The Independent, 24 April 1990, by Kathryn Mead
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Great theatrical satirists must have at their command the 
manipulative subtlety of a mother dosing a recalcitrant 
child; too much righteous indigation and the audience dives 
for cover. The audience at the Bristol Old Vic, though, 
basked before "Lady Windermere's Fan" like seals in the sun. 
The obvious explanation is that time and social change have 
drawn  the play's teeth but, given that most of us continue 
to marry and divorce, Wilde's spirited ridicule can still 
hit home.

This is a visually opulent production, with a soaring gilt-
corniced ceiling and a magnificent ballroom that seems to 
recede endlessly through a series of doors and mirrors. The 
opera-trained director, Robert Carsen, places his actors 
with infinite care, and the sullen choreography of the 
scene-shifters draws particular applause. The play concerns 
itself with the emphatically unsentimental educaiton of a 
young woman of privilege, handicapped by a husband who 
addresses her as "Child."

Physically, Joely Richarson could hardly be better cast as 
Lady Windermere. Her statuesque, langorous beauty, in its 
cascades of tight-bodiced ivory and lilac silks, has an 
authentic Edwardian air. Unfortunately, a chilly grace 
banishes our emotional sympathies. Lady Windermere, deserted 
by her mother, humiliated by her husband, buffeted by the 
aphoristic dalliance of Lord Darlington, should have a soul 
like a football pitch, churning with the muddy imprints of 
more vigorous spirits. Through all her trials, however, 
Joely Richardson maintains such perverse serenity that one 
doubts her own belief in the character.

The rest of the company fares rather better, sustained as 
they are by the steely flexibility of Wilde's conversational 
swordplay. This is the most double-edged sword in the 
business, nothing being quite so painful to the dramatic ear 
as a Wildean sentence that runs out of braggadocio halfway 
through the final flourish.

For the most part, though, the cast succeed by the skin of 
their teeth. Christopher Luscombe and Hayward Morse as Cecil 
Graham and Mr. Dumby make the most of the gadly energies of 
the text, but it falls to Maggie Steed (Mrs. Erlynne) and 
Alan Bennion (Lord Augustus) to lend the play emotional 
weight. Maggie Steed--perhaps like Wilde himself--is least 
assured when she is most in earnest, her voice assuming a 
false profundity. But his is an affecting and well-rounded 
performance, containing just enough vulgarity to remind us 
that she is a seductress and not a lover.

Alan Bennion stumbles around her like a bee round a honey-
pot, his face like a bruised plum, purple with irritation, 
drink, shame and at the last, a happy and suffused 
tenderness that illuminates Wilde's singular humanity.



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