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

THE SCORE

Theatre Royal Haymarket

★★★1/2

“Cox, booming yet nuanced, is at a canter to reach the next cutting quip”

What’s The Score?

The sporting pun is not entirely misplaced. A major sequence in this uneven play of ideas sees the sycophantic court of Frederick the Great hosting a frantic wager with Carl, the son of composer Johann Sebastian Bach.

It’s a 1747 head-to-head between supreme monarch and ageing genius.

The king claims elderly Bach, freshly arrived from Leipzig, cannot improvise a three-part fugue based on Frederick’s own simple melody which has been worked into a knotty puzzle by his three stooge composers. It is, says one, “unfuguable”.

Carl says otherwise, betting his meagre funds and his standing in court on his father, who is sick, tired, unpredictable and cantankerous but still “the greatest composer in Europe”.

This showdown is typical of writer Oliver Cotton’s hodge-podge script. It is fun, elaborate in the set-up, and Brian Cox – who doesn’t just inhabit Bach but swallows him whole – lands the multiple pay-offs exquisitely.

But where does this fit into the play? Is it the highlight, a metaphor, or just some passing frippery? Does the play even know? The script roams freely across a number of topics – religion, morality, tyranny, creativity, inspiration – without really choosing a main course.

Its purpose, perhaps (and it is a grand and worthy one) is to provide a sufficiently gargantuan role for the operatic, rip-roaring Cox, who is on top form.

With his accented voice emerging like an eruption of lava from the depths, he leaps on the fluctuating states of Bach’s mind with an actor’s relish.

So much to choose from.

There’s indignant Bach, outraged by the king’s warmongering. There’s morose Bach, losing eyesight and significance. There’s courageous Bach, challenging the tyrannical king over his soldiers’ debauchery. There’s tormented Bach, everything coming from God but now troubled by doubt. Above all, there’s sitcom Bach – with his masterful pauses, hangdog putdowns and dry asides.

Cox, booming yet nuanced, is at a canter to reach the next cutting quip. Professional discipline dictates that he cannot yield to an obvious urge to eyeroll at the audience for another bite at the comedy cherry.

In his wake, the supporting cast do their best to keep up.

The expansionist king (Stephen Hagan) is affably dangerous, talking about Prussia First in terms that are disconcertingly relevant. His verbal duels with Bach, which anger the monarch but also give him a moment’s pause, represent the dramatic peak despite lacking real threat or menace.

A good show too from Jamie Wilkes as Carl, the son and foil, who does much of the thankless legwork supporting an ailing and disgruntled Bach. The brainless scheming of the three composers Christopher Staines, Toby Webster and Matthew Romain (as Quantz, Benda and Graun – “like a firm of bent solicitors”) is goofy in a Blackadderish way. And Peter De Jersey goes to town on French philosopher Voltaire playing him as Shrek’s Puss in Boots by way of ’Allo ’Allo.

Their court intrigue – all behind-the-hand whispers, elaborate bows and fake flattery – is aided considerably by Robert Jones’s sumptuous period costumes and stately sets in director Trevor Nunn’s easy-on-the-eye drama.

Curiously, and despite the title, music plays second fiddle here, with the cast miming unconvincingly at the harpsichord. But that is perhaps indicative of the production as a whole. Nearly, but not quite.

Tag Archives: Jamie Wilkes

EASY VIRTUE

★★★★

Cambridge Arts Theatre

EASY VIRTUE

Cambridge Arts Theatre

★★★★

“packed with killer one liners and devastating retorts”