In April of 2002, a highly touted production of the delightfully droll British humorist and fop Noël Coward's Private Lives transferred to Broadway from London's West End headlining the prestigious Alan Rickman and Lindsay Duncan. It ran 127 performances and was praised for doing more than just meticulously rendering the nearly impossible Coward style of presentation. As explained by New York Times theatre critic Ben Brantley "the erotic bloom is restored to one of the funniest comedies of the 20th century. Although long dismissed as a stylish arrangement of smart surfaces, the implicit carnality in Private Lives stirred shivers among the censors of the Lord Chamberlain's office..." This chemistry netted Tony® nods for Mr. Rickman and director Howard Davies and a statue for Best Revival of a Play. It returned the muscle and bones of the original beyond the shallow presentation ordinarily afforded, and theatergoers once again understood the transcendent power and timelessness of Coward's greatest creation.

Phoenix Theatre and director Brad Carroll have apparently not read the headlines that brought the comedy back into vogue, choosing instead to mount it as a shallow farce with a slightly mocking tone that highlights the superficiality of what is now recognized to be a deeper comedy. No trace of carnality exists between the performers, only in paintings on the second act set. There is no sexual spark evident in this production, just an attempt to make the audience laugh with posing, pretension, pomposity, and pratfalls.

Set in early 30s France, British socialites Elyot Chase and Amanda Prynne have moved on from their disastrous marriage to their latest victims, matron-in-the-making Sibyl and stuffy Victor. Chance brings the newlyweds together on an adjoining terrace, and there the spark between Elyot and Amanda is re-ignited. This spark is an intense fire that burns as it kindles sexual heat, and after ditching their mates, they embark on a remembrance in miniature of the passion between them that lead to intense sex and cantankerous wrestling matches. They are truly kindred spirits who cannot be whole while apart, but cannot live together without threat to life and limb.

Mr. Carroll's production ended earlier than I expected, not surprising since the actors performed at a manic pace as though the script were something to be avoided. Based on this performance, they were absolutely right. Chris Vaglio and Maren Maclean (pictured right) are islands unto themselves. Mr. Vaglio does a good imitation of the affected Elyot, performed in the original production by the fey and distant Coward himself. He has the right level of haughtiness and pretension, but when it comes to connecting on a visceral level with Ms. Maclean's Amanda, the only fire between the two is the lit end of their ever present cigarettes. Maclean, an icily sexy presence, here works her charms but speeds through her lines and emotions without ever giving in to a loping gait common to the leisure class.

Heather Massie makes the simpering Sibyl into a reflection of many of her previous efforts, which may fly for those who haven't seen her prior work, but is growing old to others. Robert Kolby Harper is just miscast as stuffed-shirt Victor. He does as much as he can, but he is the wrong type for this hot headed, old-school-club character. Imagine Professor Plum trying to portray Colonel Mustard. Jennifer Bemis' small role as maid Louise is sassily performed, although her French inflection is painful to those who have actually heard native speakers.

The design element flies and falls simultaneously. William H. Symington V's first act seaside hotel terrace invokes period well, however, while it is absolutely period to include burgundy and white vertical stripes on the walls of Amanda's well-appointed and clever Parisian flat in the second act, it's enormously distracting to the eye. Michael Eddy's insistence on isolation lighting kills the mood of the terrace scene, calling attention to itself much too often with odd bumps and drops in levels that are impossible to miss. Cari Smith has created uniformly excellent costumes.

I found myself wanting to cry "Solics" early in the evening. Those uninitiated in the antics of Coward may find this presentational and overblown comedy quite stimulating. It undercuts the script, but there are many who aren't there for the wittiness of the dialogue in the first place. For those who take their morning coffee strong, without heaps of cream and sugar, you'll be disappointed.