BLITHE SPIRIT

SALISBURY PLAYHOUSE

In his journal, Noël Coward wrote that "it is fairly natural that my writing should be appreciated casually, because my personality, performances, music and legend get in the way. Someday I suspect, when Jesus has definitely got me for a sunbeam, my works may be adequately assessed." What he did not realise was that by the time his sunbeam status was fully confirmed and we all settled down to celebrate his centenary, fifty years of comic acting traditions would have intervened to cloud the crisp clarity of his work. Gareth Armstrong's production of 'Blithe Spirit' is a mishmash of comedy acting styles, from the heightened outrage of Ayckbourn to the cartoon caricature of 'Allo Allo'. There is still a masterpiece underneath, but the attempts to tart it up serve only to detract. It as if someone has pebbledashed Rouen Cathedral, or touched up the Sistine Chapel with poster paints.

The fault lies primarily in an apparent lack of faith in the script. There seems to be an overwhelming devotion to getting the laugh from the portrayal - the funny walk or the comic grimace - not the line. Unwilling to let the writing do the work, many of the cast stretch themselves to drag a giggle where no giggle should be dragged. This is all too often at the expense of Coward's expertly crafted writing, with - paradoxically - many comic throwaways simply thrown away.

The greatest harm is done by Fenella Fielding's self-indulgent performance as Madame Arcati. Her drawling eccentricity and grinding comic 'business' do the script no favours at all, ruining the pacing and rhythm of Coward's wit. The Julie Walters-esque characterisation is insufficient to recapture the laughs lost by wreaking havoc with the timing.

However, the production is saved by Celia Nelson's Ruth. In a play about reincarnation, it is slightly spooky to see an actress who is such a complete embodiment of a young Glenda Jackson in both her looks and her delivery. She plays the aggrieved second wife displaced by her predecessor's ghost with scalpel precision and the sharp zest of a dry martini, and justifiably garners most of the laughs. As her deceased rival, Mairéad Carty makes an excellent Puck. However, when she forgets this she becomes a fine, petulant Elvira.

Ultimate responsibility for the disappointment engendered by this production must be laid at the door of the director. Actors propose interpretations; it is the director who, in the end, must dispose. Gareth Armstrong seems to have devoted too much time to blocking the characters in a whirlwind of moves so convoluted as to induce dizziness, and too little time to ensuring that the cast grasped the art of Cowardian comedy, a skill as specific as commedia dell'arte or Noh theatre.

Underneath this tottering edifice of late 20th century comedy styles, Coward's script still shines through. One may have to strip away a lot of the staging to get to it, but the lines and the laughs are still as pure and entertaining as they were when he wrote it - in less than a week - fifty-eight years ago. This is a production which amuses, but despite the contemporary 'improvements', not because of them. One can still agree with Coward's modest assessment, "with the maximum of self-satisfaction, that those six days in Port Meirion in May 1941 were not wasted." It may take a different production, however, before Blithe Spirit's true qualities are once again fully displayed.

TOBY O'CONNOR MORSE

Runs until 13 February. Box office: (01722) 320333