Sarin Monae West is newlywed Sheila and James Evans is her husband, Keld, in the Mint Theater Company’s production of Noel Coward’s The Rat Trap.
Noel Coward’s 1918 play The Rat Trap is a combination of a comedy of manners and a tempestuous domestic drama. Coward, was only 18 when he wrote this play, which addresses women’s rights with psychological realism. Despite various youthful gaucheries, his genius is evident, delineating the theme that was to resurface in later works: the impossibility of love in marriage when spouses are competing egoists. Directed by Alexander Lass, The Rat Trap has all the earmarks of a feminist play, even though the term had yet to be coined.
Coward follows two young writers in their twenties, Sheila (Sarin Monae West), an up-and-coming novelist, and Keld (James Evans), an aspiring playwright, who wed, only to discover that marriage is an obstacle to fulfilling their respective talents. The drama spans 22 months, in which these scribes go from being lovebirds to disillusioned spouses, with Sheila’s writing career being pushed aside.
West greets actress Ruby Raymond (Claire Saunders, left) in The Rat Trap. Photographs by Todd Cerveris.
Lass ensures that The Rat Trap moves at a fast clip: It opens on the eve of Sheila and Keld’s wedding in a swank flat owned by Sheila’s chic thirtysomething friend Olive (Elisabeth Gray); six months later, things get thornier, with the newlyweds at loggerheads in their Belgravia townhouse and their romantic love souring; a year after, Sheila and Keld are living in conjugal harmony, largely because Sheila has shelved her writing ambitions to devote herself to Keld’s increasing success; at the climax, Sheila is in a rustic cottage that serves as her writing retreat and a sanctuary from her husband.
It’s worth noting that Coward’s five female characters outweigh the male ones, five to two. What’s more, each woman has something incisive to say on their social standing.
Olive is a kind of Cassandra, warning Sheila about the pitfalls of intellectuals in wedlock: “Either you or Keld will have to sacrifice a certain amount of personality; no two people of your intellectual abilities could live together for long without getting on one another’s nerves—it’s a psychological impossibility.”
“It’s worth noting that Coward’s five female characters outweigh the male ones, five to two.”
Meanwhile, Olive’s bohemian neighbor Naomi (Heloise Lowenthal), a writer of “fiercely sensuous novels,” and her lover Edmund stand in contrast to Olive’s cynicism about marriage. Naomi expresses an admiration of Sheila and Keld for taking the “leap of faith” into matrimony, something that she and Edmund just haven’t mustered the courage to do.
Cynthia Mace as Sheila’s servant Burrage is the epitome of Englishness, with her clockwork entrances and exits out of rooms. Although Burrage seems like a cartoon early on, she reveals shrewd powers of observation late in the play when she discloses her sentiments on marriage: “The trouble is, no woman can ever really know what a man’s like until she’s lived with him for a time—then it’s too late to do anything about it.”
Rounding out the women is the pushy actress Ruby (Claire Saunders), a coquette who is angling for a bigger part in Keld’s play and who throws Sheila’s marriage into disarray.
Heloise Lowenthal (left, with Saunders as Ruby) plays Naomi, a free-spirited bohemian, in Coward’s early play..
Hunter Kaczorowski’s vintage costumes have just enough swish and dash to point up Coward’s indelible comic signature, notably Keld’s silk dressing gown, and he differentiates the women by their clothing. Sheila’s girlish dress in Act I is replaced by more tailored clothes that reflect her gradual change from naïve bride to knowing wife. Ruby’s frilly frocks are perfect for the frivolous ex-chorus girl. And Olive’s elegant outfits mirror her genuine sophistication.
Vicki Davis’s triptych of sets, abetted by Christian DeAngelis’s protean lighting, conjure up the early 20th century in the various locales. Olive’s Kensington flat is furnished with old-fashioned armchairs and tables with lace; Sheila and Keld’s comfortable study boasts a writing desk and a typewriter; and the Cornish cottage that gives Sheila a chance to work again is a humble one.
The Rat Trap isn’t one of Coward’s top-tier plays. The badinage between Sheila and Keld, though barbed and entertaining, lacks the epigrammatic wit of Elyot and Amanda in Private Lives. What’s more, the play’s ending is a cop-out for the fledgling playwright, who nevertheless judged it to be his “first really serious attempt at psychological conflict” in Present Indicative, the first of his autobiographies.
While The Rat Trap has many comic moments, the play’s title taps into its dark underside. The episode that closes out Act II, in fact, comes dangerously close to being a full-blown case of domestic violence—written by an 18-year-old who understood with astonishing acuity the problems and foibles of a generation older than himself.
The Mint Theater production of The Rat Trap runs at New York City Center Stage II (131 W. 55th St.) through Dec. 10. Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. For tickets, visit minttheater.org or telecharge.com.
