Marriage, they say, is a beautiful union—but what happens when it becomes a battleground for ambition, creativity, and identity? Noël Coward’s The Rat Trap dives into this messy territory with a sharpness that’s surprising for a playwright who was just 18 when he wrote it. Completed at the end of World War I (though not staged until 1926), this rarely seen play offers a jaundiced look at marriage, long before Coward perfected his signature wit and banter. But here’s where it gets controversial: is this really a comedy, or a thinly veiled tragedy disguised as one?
Fast forward a century, and playwright Bill Rosenfield, alongside the bold Troupe theatre company (https://www.troupetheatre.co.uk/), has reimagined this early work. They’ve streamlined the plot and trimmed the florid dialogue, but the core remains: two young writers, Sheila (a novelist) and Keld (an aspiring playwright), marry with dreams of domestic bliss and artistic success. And this is the part most people miss: despite being the sharper mind, Sheila steps back, sacrificing her ambition to let Keld shine. It’s a dynamic that echoes Ibsen’s A Doll’s House or Strindberg’s bitter marriage dramas, though Coward’s voice here is still raw, not yet polished with his later chrome-plated wit.
Lily Nichol’s portrayal of Sheila is a masterclass in transformation. She begins as a vibrant, eye-rolling bohemian, her art deco costumes (courtesy of Libby Watson) accentuating her confidence. But as the marriage sours, she shrinks—literally and metaphorically—into subdued pleats, her light dimming in a way that’s heartbreaking to witness. Kirsty Patrick Ward’s production doesn’t quite elevate the play’s bickering humor, but it handles its melancholy with tender precision.
Ewan Miller’s Keld, meanwhile, is a study in self-absorption. Boyish and charming, yes, but also brash, bullying, and downright cruel to the sharp-witted housekeeper (brilliantly played by Angela Sims). He’s a second-rate talent, insufferable even in his moments of vulnerability. Here’s the question: is Keld a product of his time, or a timeless representation of artistic ego?
The supporting characters—Gina Bramhill’s astute singleton and Zoe Goriely’s scent-drenched minx—further complicate the narrative, challenging what marriage means among artists. There’s no clear blueprint for love here, and the play’s unexpected ending does little to lift the mood. Yet, Troupe’s revival makes a compelling case for this youthful work. Coward himself dismissed it as interesting only to ‘ardent students of my work,’ but it’s here, in The Rat Trap, that he first sharpened the claws he’d later use to dissect intractable desires.
But here’s the real question: does Sheila’s sacrifice feel like a relic of the past, or does it still resonate today? Coward’s early exploration of ambition, gender, and partnership feels eerily relevant—and that’s what makes this revival worth watching. Catch it at Park Theatre, London (https://parktheatre.co.uk/events/the-rat-trap/), until 14 March, and decide for yourself. What do you think? Is The Rat Trap a time capsule or a mirror to modern relationships? Let’s debate in the comments!
