowd-pleasing canine is played by a female. Rather a nice touch for Maugham's sexist comedy.
Freelance writer Starla Smith is a Queen Anne resident. Before moving to Seattle from New York , Smith was a Broadway journalist and Tony voter.
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