Blithe Spirit

Something has possessed Angela Lansbury. Last time she graced the Broadway boards—in Terrence McNally's limp Deuce with Marian Seldes—she was poised and classy, but sadly distant and restrained. Had she petered out at the end of a magnificent career? Well, witness the grande dame in Michael Blakemore's sparkling revival of Blithe Spirit and you'll see a creature transformed. Lansbury, decked out in bohemian drag as the eccentric medium Madame Arcati, mugs, jigs and lands her jokes with the effortless charm of an upstart hell-bent on stealing every scene. What's gotten into her? Oh, right: The champagne fizz of Noël Coward's deliciously dizzy 1941 farce.

Lansbury isn't the only attraction up there: Rupert Everett is suavity itself as novelist Charles Condomine, who has invited Arcati to a dinner party as a research stunt. Unexpectedly, the ensuing sance produces the mischievous ghost of Charles's deceased first wife, Elvira (a chirpy, blissful Ebersole, who has taken the play's title to heart). To the mounting horror of second spouse Ruth (Atkinson, grounding the supernatural whimsy with warmth and vigor), Elvira proceeds to wrap Charles around her ectoplasmic finger, eventually scheming to kill him off and force him to join her in eternity.

All one asks of a Coward revival are actors with high comic style and verbal felicity, handsome sets and a brisk pace, which Blakemore & Co. graciously provide. Added bonus: A comfy supporting turn by Simon Jones and the Broadway debut of adorable Susan Louise O'Connor as the Condomines' coordination-challenged maid. O'Connor shares stage time with Lansbury; is there any doubt that some of the latter's unquenchable spirit will transmigrate into her?—David Cote

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