Tag Archives: Noël Coward

THE MARQUISE

★★★★

UK Tour

THE MARQUISE

Theatre Royal Windsor

★★★★

“this production places Coward’s inherent humour, intelligence and wit fully under the spotlight”

Noël Coward’s romantic comedy play, “The Marquise”, was already his thirteenth full-length play – written at the tender age of twenty-eight. Up to that point, his work always had a contemporary setting, but this latest offering (which he himself described as a ‘tenuous, frivolous little piece’) found him exploring the early eighteenth century, just outside Paris. Philip Wilson’s revival keeps the action in France but takes it back to more familiar Coward territory in which we find ourselves immersed in the glamour of the 1930s. Tuxedos and taffeta adorn the stage as the houselights fade, revealing the art deco splendour of Colin Falconer’s streamlined set. We are in the lacquered interior of Raoul de Vriaac’s chateau, celebrating the engagement of his daughter Adrienne to the son of his old friend, Esteban.

At first, the transposition is a seemingly inspired choice made by Wilson, who directs with the panache and fluidity of a Coward connoisseur. But then again, it is also an obvious choice given the character of the quintessential dialogue; the beauty of which wouldn’t be out of place set in today’s world either. Wilson was also granted permission from the Noël Coward Estate to implement another (minor) tweak that further delivers the play from its more censored origins.

Frivolous it may be. Tenuous it certainly isn’t. The company give robust and convincing performances as they negotiate class divides while bridging the gap between the two World Wars. While the majority are still wallowing in the Roaring Twenties, patriarch Raoul is letting his mindset drift into the Great Depression. Simon Shepherd plays the misanthrope with subtle humour. Memories of the past disturb Raoul, whereas Esteban delights in the shared recollections of their debauchery. Tristan Gemmill is a silver fox, teasing his partner in crime while still holding onto the threadbare affection. Their respective children – Adrienne (Eva O’Hara) and Miguel (Barnaby Tobias) – are rebelling against the marriage their fathers have arranged for them. Adrienne is in love with Raoul’s secretary, Jacques (Albie Marber) while Miguel has fallen for a dancer in Paris.

The ensuing mix of recriminations and outrages is thrown into further disorder by the emergence of the Marquise Eloise de Kestournel. In a role that could have been written for her, Juliet Aubrey lights up the stage. She is fire and ice. The romantic and the pragmatist rolled into a cool stillness, remaining unruffled as she reveals old secrets to her two old flames. Shepherd and Gemmill, in turn, are funny and furious in their comic outrage as the revelations come to the surface.

After the interval, the style becomes more mixed. Classic Coward humour gives way to (almost) farcical scenes. In addition, there are shades of Ibsen, along with vivid splashes of Wilde. Yet the whole is never clumsy, nor contrived, even when the finale looms into plain sight. A couple of anachronisms could potentially jar; such as a fencing duel between Raoul and Esteban which is an unlikely scenario in this setting, but the two actors pull it off with their ability to mix comedy and rage with playful affection. And, of course, a Coward comedy is incomplete without a bit of music. Largely absent throughout – despite the presence of a grand piano – Aubrey eventually gets to showcase her talents further during the closing moments. A melancholy little tune, played and sung alone, slowly shapeshifts into a glorious ensemble sequence. It is a magical moment, veering off-piste slightly, but a clear signpost for the eventual coupling of these disparate characters.

“The Marquise” is one of Coward’s lesser performed plays. Transporting it to the 1930s is not merely an inspired choice; it also puts the story back where it belongs, allowing its flair to flourish. It doesn’t just shed light on family secrets and scandals, but this production places Coward’s inherent humour, intelligence and wit fully under the spotlight. Sense of style, and sense of humour, are a perfect match.



THE MARQUISE

Theatre Royal Windsor then UK Tour continues

Reviewed on 1st June 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Alastair Muir


 

 

 

 

THE MARQUISE

THE MARQUISE

THE MARQUISE

EASY VIRTUE

★★★★

Cambridge Arts Theatre

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

EASY VIRTUE

EASY VIRTUE