One hundred years on from its first London run, it’s funny to think that Noel Coward’s Fallen Angels caused a moral shockwave amongst the theatre glitterati at the time. Almost banned in totality, only the personal intervention of the Lord Chamberlain himself guaranteed its licence, and many of the reviews at the time despised it as an insult to decent womanhood. Today, those decent women (as do the rest of us) look at it as simply a comic creation with a devilish insight into the human mind, not to mention the human sex drive.

Just in case you don’t know, Julia and Jane are married to sensible but dull husbands Fred and Bill, who go off for a golfing trip together, leaving their wives behind to entertain themselves in the company of several bottles of wine. Both women have had a pre-marital fling with an exotic Frenchman named Maurice Duclos, and it just so happens that after a long absence, he’s back in town. The absence of the husbands leaves a vacuum, and as we know, nature abhors a vacuum; but Julia and Jane are virtuous wives… aren’t they?

Simon Higlett has designed an immaculately stunning set, positively throbbing with art deco touches; Julia and Fred must have taken all their design ideas from the newest Mondrian catalogue. Fotini Dimou’s delightful costumes dress Julia and Jane as bright young things of the era, with Fred and Bill in classic plus fours, Saunders in a prim and proper maid’s uniform and Maurice as an elegant roué about town. All the trimmings are perfect.

And the production boasts a fine cast, with Janie Dee regal as Julia and Alexandra Gilbreath mischievous as Jane, with Richard Teverson and Christopher Hollis putting in decent portrayals of a pair of golf-loving duffers as their husbands. Attention to detail throughout is admirable and all the performances are full of commitment and character.

But for some reason – maybe a number of minor reasons – this production just doesn’t land successfully. This ought to be an uproariously funny show, with elegant ladies reliving their lost youth and cavorting around under the affluence of incohol, dumb husbands being duped, a smart-ass maid who confounds the class system and a classic confrontation moment when Maurice arrives to discover their husbands are still there. There are, of course, many laughs, but few of them uproarious, and I’m afraid I found the second Act in particular surprisingly dull.

Somehow Christopher Luscombe’s direction highlights all the things that Coward needs us to know in order for the story to work, thus showing its creaking mechanics at the expense of all the lighter touches that Coward wants us to enjoy. The opening scene, for example, about no longer being in love and the ladies both having a presentiment, comes across as laboured. Julia and Jane get paralytically drunk on precious little champagne, and it just doesn’t look credible. I can’t believe this is the fault of terrific comic actors like Janie Dee and Alexandra Gilbreath; but sadly, for me, their drunk act didn’t really work.

Somehow you don’t notice the fun that’s taking place on the stage, but instead you’re waiting for an event (the arrival of Maurice) that looks like it’s never going to happen, and as a result you start to get a little frustrated with Coward. Even Sarah Twomey’s smart and sophisticated take on Saunders the maid seems out of place. The production certainly cheers up with the arrival of Graham Vick’s Maurice, who acts as a catalyst to galvanise all the other characters into upping their game. It’s just a shame he’s only around for the last fifteen minutes or so!

I must say I rather fear for the future of Noel Coward on our stages. The audience at the Menier for their Sunday matinee was only about half full, and everyone there was middle-aged and older. Whilst the big guns of Private Lives and Blithe Spirit will probably never go away, if plays like Fallen Angels fail to grab the attention of theatregoers, I sense the days of “The Master” might be limited.

Three-sy Does It!