This is one of the great Irish plays. Like a master spy, Oscar Wilde, of Merrion Square, Dublin, charmed his way into London society and pinned down his hosts with this glittering comedy about the self-importance of being English. Only an observant outsider could catch so precisely the tone, the style and the breathtaking smugness of his hosts with such loving mockery. This play is a brilliant parody of English upper-class life, a life endearingly snobbish, defiantly idle and only remotely connected with reality. Peter Gill’s production glitters like a many-faceted diamond. Algie and Jack (William Ellis, Harry Hadden-Paton), immaculately manicured and amiably cocksure, look like David Cameron and George Osborne at the races. Gwendolyn and Cecily (Daisy Haggard and Rebecca Night) have the deportment that comes with not doing anything, and voices like the fatal flutes that mourned the destruction of the walls of ancient Athens. Miss Prism (Janet Henfrey), looking like Jeremy Paxman’s elder sister, is a monument to well-trained humility. Penelope Keith is Lady Bracknell, holding the great trumpet voice in lofty restraint: a star giving a star performance, she knows that charisma is quite enough.

Vaudeville, WC2

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