Stylish ‘Present Laughter’ Puts Levity at Center Stage

Our first thought upon entering the Walter Kerr Theatre is, say, could that singer-pianist warming up the audience before “Present Laughter” possibly be the fancy-cabaret star Steve Ross?

And one of our final thoughts is, hmmm, might this be the first Noel Coward revival ever to include full frontal male nudity?

In the intervening three hours, however, we are delighted to report that most frivolous questions are superseded by ever more marvelously frivolous entertainment. Indeed, Ross is not only playing pre-curtain Coward songs before each of the three spare-no-expense acts, but also making his Broadway debut as Frank Langella’s (fully dressed) valet. As for the naked man, well, this may be a 1939 farce otherwise suitable for enlightened families--but gratuitous or not (and this one is), male nudity is the major low-cost special effect on Broadway in the ‘90s.

This is a lavish, deluxe, otherwise deliriously stylish production, full of smart erotic subtext and dangerously attractive cigarette addictions, swanky decor and hoary comic gimmicks made fresh by intelligent new talent. Scott Elliott, the young director who burst onto the A-list recently with splendid off-Broadway productions of “Ecstasy,” “Curtains” and “The Monogamist,” may sometimes gild an already well-gilded lily with brainstorms in his first Broadway project. Anyone looking for complaints about too much thoughtful creativity, however, had best look elsewhere.

The production marks both Elliott’s Broadway emergence and the second coming of Langella. No longer the matinee idol in the Dracula cape, Langella reminded the theater world of his commanding underutilized talents last season in Strindberg’s “The Father” and now puts his stamp on outrageous master-thespian flamboyance.

Langella plays aging famous actor Garry Essendine, the character Coward claimed as his own favorite because “I get all the effects, being there in the center of the stage.” He is surrounded by women (and men) who want his body and by his close circle of wisecracking theater associates, including an almost ex-wife, who support him in friendship and business.

That’s really all there is to the plot, except that his lawyer’s gorgeous predatory new wife (the gorgeous Caroline Seymour) also is after him as he prepares for a lengthy African tour. Elliott has peopled the salon with young off-Broadway luminaries, many known mainly from his other productions or from Chicago’s adventurous Steppenwolf Theater.

Langella’s Garry is both big boss and big baby, a peacock who knows the value of a tantrum and a good vanity mirror. This is an endearing, out-there, uninhibited yet strangely noble portrayal of a monster man who wears silk robes better than he wears his age.

Lisa Emery and Allison Janney play the capable, snappy ‘30s-movie-style women--his secretary and his almost-ex--who are co-conspirators in protecting the Garry industry. Elliott, true to his growing reputation for psychosexual dynamism, puts a lot of heat into Garry’s overnight visitors. But he also has both Kellie Overbey, as the ingenue, and Seymour, the femme fatale, show their private star-struck girlish sides in the mornings after, as each tenderly holds the clothing Garry has tossed off the night before.

That sort of detail is everywhere in this loving production. The goofy Scandinavian spiritualist maid (Margaret Sophie Stein) doesn’t just smoke but makes a fetish out of sneaking cigarettes. The pretentious young Garry-obsessed playwright (Tim Hopper) does not just get undressed once to demonstrate that all sexes were attracted to Coward. Throughout, he also clings like a silly burr to his idol’s body.

Oh, and Ross is just fine as the valet, though he shouldn’t quit his cabaret job. Designer Derek McLane manages to slide Ross’ piano cleverly back into the set, as the stately and showy facade fragments and lifts to reveal Garry’s splendiferous apartment. We are meant to be in his studio, but it falls somewhere between a 19th century bank lobby, a grand old library and a boudoir. The production has been built as if investors intended it to be around a long while. And it will.

* Walter Kerr Theatre, 219 W. 48th St., New York. (800) 432-7250.