Review: An Ideal Husband at the Lyric Hammersmith
There is something immediately disarming about settling into the darkness of a theatre and being met with the iconic bassline of A Little Bit of Luck ushered in by an MC. The music transports you into a club night reminiscent of the early 2000’s, leaving you susceptible to the anticipatory energy in the room. By the time the scene transitions into an all-black ensemble cast dancing the electric slide to Candy, the tone has been set. You are going to have a good time.
The curtain rises on two older Black women, full belly laughing. The kind you recognise from the hair shop, from your auntie's kitchen, from any room where women have gathered to slate the men in their lives. The satirical ire the women have for their partners immediately lets you know that this is not a love story, but you will feel something.
Directed by the Lyric Hammersmith's Associate Director Nicholai La Barrie, this reimagining of Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband is a kaleidoscopic take on the 1895 dramedy. La Barrie presents a glimpse into the heavily adorned world of secrets, social performance, and the quiet violence of reputation.
The first half of the play leans into the intrigue. The perfect politician Mr Chiltern's past is excavated and weaponised by the sleek, sadistic Mrs Cheveley in a blackmail plot that the narrative balances with comedic droplets. It is slower by design, all setup and exposition. The second half is where the energy shifts. The stakes are raised, the performances flare to life, and the matter is resolved in the most flamboyant manner possible. To the chagrin of no one.
What La Barrie does brilliantly is layer in modernity without puncturing the time period. Beyoncé gets a mention and scene cuts infuse modern music and choreography that belong squarely in family parties. Jamaican and West African accents weave through the cast, adding texture and warmth to a story that could easily have felt cold in its satirical detachment. Far from feeling grafted on, these moments are what make the uppity aristocrats funnier.
Rajha Shakiry’s costuming deserves every petal of its flowers. The characters arrive dressed for the occasion, not just in clothes but in personality. Each one is what I can only describe as an exotic fruit; vivid, distinct, delicious on their own, and yet somehow they come together into a delightfully colourful fruit salad. The ensemble work is exceptional across the board.
At its core, this is a story about morality, reality, betrayal, and selfishness, and crucially, it refuses to sort any of its characters into heroes and villains. Everyone has a secret. Everyone has an agenda. The closest thing to a thesis the play offers is somewhere in the territory of what they don't know won't hurt them, and even that comes with a shrug. Life may not produce heroes, but as long as it doesn't all go to shit, carry on.
The conclusion the play lands on, that the ideal husband or partner simply does not exist, is delivered without cynicism. You play the hand you're dealt and hope that the person beside you isn't holding cards that include your ruination. That is not pessimism. That is just Wilde, refracted through a lens that makes the whole thing hit harder.
Ultimately, what stayed with me was the straightforward pleasure of watching Black people have fun, telling a story that has absolutely nothing to do with Black struggle, that asks nothing of its audience except that they enjoy themselves. There is more politics in that choice than any amount of earnest commentary. This one is worth your evening.
Aziza S