EASY VIRTUE

Cambridge Arts Theatre

★★★★

“packed with killer one liners and devastating retorts”

Sir Trevor Nunn’s anticipated revival of ‘Easy Virtue’ – one of Noël Coward’s early, rarely staged plays – lands in his old stamping ground. Written in 1924 and shocking in its day, this finely judged production still hits hard, exposing the price women pay for living on their own terms.

John – the sole heir to an aristocratic fortune – triggers a reckoning when he brings home a wildly unsuitable wife. But frank and fearless Larita knows her worth and won’t be cowed by his unbending family. As tensions rise, only one side will come out on top.

‘Easy Virtue’ has all the razor sharp wit you expect from Coward – only with a far sharper edge. It scandalised original audiences: Larita’s past touches almost every 1920s taboo, forcing contemporary audiences to confront the double standards they’d rather ignore. Yet it still feels ahead of its time; even now, it’s a thrill to watch a heroine resolutely refuse to conform. The script is packed with killer one liners and devastating retorts; Larita delivers some blisteringly articulate speeches, which are satisfying if a touch contrived. Still, a few beats land awkwardly in 2026. Larita ends up minimising John’s responsibility for their failing marriage while maximising her own, which jars with her otherwise forward thinking nature. Meanwhile John is shielded from scandal and handed a tidy solution by Larita herself, which Sarah also seems to support – though perhaps as an intentional indictment of male privilege.

Sir Trevor Nunn’s landmark production makes Coward’s cynical wit and emotional precision really sparkle. Recasting Larita as English rather than American sidesteps the culture clash trope, sharpening the clash of ideals and making the Whittakers’ gaslighting feel even more toxic. Every character is humanised, especially Larita whose poised wit gives way to silent moments of collapse, underlining her emotional intelligence and the trap she’s in. Sarah echoes Larita’s modernity, fiercely calling out John’s neglect and resisting his advances – though this makes their later reconciliation a little jarring. The Colonel’s final wave is a beautifully understated tribute from this faithful ally. And placing the interval right after Larita and John’s explosive Act 2 argument smartly spotlights this turning point and splits the evening into two clean halves.

The brilliant cast delivers standout work across the board. Alice Orr Ewing’s Larita is resolutely poised and deeply sympathetic, pairing razor wit with hidden depths. Greta Scacchi nails Mrs Whittaker’s narcissistic obliviousness, delivering hysterics with immaculate comic timing and pitch perfect restraint. Lisa Ambalavanar’s fresh, funny, fierce Sarah proves herself worthy of Larita’s friendship as a genuine “girl’s girl”. Joseph Potter charts John’s headlong rush into first love before snapping back to reality with uncomfortable accuracy. Michael Praed gives the Colonel a poignantly worn down grace – a man long resigned yet capable of respectful tenderness. Imogen Elliott’s Marion captures a young woman sliding inevitably into her mother’s mould, conditioned to toe the family line. Grace Hogg Robinson gives Hilda a charming, volatile innocence, veering from idolising Larita to bristling at her. Jamie Wilkes brings a deft mix of aristocratic stiffness and bold humour to Charles, letting the formal façade slip.

Simon Higlett’s set channels 1920s aristocracy: an opulent, pillar lined room complete with all the trappings. Like the Whittakers, it remains steadfast throughout, the only change coming from the symbolically clearing sky in the vast French windows. Johanna Town’s lighting follows suit, steady until the finale, where blues, purples and festive lamps mark the climax. Higlett’s costumes revel in 1920s glamour with Larita’s gala look stealing the show in a riot of sequins, pearls and rubies, topped with a magnificent feather fan. Anna Wood’s sound design is subtle and unobtrusive: no mics, just soft music and distant applause. Only the ending falters, the music swelling too soon and drowning Larita’s final lines.

Nunn’s ‘Easy Virtue’ reminds us that a woman’s independence is still the ultimate provocation. Don’t miss this powerful production of a rare Coward gem.

EASY VIRTUE

Cambridge Arts Theatre

Reviewed on 25th February 2026

by Hannah Bothelton

Photography by Richard Hubert Smith

EASY VIRTUE

★★★

“an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times”

What does it mean to be seen? In an age of polished online personas, we’re more visible – and invisible – than ever. In its first major London revival since 2012, Simon Paris delivers a sharply human take on online stalking in Phil Porter’s ‘Blink’ – though it could do with a little more bite.

Sophie’s dad dies, leaving her lost and alone; hundreds of miles away, Jonah loses his mother. Several strange coincidences later, they’re living in the same building. Sophie spots Jonah nursing a sick fox and sends him an anonymous gift – a baby monitor livestreaming her living room. Whether what follows is love, co-dependency or stalking, you decide – but you won’t be able to look away.

Porter’s unflinching play premiered in 2012 – before social media was the beast it is now – yet it nails the murky ethics of parasocial attachment, boundary erosion and consent. The script is richly layered, cleverly weaving contrasting takes on the same events, and balancing full circle moments with enough ambiguity to keep you guessing. It’s both creepy and endearing, conjuring sinister imagery as you root for not one but two antiheroes. It’s also very funny, with a bracingly unfiltered edge. Though the masterstroke is our complicity – as their gaze becomes ours, how much responsibility do we shoulder?

Paris’ direction deftly humanises an increasingly familiar – though no less troubling – dynamic. Tiny shifts in body language betray the characters’ true feelings. The breezy detachment around death and depression heightens the core tension between perception and reality. The parasocial bond builds and unravels in several ways – most strikingly the furniture solidifies as the connection deepens. That said, the pacing could be tighter in places – the opening and closing hesitancy works well, but elsewhere the cast pulls back when they need momentum. That breezy detachment, while thematically apt, sometimes leaves moments feeling a touch out of reach. Paris keeps the baby monitor, though would a smartphone ring more true? Still, it’s a commanding take on a demanding script.

Casting social media star Abigail Thorn as Sophie is a stroke of genius, throwing the issues straight into the spotlight. Thorn nails the tortured but inarticulate soul, keeping her true feelings under wraps until they can’t help but break through. That said, some moments feel a touch too restrained, and the pacing could be sharper in places. Joe Pitts’ Jonah is disarmingly creepy. Pitts fully commits to the off beat wildcard, burning with unhinged devotion for Sophie balanced against quieter sincerity. Pitts’ comedic timing is also razor sharp.

Emily Bestow’s design is stunning. The translucent furniture gaining and losing solidity is a clever visual metaphor. The black mirror floor creates the illusion of watching on a smartphone. Matt Powell’s video design sharpens the illicit feel with degraded video textures. Sophie’s fragmented body – zooming in on her eyes, hands, lips – is strikingly voyeuristic. Pre recorded inserts smartly reveal the other character’s perspective, even if the timing occasionally slips. Peter Small’s lighting draws the audience in from the start, with soft house lights keeping us in Jonah’s orbit before shifting to more theatrical settings, creating striking shifts between intimacy and distance. Sam Glossop’s soundscape layers music and subtle tones, with abrupt jolts snapping you back to reality. Costumes are pared back but Sophie’s deliberate return to the off shoulder look suggests her ‘casual’ vibe is anything but accidental.

Paris’ take on ‘Blink’ has flashes of real brilliance, even if it could use a little more punch. Still, it’s an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times that’s well worth catching.

Tag Archives: Hannah Bothelton

EASY VIRTUE

★★★★

Cambridge Arts Theatre

EASY VIRTUE

Cambridge Arts Theatre

★★★★

“packed with killer one liners and devastating retorts”