Playwright: Noel Coward. At: Dead Writers Theatre Collective at Greenhouse Theater Complex, 2257 N. Lincoln Ave. Tickets: 773-404-7336 or www.deadwriters.net; $30. Runs through: Aug. 26. <.I>
Gay British playwright Noel Coward launched to stardom in 1924 when he penned and played the leading man in his (then) shocking drama The Vortex. But nowadays, the play's controversial subject matter barely registers a shrug or two.
Still, The Vortex is an important document of Coward on the cusp of international renown before his comedies like Blithe Spirit, Private Lives and Design for Living would elevate him into cannon of essential 20th-century British playwrights. Dead Writers Theatre Collective offers up a rare and ravishing-to-the-eye revival of The Vortex for its inaugural production, but it's rendered here more as a historical curiosity rather than a gripping flesh-and-blood drama.
As with the milieu of many Coward comedies, it's the foibles and failings of the upper crust on display in The Vortex. The fashionable Florence Lancaster (Bonnie Hilton) clings to her youth by flaunting the latest art deco designs for her wardrobe and London town house and by surrounding herself with a series of younger men, of which Tom Veryan (Danny Pancrantz) is the latest. Yet Florence is also mother to a handsome concert pianist, Nicky (Kaelan Strouse), who is back in London after performances in Paris where he rashly became engaged to the flippant flapper Bunty Mainwaring (Skye Shrum).
However, the artfully constructed façades to both Florence and Nicky's lives come crashing down at a gathering at the Lancaster's country estate. Nicky is confronted over his drug abuse by family friend Helen Saville (Teri Schnaubelt), while Nicky confronts his mother over her habitual infidelity to his father, David (Noah Sullivan).
Coward devotee Jim Schneider clearly is relishing his chance to direct The Vortex, and it shows in the ingenious art deco set designs of Edward Matthew Walter (complete with a white baby grand piano in the second act) and the exquisitely expensive-looking costumes of Elizabeth Wislar. But one wishes that Schneider and his cast could have scratched deeper beyond the sumptuous surface of the production design to show a more compelling portrait to these idly rich and emotionally troubled characters.
But perhaps the fault lies in part with the play, which deceptively comes off like one of Coward's classic comedies before it veers into heaving and teary-eyed melodrama.
Still, there are smaller turns to be treasured in The Vortex. Betsy Pennington is a pistol as a Zoe Wanamaker-sounding hypochondriac recital singer Clara Hibbert, while Bradford Lund's befuddled playwright Bruce Fairlight is fun. Rob Cramer is also a delight as the catty (and obviously gay) friend Pauncefort Quentin.
Dead Writers' The Vortex may be more style over substance, but its style and historical importance as a Coward landmark certainly can't be denied.