Steve Ross in Love, Noel at Irish Rep
Photo by Carol Rosegg
Love,
Noel: The Songs and Letters of Noel Coward
by Deirdre Donovan
The
ghost of Noel Coward floated into the Irish Repertory Theater this summer and
created quite an artistic stir, courtesy of cabaret veterans Steve Ross and KT
Sullivan. The two artists teamed-up in this soufflé aptly titled Love,
Noel: The Songs and Letters of Noel Coward. Devised and written by Barry
Day, and directed by the Irish Repertory’s co-founder and artistic director
Charlotte Moore, this two-hander is a portrait of Coward with his feet up and
wit intact.
Drawing
on snippets of the Master’s epistles to family (that refers in particular to
his dear mom Violet), friends, and contemporaries and over a dozen of his
songs, this 80-minute performance evoked that time when Coward was alive and
kicking up artistic and political dust everywhere. Ross impersonated Coward
himself; Sullivan inhabited his beloved leading lady Gertrude Lawrence
(affectionately dubbed “Gertie”), Marlene Dietrich, Elaine Stritch, and more.
Both artists also morphed into commentators, alternately offering spicy morsels
of biographical information on Coward’s public and personal life.
What
was particularly satisfying about the production was how Ross and Sullivan
seamlessly transitioned between the epistles and songs, and vice versa. The
production began with Ross quietly strolling onto the stage and seating himself
at the piano at center stage. He then dove into “Someday I’ll Find You,”
wistfully playing a few bars from the melody. In Sullivan came from the back
of the theater and joined him in the performing space. Standing stage left to
the piano, she cocked her ear to the music and curtly remarked: “Extraordinary
how potent cheap music is . . . Didn’t Noel say something to that effect?”
Ross immediately quipped back: “He said exactly that – and to exactly
that piece of music. He also said he’d always taken light music seriously.”
Thus
the dynamic of this seriously light production was introduced—and it would be
stylistically sustained throughout. Ross would either recite or actually read
from a letter-in-hand, lines from Coward’s voluminous epistles. And Sullivan
would react emotionally to its contents, inevitably segueing into a Coward song
to reinforce the sentiment. It became a true duet of words and song. And it
worked like a charm.
This
visual and aural entertainment was created with only two artists, James
Morgan’s minimalist set, and Michael Gottlieb’s soft lighting. A Steinway was
the main prop on stage, emblematically anchoring the show and melodically
fueling it.
There
were striking performances by Ross and Sullivan, each dressed in formal attire
that suggested their characters mingled in high-society. Pianist-performer
Ross tickled the ivories with ease and delivered his dialogue and lyrics with
an urbane air. His portrayal of Coward was suitably sophisticated but also
showed how the man could be a devoted son and sincere friend.
KT Sullivan in Love, Noel at Irish Rep
Photo by Carol Rosegg
Sullivan
effortlessly crooned Coward’s songs and channeled Lawrence, Stritch and
Dietrich’s colorful personas on stage, admirably miming each artists’
distinctive mannerisms and voice. There was Lawrence’s sharp comic wit,
Stritch’s acerbic delivery, Dietrich’s smoky voice. Wisely, Sullivan
impersonated these divas for just the right amount of time, offering the
audience a taste of the legends without turning them into caricatures. What’s
more, her sketches of these luminaries added a rich texture to the piece and
illuminated how each of their careers was intertwined with Coward’s and his
art.
What
musical numbers stood out in the show? Well, there were several that deserve
special mention. There were those melodies that took you straight to nostalgia-land
(“Where are the Songs We Sung,” “The Party’s Over”); the songs that expressed
love in its different forms and intensities (“Mad About the Boy” and “If Love
Were All”); a few that made you laugh out loud (“Why Do the Wrong People
Travel,” “Bronxville Darby & Joan,” and “Don’t Put Your Daughter on the
Stage, Mrs. Worthington”). Far and away, the song that shone the most was the
penultimate “I’ll Follow My Secret Heart,” sung as a duet by Ross and
Sullivan. (At a post-show talkback on the Thursday evening I attended, Ross
and Sullivan explained the song was purposefully morphed into the past tense to
point up Coward’s whole philosophy of life.)
Moore
fittingly helmed the piece with a light hand, blocking each scene so that the
two performers can easily enter into conversation with each other. While Ross
remained seated at the piano throughout, Sullivan fluidly traversed the stage,
ensuring all of the audience members at some point could see and hear her up
close and personal in the intimate W. Scott McLucas Studio Theater.
Everybody
who dropped into Love, Noel during its all too brief run (yours truly
caught it in its final week) got a real opportunity to see a side of Coward
that is seldom presented on stage. Yes, his Present Laughter that was
gloriously revived on Broadway (with Kevin Kline) two seasons ago showed you
Coward’s theatrical genius. But it’s rare that New Yorkers can experience the
Master’s lyrical and literary talent at once.
Perhaps
the only way to sum up this theatrical confection is to quote from the speech
Coward’s friend Lord Louis Mountbatten gave at a party celebrating his 70th
birthday, which was recited by Ross early on in Love, Noel: “There are
probably greater painters than Noel, greater novelists than Noel, greater librettists,
greater composers of music, greater singers, greater dancers, greater
comedians, greater tragedians, greater stage producers, greater film directors,
greater cabaret artists, greater TV stars, and so on. If there are, they are
fourteen different people. Only one man combines all fourteen different
talents – The Master, Noel Coward.”
Through
August 25th
At
the Irish Repertory Theatre, 132 West 22nd Street, Manhattan
For
more information on the 2019-2010 season, visit www.irishrep.org
Running
time: 80 minutes with no intermission.