Noel Coward’s comedy was never that good. It felt dreadfully old-fashioned, even at its premiere in 1951. It was, as Coward himself acknowledges, the sort of comedy of manners which Somerset Maugham might have written in the 1920’s. It feels as if it should have been set no later than the 1930’s.
The son and heir of a countess is about to marry a glamorous Hollywood movie star. His mother is not pleased that he is marrying beneath him. Neither is her personal maid who just happens to be the movie star’s elder sister. The comedy is a satire about class, privilege, old-world snobbery and social inferiority. Caroline Quentin has the most fun as the personal maid, especially when she is listening to her sister (who does not recognize her) telling the assembled company enormous lies, romanticising about their sordid slum upbringing in London’s East End. There is so much dead wood in the text that it is surprising that Trevor Nunn, directing this handsome revival, didn’t do some serious cutting.