William Wycherley wrote this satire about a man-about-town who gets unlimited access to his friends' wives by pretending to be a eunuch in 1675. Four years later he made his first disastrous marriage, to the Countess of Drogheda, which left him in financial difficulties for the rest of his life.
If he had written the play after his marriage, he might have penned an even more jaundiced account of male-female relationships. The situation in The Country Wife is summed up by one man thus: "If we do not cheat, the women will try to cheat us." Ironically, Wycherley ended up duped like one of his own characters: on his deathbed he married a woman who was, unbeknown to him, his cousin's mistress. She inherited his estate and promptly married the cousin.
That such scenarios were not just the figment of a playwright's imagination gives Wycherley's play the sourest of edges. But that aspect is not brought out in Michael Grandage's production. It is stylish and impeccably acted but treats this iciest of plays with cheery good nature. It is a while since I've seen the Alithea/Harcourt subplot played straight, with this duplicitously achieved union held up as a model of potential happiness.
If Grandage's production makes you leave the theatre feeling jolly, that's probably good news for the box office. It is less so for the drama, which is reduced to the level of romp. Even so, there are some nice touches: everyone rushes on and off the stage at high speed as if they're in a hurry to get into bed as quickly as possible.
Grandage's emphasis on the comic is pointed up in Victoria Hamilton's performance as Margery Pinchwife, the locked-up, country-innocent wife who becomes the object of the "eunuch" Horner's lust. She has the body of a 20-year-old and the mind of a foot-stamping toddler. It is in many ways an intensely irritating performance, although you have to admire its spirit and technical virtuosity. Dominic West, meanwhile, captures all of Horner's rumpled appeal and David Ross almost makes you feel sorry for the puffed-up Pinchwife.
This is a watchable, polished production. It is just a pity that it is so cosy.
Until October 14. Box office: 0114-249 6000.
