Thursday, November 17, 2011
Kim Cattrall is divine. Does that surprise you? She slinks and saunters and wraps her tongue around Coward's poetry like you wished she would. Twenty-four years after she became a household name--at least in my family, where love of Mannequin knew no bounds--she is walking sex.
The production was fun and had some clever moments. The script is difficult, for while Cowards works are indeed luscious, the constant references to hitting women is quite jarring. At times I wanted to jump up in my seat and scream, "Revise the damn thing! No one from the Coward estate would question your choice!" Indeed, the strength of the casting of Cattrall is not just her sex appeal, but also that she is a monster, and for everything that Paul Gross' charming yet smarmy Elyot throws at her, she DEVOURS him again and again.
In spite of my unending love for Ms. Cattrall, the real star of this show it the set in act two and three. The drab overabundance of yucky brown shutters that make of the facade of the hotel in act one flies away to reveal a beauteous undersea adventure. I'll post a picture, but you really must buy the ticket just to see the set.
Private Lives is playing at the Music Box Theatre on 45th Street. Tickets can be purchased here.
No comments:
Post a Comment