Dressing gown enthusiasts can rejoice at the return of Garry Essendine in the latest Broadway revival of Present Laughter. Not that Garry ever stays offstage very long. Noël Coward’s creation, he made his debut in 1942, played by his author, and hasn’t strayed far from the boards ever since. Has he aged well? Yes and no, as demonstrated by Kevin Kline’s silky turn in the current production, a performance of stupefying charm that reveals some of the wrinkles and sag in the surrounding play.
Kline plays Garry, a matinee idol well into his 50s who still sometimes dreams of accomplishing more serious work. (There’s a running joke about Peer Gynt that should delight Soapdish fans.) Estranged from his wife (an elegant Kate Burton), needled by his secretary (a delightful Kristine Nielsen) and irked by his work, he fills the weeks before departing on a tour of Africa by sleeping, griping and bedding silly debutantes who claim to have lost their latchkeys. This busy schedule is further besieged when his business partner’s predatory wife (a Machiavellian Cobie Smulders) attempts his seduction.
As directed by Mortiz von Stuelpnagel (Hand to God), Present Laughter starts slowly. (So slowly that one wonders if Eventual Laughter might be the more judicious title.) During the opening scene, the latest deb (Tedra Millan) finds herself in Garry’s ritzty London duplex, waiting for him to wake up, as several other characters bustle in and out, freighted with breakfast trays and exposition.
There’s a lot of business and a lot of jokes – about the heating, say – that are not exactly uproarious. There’s some creakiness in the way the play shunts characters on and offstage and a lot of stage time given to characters who quickly come to seem tedious or bizarre, like an unhinged playwright (Bhavesh Patel). The comedy also takes its maddening time establishing anything that looks like conflict.
That’s because the conflict is mostly internal. Garry has been an actor so long that it’s unclear if there’s a person under his pajamas or just an accumulation of lines and roles. “I’m always acting,” he says, “watching myself go by – that’s what’s so horrible.” He makes love by reciting bits from his famous roles and it’s not clear if he’s charming because he means to be or if he’s simply forgotten most other ways to behave.
Kline, who follows the likes of Victor Garber, Nathan Lane, Peter O’Toole, and Ian McKellen, fills out the dressing gown nicely. Garry is a hollow character, but Kline puts him together with care and shrewdness. As the play continues, his performance gathers increasing force until even a glancing gesture, like a darting look into the mirror can summon helpless giggles. As an actor who has often been more celebrated for his light comedy roles than his dramatic performances, Kline might have particular sympathy for Garry. His Garry seems a dandy, a meanie, a child, but Kline makes us fall for him anyway. If a whole audience suddenly arrives at the stage door, claiming to have lost their latchkeys, he will know why.
