If you don’t know Noël Coward, you really should. He was an extraordinary showbiz phenom: playwright, composer and lyricist, movie star, boulevardier, singer and entertainer, nightclub raconteur, with a legendary career that spanned six decades.
He started his career as a boy actor on the London stage at age ten and never looked back. He was the epitome of Sophistication, and you can only think of him lounging on a divan with a bracing martini, dressed in an impeccable dressing gown, smoking a cigarette, and spouting bon mots like a later day Oscar Wilde.
In the late ‘20s, he was among England’s “bright young things” after his stunning successes of The Vortex, about an older woman having an affair with a much younger man, all while gay intonations swirl about the drug-addicted son; the mad-cap family romp Hay Fever; and one of his best musicals, the operetta Bitter Sweet. And then came Private Lives (1930), and its instantaneous success propelled him into the realm of celebrity where he had always wanted to be.
Exes Elyot (Hugo E. Barajal) and Amanda (Melissa Molano) meet each other as they are celebrating their new marriages to Sibyl (Briana J. Resa) and Victor (Orlando Arriaga). Elyot and Amanda had a tempestuous relationship to say the least, but the flame is still there, growing stronger, refusing to be quenched. It has never gone out. In a state of wild abandon, they run off together, leaving their new spouses stupefied on the hotel balcony.
This is Coward’s opening ace for this lively farce about free marriage, sexual liberty, and living one’s life as one sees fit. Conformity is for the infirm, the weak, the stupid people. The bickering and nit-picking which drove them apart earlier in their marriage, swells with renewed fury. They fight and make love, then fight some more under Coward’s most delicious dialogue that both stunned and invigorated the audiences of the time. It still does.
When Victor and Sibyl finally find them in their love nest, they are in the midst of a ferocious struggle (wonderfully staged by director KJ Sanchez, abetted by fight director H. Ross Brown) that involves drinks thrown, books tossed that are repelled by umbrella, a wrestling match, pillow hurling, and a Victrola record smashed over Elyot’s head. It’s like prelude to sex on the African veld.
Trying to make amends and stay calm, Victor and Sibyl start to behave just like the quarreling tag team, shouting insults at each other as they warily circle in some mad mating ritual. As the tempers rise, Elyot and Amanda quietly slip away, suitcases in hand.
This play is very fresh, even today. The bitchy banter is exciting and very funny, the pull of love/hate is alluring and up-to-date, and the concept of a marriage of its own making with its own conventions is seductive.
The play’s original locale has been transferred from the Art Deco Riviera and London to an Art Nouveau
Argentina and Uruguay, which does no great harm, but ups the heat quotient by adding the Tango. Choreographed by tango master Susana Collins, the sexy dances act as foreplay. The actors perform them with hot extensions and fleet footwork; the spell is infectious if a trifle too much.
Carbajal is a smug Elyot with a devilish, prickly twinkle. Snide and contemptuous of conventional morals, he allows Elyot a soft side when necessary, and a brittle patina when he’s in battle gear. Physicality is second nature to him, as he twists his body or prances on tiptoe, or makes faces. He’s an excellent silent film clown. And the bit where he tangles with the coat rack with its living sleeve is priceless.
Molano’s sleek, stylish Amanda is the cat’s pajamas. She gives Carbajal a run for his money in the comedy department, while always looking radiant and poised for his attack. She certainly gives as good as she gets, lying rumpled in the pillows and screaming into them, or lounging languidly on the sofa pawing Elyot like Delilah.
Resa, always interesting to watch, plays Sibyl just like you would expect this selfish innocent to act, petulant and always shocked at what’s going on. She’s given clothes to match: flouncy pink ruffled puffs on her sleeves or a drab traveling ensemble. (David Arevalo’s costumes are a beauty to behold: silver lame pajamas, two-tone shoes, vests and ascots all make an appearance and are always spot-on.)
But the true standout is Arriaga as a Vesuvian Victor, way over his head with both Elyot and new wife Amanda. The honeymoon has only started and he’s stymied and sputtering over the phantom ex-husband. Jealous and quick to box jaded Elyot, he’s a puddle when reduced by a whipped retort. All he can do is bluster and rage, which Arriaga does better than anyone. His slow burns are a master class. He brings this sad-sack to life in marvelous, subtle ways. (It’s hard to believe, but a young Laurence Olivier played this role at the London premiere alongside Coward’s Elyot and fabled Gertrude Lawrence as Amanda.)
The Alley production is lush and full of envious bric-a-brac: a gilded greyhound statue; potted palms; a gramophone machine (was that Coward singing “Someday I’ll Find You” during a lull in the couple’s combat?); curlicue woodwork on the doors; burnished cigarette cases; a chrome wheeled bar cart filled with decanters; an Austrian curtain as a scene change devise, which got caught on the set and tore when it rose; even a guitar so that Elyot and Amanda can serenade each other in Spanish. It’s all very posh, even if it isn’t Art Deco.
One curious omission. Although the script’s been larded with references to the South American locale, someone has deleted the play’s most infamous exchange. In Act III, Amanda says to Elyot, “I was brought up to believe that it’s beyond the pale to strike a woman.” Elyot dryly replies, “A very poor tradition. Certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs.” Did the producers think we’re squeamish and couldn’t handle this? It’s still a wickedly funny line, designed to get a hearty laugh from the audience. It is Elyot being the quintessential Elyot. Put it back.
Private Lives continues through June 15 at 7:30 p.m. Tuesdays through Thursdays; 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays; and Sundays at 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. at Alley Theatre, 615 Texas. For more information, call 713-220-5700 or visit alleytheatre.org $29-$89.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2025.
