There was a time, in the two decades leading up to 1956, when British theatre seemed to consist entirely of drawing-room comedies with the odd, usually moral, drama thrown in for good measure. The likes of J B Priestley, Noel Coward and Terence Rattigan were the playwrights of choice who drew audiences to theatres but, with the arrival of John Osborne and the “kitchen sink” in the late ’50s, those established writers were deemed old-fashioned and fell from grace. With the exception of Coward, who was always a bit of a camp novelty act, few pre-1956 modern plays were performed. The roost was ruled by Arnold Wesker, Harold Pinter, Mr Osborne et al until they too became old-fashioned and were replaced by David Hare, Tom Stoppard and all the rest. But now, the wheel has come full circle and we find the old school, especially Priestley and Rattigan, very much à la mode and being produced left right and centre. Plus ça change.
Terence Rattigan was a very fine playwright – his Ross, Deep Blue Sea, Flare Path, The Browning Version, Separate Tables etc. hold their own against all-comers. French Without Tears, however, is not one of his greatest plays and I don’t think anybody would ever claim it was. It is a bit of harmless light comedy, with not much to say, which occasionally borders on farce. Nobody could take offence – nor get very excited.
That said, this is a very enjoyable, visually pleasing production with a very strong cast that successfully exploits every opportunity for a laugh. The story takes place in some sort of private residential language school near a beach somewhere in France before the war. The students are five young Englishmen who are there prior to entering the diplomatic service, or some such thing, plus Diana Lake, a femme fatale (notice how I’m surreptitiously getting all these French phrases in?) who is the cat among the usually staid and emotionally constipated British pigeons. Three of the blokes fancy themselves in love with flighty Miss Lake, nicely and convincingly played by Florence Roberts, whose position in the house is never made quite clear. She leads them all on a merry dance, and that’s basically it. A sort of ménage à quatre
There are some very funny moments as they all prepare for or return from a local fancy dress event and Joe Eyre drew the best card and gleaned the most laughs, having to dress up in white-skirted, red bobble-shoed Greek national costume. I particularly liked David Whitworth as Monsieur Maingot, the proprietor of the school, a sort of French James Robertson Justice, who enforced this impression when he donned a kilt and a Tam o’ Shanter for the fancy dress do. Ziggy Heath, in his first role after graduating from drama school, demonstrated an assurance and talent that should see him go far.
If French Without Tears does have something to say it is about how uptight and self-conscious middle-class English men were (and probably still are) when it came to dealing with the fairer sex and matters of the heart. But the play is not making any great point or observation. Basically, it’s just a good, old-fashioned drawing room comedy, a bit of fluff that will probably tickle your fancy. Oh là là. ★★★★☆ Michael Hasted 12th October 2016
