Theater: Slambang Scott

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PRESENT LAUGHTER by Noël Coward

Noel Coward was the master of the clipped, ice-cool putdown; George C. Scott is the master of the bristling, white-hot punchup. His voice is an explosion in a gravel pit, and he moves across the stage like a bulldozer in a china shop. Knowing that it would be folly to imitate Coward's brittle delivery and soigné manner, Scott has turned an airily sophisticated comedy into a rollicking, slambang farce.

Garry Essendine (Scott) is a middle-aging matinee idol whose warmest admirer is never more than a mirror away. Every big wheel has spokes, and Garry's entourage is loyal. His ex-wife (Elizabeth Hubbard) is a kind of high-fashion Candi da, and his primly efficient Girl Friday (Dana Ivey) is a slave driver's jewel. His manager (Richard Woods) and producer (Edward Conery) round out the protective cordon.

No one can shield Garry from sexual autograph hunters. A would-be ingenue (Kate Burton) pinions him and won't take goodbye for an answer. After a night of love, the manager's wife and the producer's mistress (Christine Lahti) hears the tintinnabulation of wedding bells.

One other housebreaker merits note. As a calf-eyed aspiring playwright with a manic giggle and an iron handshake, Nathan Lane is the kind of disciple who could drive a deity to drink. Doubling as director of Present Laughter, Scott favors a whirlwind pace and high-decibel delivery. Casting himself against type is a bonus. This is a Patton pistol-whipped by endless frustration. There is high glee in watching George C. Scott do a fast burn of impotent, unutterable rage. — By T.E. Kalem