AISLE SAY Florida
FALLEN ANGELS
by Nol Coward
Directed by Peter
Amster
Asolo Repertory
Theatre Company
Florida State U.
Center for the Performing Arts/Mertz Theatre
5555 N. Tamiami Tr., Sarasota
941-351-8000; 800-361-8388
in repertory, March 9 through May 13
Reviewed by Marie
J. Kilker
With husbands Fred and Will away for a
golfing weekend, Julia and best friend Jane are to have one of their
mutual-devotion-filled confabs. In Fred and Julia SterrollÕs elegant London
apartment in the early 1920s, what will unfold is an early Noel Coward drawing
room comedy of bad manners. The women have received similar cards from Maurice,
with whom each had an affair in Italy years before marrying. Now heÕs coming
for a stay, and theyÕre looking forward to his relieving them from their
Ōwretchedly happyŌ marriages. In
between arguments, the women get progressively silly-drunk awaiting the man
they hope to renew an affair with,
preferably each to the exclusion of the other. Seemingly for that purpose Jane runs off in a huff. When the husbands return the next
morning, early due to a quarrel, they are conventionally, in fact
hypocritically shocked---shocked!---to learn of each spouseÕs early affair. The obvious need is for a deux ex
machina to help them. Voila! Maurice
appears with explanations and
admonishments to make the men face up to their marital "responsibilities." And thenÉ well, this is a
comedy.
Fallen
Angels, originally thought of as daring and even obscene, is today an artifact.
It lets Coward devotees see his clever
style developing, though he writes short barbs rather than his famous extended epigrams. In Andrew
CarterÕs useful version of useless Will Banbury may be seen the influence of
Oscar Wilde on Coward. (WillÕs last name reminds of the artificial Bunbury in The Importance of
Being Earnest, and, like Algernon, Will constantly snatches bits of
food to down from the also aptly named SterrollsÕ breakfasts.) Jason Bradley is
properly dull as Fred. Sexy Kate Hampton bringing out strong, outspoken Julia
and more diminutive, high-strung Hilary ClemensÕ Jane going from skittish to
blaring could be extensions of
Gwendolyn and Cecily in one sense, while in another, at least Julia looks
forward to the stings and arrows shot by Amanda of Private Lives. Like Coward typically making fun of the
empty sophisticates, David Breitbarth
comes on briefly but potently as suave Maurice Duclos. The outstanding
audience favorite among the cast is Carolyn MichelÕs on-the-mark Saunders, the
Sterroll maid whoÕd like to be a.k.a. Jasmine. She has been everywhere, done
everything and knows---among other things---how to correctly play piano, cure a
hangover, and translate from French into English and vice-versa. SheÕs one of CowardÕs intrusive
servants, who show up the silliness of their supposedly urbane employers. In
this case, Saunders is also the female equivalent of (inspiration for?) Mr.
Belvidere.
Audience comments heard on opening night may be
summed up as either Ōfunny and cuteŌ or Ōdisappointing and too long--should be cut.Ō Considering the show lasted only 2
hours, 20 minutes with two 15 minute intermissions, length was not the fault of
the script. If director Peter Amster is to be credited with the actorsÕ ease in
their artificial personalities and
banter, he must also be responsible for the seeming too-great length. A curious mix of realistic and
presentational styles st-ret-ches the first act of mainly exposition to a
curtain that many thought undramatically ended a merely long scene. What adds to unnecessary activity, and
thus time, is the weird placing of a dining table outside a bedroom door and on
the complete opposite side of the apartmentÕs door to the kitchen, prolonging
the many walks and servings Saunders must make. ThereÕs a fireplace with none of the usual seating in front
of it. Instead, a central sofa, on which the revelations and recriminations of
the gal-friends take place, looks out at the non-existent fourth wall (and the
audience), which later people stand in front of to look at a mirror. (Were the
ladies also looking in that mirror, though seated, during their talks and
quarrels?) Robert Mark Morgan has produced a set thatÕs handsome but confusing,
just as Aaron MuhlÕs lighting outside a huge background window is dark on the
morning of the last day of the play. (A mistaken light cue?)
Matthew ParkerÕs
sound is reliable as usual; a grammophone produces an authentic recording. Virgil JohnsonÕs period costumes in
gorgeous colors and irredescence of swishy, rich fabrics, accessorized by
matching fabric shoes and jewels from arm bangels to headbands, make the
society women enviable. The black outfit on Saunders proclaims her status, as
do golf duds on the husbands. The slick blue suit on Maurice evidences his smartness. Would that Asolo
RepÕs production as a whole lived
up to that quality, possessed by
so many of Noel CowardÕs plays. But then, Fallen Angels
itself is one that hadnÕt yet risen to the
level of his best.
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