Phyl

Tweet

The Mint Theater Company, in its relentless search for forgotten dramatic plums still ripe for the picking, has come up with another juicy one in Cicely Hamilton’s 1911 British dramedy, Phyl, never published but preserved in manuscript at the British Library. Hamilton (1872–1952) was a London-born actress, playwright, novelist, journalist, and suffragette. Her 1908 Diana of Dobson’s was successfully revived by the Mint in 2001 (and will be given a reading on October 23). She had an independent, free-thinking streak not unlike that of Phyllis (“Phyl”) Chester, the refreshingly outspoken heroine who gives her name to Phyl (which Hamilton dubbed a “comedy”).

Phyl, which falls into the contemporary “problem play” category, comes with an interesting backstory. Although passed by the Lord Chamberlain (the official censor), its planned premiere, directed by the distinguished B. Iden Payne, was banned by Oxford University’s vice chancellor because of its heroine’s convention-defying behavior in strictly moralistic Edwardian England. It eventually premiered in Brighton, toured to Edinburgh and Manchester in 1913, and even came to America in 1914, but to Chicago, not New York, before vanishing from the repertory. The Mint’s production, its first in New York, reveals that, despite the play’s datedness and structural obviousness, it retains enough stage appeal to keep an audience engaged for much of its two and a half hours.

Phyl (Lily Ganser, Stereophonic, in an impressive Off Broadway debut) is a spirited young governess in charge of two nasty children, Betty (Tessa Bilmes) and Olive (Charlotte Van Ledtje), daughters of the wealthy, imperious, straitlaced Mrs. Ponsonby (Katie Firth). Act One transpires in the schoolroom of her grand home. Phyl, for all her education, works for a pittance, hates teaching intransigent children, is bored by her circumstances, and longs for freedom, restrained only by her need to earn a living. Her parents are deceased, and she has only her very conventional, much older London sister, Cathy (Jennifer Blood), a low-paid office worker barely getting by. The drab, prim, shabby Cathy, everything that Phyl is not, serves as a convenient sounding board against which Phyl’s desire to break free can be tested.

Mrs. Ponsonby, already distressed by gossip regarding Phyl’s possible flirtation with rich, handsome houseguest Jack Folliott (Anthony Michael Martinez), whom she eyes as marital material for her older daughter, Mabel (Livvy Marcus), barges into the schoolroom to discover Phyl and Jack smoking and chatting together. (Which reminds me: the first lesson in acting school should be how to smoke convincingly.) This she considers the height of impropriety, justifying her intention to sack the young woman.

However, in their explosive interchange, the hot-tempered Phyl offers a no-holds-barred comeback as the worm turns on her intolerant employer, providing one of the more memorably engrossing scenes on a current New York stage. Both actresses carry it off superbly, with Ganser providing just the kind of ballsy ripostes you want from a female character being treated unfairly in an Edwardian play, where such characters commonly behave with polite discretion.

Phyl is an embodiment of the New Woman, seeking surcease from the overwhelming requirements of her sex and class to know her place and kowtow to authority. Aware she’s locked into a hopeless future, she desires the money and freedom to explore a world otherwise denied her. A Cinderella in the making, she is given the opportunity to change her unpromising life when the dashing Jack—her Prince Charming—offers her escape on a silver platter, promising to take her away from all this and provide the material things she could never otherwise enjoy.

Throwing decorum to the winds, she takes off with Jack to a hotel on the Riviera, where the following two acts (combined into one) take place. Now jeweled and dressed in expensive raiment, Phyl has never been happier, enjoying her newfound high life with her wealthy lover. The playwright, wishing to give Mrs. Ponsonby a well-earned kick in the butt, has her visit the hotel, only to be shocked on encountering the newly resplendent Phyl, a contrivance that, obvious as it is, provides a satisfactory taste of comeuppance for an audience primed to watch the harpy fall.

Of course, the idea of an unmarried couple living in sin must have jangled Oxfordian nerves in 1911. Hamilton need only bring on Cathy again—one wonders how much that trip for a few minutes with her sister must have cost—for a confrontation about Phyl’s choice. The play resists describing the depth of affection between Phyl and Jack, or where they think their romantic hijinks are taking them, but that will be resolved when an associate, Mr. Westmacott (Curzon Dobell)—where do playwrights get these names?—shows up with the inevitable news that Jack is broke.

Hamilton stretches beyond necessity the ordinarily loquacious Jack’s conveyance to Phyl of what has happened; also delayed is the glaringly palpable solution to their dilemma. It got to the point, when I attended, that, when the problem was solved, I involuntarily whispered “Finally,” perhaps a bit too loudly, igniting a burst of appreciative laughter from those around me. Afterward, the young director, Britt Berke, who does a fine job, asked what had prompted me, thinking it might have been something in the performance. I reassured her it was in the writing.

An inescapable question arises. As a putative New Woman, Hamilton’s heroine achieves her independence through the wealth of a man rather than through economic self-sufficiency. Does that mean she actually escapes the constraints of her sex and class, or does she merely exchange one form of dependence for another? Given what we see of her, and the guiltless pleasure she reveals in accepting the largesse of a wealthy lover, it’s hard to avoid leaning toward the latter.

Overall, this is one of the Mint’s most satisfactorily acted mountings, Ganser proving exceptionally adept at striking all of Phyl’s emotional notes, from sarcasm to despair to disgust to anger and affection. She is, however, a victim of the production’s weakest link, Alicia J. Austin’s costumes. Tall and slim, with sharp features, Ganser plays a woman who modestly refers to herself as “fairly good-looking,” but Austin dresses her in a neck-to-floor-length black dress, her dark hair pulled tightly back, making her resemble a widowed, dried-up, sadistic schoolmarm, a younger version of Mrs. Murdstone in David Copperfield or Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca. It’s true that this makes for a sharper contrast with her later Riviera attire, but it’s hard to conceive that this free spirit would dress so severely. Moreover, her supposedly high-fashion gown at the hotel looks like the dull, retrofitted version of a cheap old sari that in no way resembles the resplendence people talk about.

The other costumes range from appropriate and even attractive—Mrs. Ponsonby’s Riviera ensemble is striking—to blatant misfires, among the more egregious examples being Cathy’s Chico Marx cap and Jack’s sloppily worn Riviera outfit (along with his modern hairdo and five o’clock shadow). Mary Louise Geiger’s lighting is efficient, Brittany Vasta’s sets acceptable, and Jane Shaw’s sound and music satisfactory.

Fortunately, the acting is strong enough to sustain interest, including Anthony Michael Martinez’s believably congenial Jack, Jennifer Blood’s worried Cathy, Katie Firth’s supercilious Mrs. Ponsonby, Tessa Bilmes and Charlotte Van Ledtje’s mischievous girls, and Curzon Dobell’s concerned Westmacott. But it’s Lily Ganser’s indomitable Phyl who carries the day (especially in Act One) and makes a visit to her namesake play, if not imperative, then certainly recommended.

Phyl (through November 7, 2026)

Mint Theater Company

Theatre Row, 410 W. 42^nd Street, Manhattan

For tickets, visit http://www.minttheater.org

Running time: two hours and 35 minutes including one intermission