Noël Coward, born December 16, 1899, knew what he wanted at an early age and, having acted professionally for some years, wrote his first play, The Rat Trap, at 18. It was not seen until 1926, however, and not in London’s West End but in a hurried Hampstead production that only lasted 12 days.
By then Coward had established himself as a turtleneck-wearing wunderkind. The Vortex, Fallen Angels, and Hay Fever were big box office draws, so his teenage effort was treated with respect. Stressed was Coward’s already declaring his themes and comedy talents. Noted was his foremost influence: George Bernard Shaw. (Who wasn’t Shaw-influenced then?)
The Coward themes? He was already stalking marriage and the equality (or inequality) of women, although without the finesse of, for instance, Hay Fever, Private Lives, and Blithe Spirit. An 18-year-old wouldn’t be expected to have those insights, would he?
In the precocious Rat Trap script, Sheila Brandreth (Sarin Monae West) a promising novelist, and Keld Maxwell (James Evans), a perhaps less promising playwright, have fallen in love. In their haste to wed with the naiveté of the young, they’re discouraged by acquaintances and free-love proponents Naomi Frith-Bassington (Heloise Lowenthal) and Edmund Crowe (Ramzi Khalaf) and Sheila’s dubious older flatmate Olive Lloyd Kennedy (Elisabeth Gray).
Unfortunately, Coward constructs the couple’s decision so that observers figure out what’s about to transpire for the newlyweds before Coward seems to. Despite whatever drawbacks Keld has as Sheila and he begin Belgravia housekeeping – with conscientious, tight-lipped retainer Burrage (Cynthia Mace) – he meets flashy Shaftesbury Avenue success and becomes annoyingly cocky about it.
It’s hardly unfair to reveal that the marriage becomes (predictably) threatened. Love wanes. Sheila humbly chooses to put her writing aside and play the deferential housewife. That’s according to what women were expected to do then (cf. G. B. Shaw, the early feminist, calling this out).
Not a wise choice for Sheila as the action moves to a somber and abruptly ended fourth act. She’s so engrossed in her humilities that she fails to notice the deeper implications of unexpected drop-ins by Ruby Raymond (Claire Saunders), an actress in Keld’s romps.
As the drama slowly steps along, Coward inserts the occasional laugh, the occasional epigram, but less so as the four acts (played as two) accumulate. Casually caustic Naomi does get to quip this during her first appearance: “Of course, speaking commercially, marriage is certainly a sop to the public, but that is just the horror of it — one married for fear under those circumstances — not for love.”
Nevertheless, Coward runs the risk of giving his play over to tedium – and falls victim to it. In his many gold-plated clicks, he flaunts the skill of turning non-stop bickering into guffaws. Not here. The bickering turns tedious. Although his Rat Trap title snidely refers to marriage, it could just as well refer to the bicker trap.
There’s another prominent kink affecting the drama: affectations. Coward always amused himself and his audiences by sending up British affectations. The Rat Trap holds a Louis Vuitton steamer trunk full of them. The characters are almost nothing but affectations.
The problem may not only lie with their abundance but also with director Alexander Lass’s playing them for all they’re not quite worth. (Might the excessive histrionics be termed Lass-itude?).
Coward may have stacked affectations up for effect, but he always presented them with restraint. (After all, he had his own affectations, the most prominent the ever-present cigarette holder, which may have signaled his holding himself in check.)
When Coward directed the plays, which he quite often did, he had his actors match his restraint – the light touch being the right touch. He was famous for arriving at brush-up rehearsals declaring, “Let’s take out the improvements.” Were Lass to do the same with his improvements, it’s likely his cast could and would demonstrate their obvious potential expertise at acting Coward.
Genuine adornments are Vicki R. Davis’ smart period sets for three evocative English locales and Hunter Kaczorowski’s smart period costumes. As the first West Kensington apartment is shifted to posher Belgravia, Lowenthal and Khalaf saunter downstage to sing Coward’s typically naughty “Forbidden Fruit.” They’re helped by sound designer Bill Toles, who frequently pipes in Coward songs like “World Weary,” which Coward often claimed to be.
All other cavils and caveats aside, The Rat Trap is welcome. Though in his later years, Coward expressed dissatisfaction with it, he also admitted he’d like to see it again. Gone since 1973, he’s missed his chance. Luckily, extant Coward fans and prospective Coward fans haven’t.
The Rat Trap opened November 21, 2022, at City Center Stage II and runs through December 10. Tickets and information: minttheater.org
