May 12, 2005
by Alastair Macaulay
Kevin Spacey's first season at the Old Vic has been short of good roles for women, and he wraps it up with an old piece of misogyny, The Philadelphia Story. The gist of Philip Barry's 1939 play is simple: the goddess-like Tracy Lord should have been saving her father from adultery and her ex-husband from drink by giving them unconditional love, whereas, by withholding her sympathy from these creeps, she is: a) forcing them to the sins from which she alone could have redeemed them and b) an inadequate human being.
Maybe the best thing about Jerry Saks's Old Vic staging is that it is artificial: you can't believe it, but you can laugh at the jokes. Sets are pretty, costumes variable, lighting unfriendly. The finest and funniest performance comes from Julia McKenzie as Tracy's mother. The lovely Jennifer Ehle never has Tracy's supposed "magnificence", least of all in her dull contralto voice. Presumably so as not to make Spacey look too middle-aged, all her suitors look well over 40. He, playing the ex-husband Dexter, is the most relaxed person, but you can't believe he's in love with his ex-wife: he overdoes the male puppeteering and heartless slyness.
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