Photo by Robert J. Saferstein
Watching an old pro like Angela Lansbury passing the torch to a phenomenally talented newcomer like Susan Louise O’Connor is one of the joys peculiar to the theater. And what luck that their scene together is just one of the many joys in the current revival of Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit.
If the evening isn’t quite an unadulterated delight, it’s through no fault of either Lansbury or O’Connor (who scores laughs with practically every line as servant Edith). Lansbury, who was met with respectful reviews in her last Broadway outing two years ago in Deuce, has been receiving well -deserved critical hosannas for her miraculous nightly transformation from a respectable octogenarian into a surprisingly agile comedic machine on stage. As Madame Arcati, Lansbury swivels, saunters and kicks with so much vim and vigor that her every sudden movement was met with a smattering of applause from the audience. Her inventive physical performance (and Martin Pakledinaz’s succession of sight gags masquerading as costumes), as the women who unwittingly brings back novelist Charles Condomine’s dead first wife Elvira during a séance, turns her into one of Edward Gorey’s overly fringed drawings come to life; every moment she’s on stage is a delight.
In fact, most of the two-and-a-half hour farce about the undead is a delight—when the show is happening, that is. But director Michael Blakemore, who so smartly focused on keeping the pace as swift as possible to hide the tissue-thin conceit, made the poor decision to fill in lengthy set changes with scene-establishing silent film-style title cards and recordings of Christine Ebersole singing period tunes. These endless minutes of dead time grind the show to a dead halt repeatedly throughout the evening.
But all is forgiven when the curtain rises again on Everett, making a smashing Broadway debut as Charles, pacing the stage like a trapped animal as the invisible-to-everyone-else Elvira proceeds to make life with his current wife Ruth (Jayne Atkinson) a living hell. Aging gracefully, Everett not only proves that the comedic flair he exhibited on film in My Best Friend’s Wedding translates to stage, but, imperatively, looks great in a tux. And as the rigid Ruth, Atkinson (who at times looks decidedly matronly opposite the dashing Everett) milks laughs from the least funny of the main trio with a style as dry as Charles’ much-lauded martinis.
Only Ebersole occasionally disappoints as Elvira. Relying too much on her flowing, ghostly gown and too often flitting across the stage with her arms extended, to get maximum mileage from her long sleeves, her Elvira has a kittenish, baby doll quality that seems out of place in a supernatural drawing room comedy.
But even if the rest of this champagne comedy were flat, Lansbury’s performance alone would make the cost of admission worthwhile. If you saw Deuce for the chance to see a living legend on stage again, see Blithe Spirit for the chance to see how she became one.
Open run. Shubert Theatre, 225 W. 44th St (between 8th & 9th Aves.), 212-239-6200. $31.50–$116.50.
If the evening isn’t quite an unadulterated delight, it’s through no fault of either Lansbury or O’Connor (who scores laughs with practically every line as servant Edith). Lansbury, who was met with respectful reviews in her last Broadway outing two years ago in Deuce, has been receiving well -deserved critical hosannas for her miraculous nightly transformation from a respectable octogenarian into a surprisingly agile comedic machine on stage. As Madame Arcati, Lansbury swivels, saunters and kicks with so much vim and vigor that her every sudden movement was met with a smattering of applause from the audience. Her inventive physical performance (and Martin Pakledinaz’s succession of sight gags masquerading as costumes), as the women who unwittingly brings back novelist Charles Condomine’s dead first wife Elvira during a séance, turns her into one of Edward Gorey’s overly fringed drawings come to life; every moment she’s on stage is a delight.
In fact, most of the two-and-a-half hour farce about the undead is a delight—when the show is happening, that is. But director Michael Blakemore, who so smartly focused on keeping the pace as swift as possible to hide the tissue-thin conceit, made the poor decision to fill in lengthy set changes with scene-establishing silent film-style title cards and recordings of Christine Ebersole singing period tunes. These endless minutes of dead time grind the show to a dead halt repeatedly throughout the evening.
But all is forgiven when the curtain rises again on Everett, making a smashing Broadway debut as Charles, pacing the stage like a trapped animal as the invisible-to-everyone-else Elvira proceeds to make life with his current wife Ruth (Jayne Atkinson) a living hell. Aging gracefully, Everett not only proves that the comedic flair he exhibited on film in My Best Friend’s Wedding translates to stage, but, imperatively, looks great in a tux. And as the rigid Ruth, Atkinson (who at times looks decidedly matronly opposite the dashing Everett) milks laughs from the least funny of the main trio with a style as dry as Charles’ much-lauded martinis.
Only Ebersole occasionally disappoints as Elvira. Relying too much on her flowing, ghostly gown and too often flitting across the stage with her arms extended, to get maximum mileage from her long sleeves, her Elvira has a kittenish, baby doll quality that seems out of place in a supernatural drawing room comedy.
But even if the rest of this champagne comedy were flat, Lansbury’s performance alone would make the cost of admission worthwhile. If you saw Deuce for the chance to see a living legend on stage again, see Blithe Spirit for the chance to see how she became one.
Open run. Shubert Theatre, 225 W. 44th St (between 8th & 9th Aves.), 212-239-6200. $31.50–$116.50.
