Subtler 'Living' still showcases Coward's sharp wit

A ménage a trois just doesn't pack the punch it once did.

The unconventional romance between best friends and occasional lovers Gilda, Leo and Otto - which underscores Noel Coward's "Design for Living" - shocked audiences in 1933. Today? Not so much.

Perhaps it has something to do with our increased tolerance of alternative lifestyles, or the fact that reality TV has redefined outrageous to such an extent that very little surprises us anymore.

But if the scenario Coward sets up no longer scandalizes, the playwright's subtle wit and verbal panache continue to delight, as First Folio Theatre's charming revival demonstrates. And while principles Melanie Keller, David Kovac and Kevin McKillip play Coward's smart, scintillating, self-absorbed sophisticates more amiably than they're typically portrayed, the polished trio delivers Coward's delicious bon mots with easy assurance and unstudied grace that make for a pleasant if less than passionate production.

Coward centers his comedy of manners and serial monogamy on interior designer and resolute bohemian Gilda (the buoyant, appealing Keller), who is in love with painter Otto (a subtly savvy Kovac) and his best friend, playwright Leo (another shrewd comic turn by McKillip). As it happens, both men are in love with her. And each other, although you wouldn't know it from the way director Alison C. Vesely tiptoes around the play's homoerotic subtext.

Granted, Coward is all about subtlety. Vesely and her cast clearly understand that. Their expressions and timbre hint at the pain these characters' clever banter can't quite conceal. But we ought to get some sense of what compels them to defy convention and risk condemnation to pursue this particular romantic arrangement, even if it's unlikely the smart set in which they circulate would offer much criticism beyond a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.

Coward's characters tend to have sharp edges and caustic wits. Urbane types with comfortable incomes and smug attitudes, their intellect and command of language invite respect. But they don't elicit much sympathy, and the playwright makes no apologies for them. In fact, their determination to live according to their own moral codes is admirable.

Vesely imagines them as kinder and gentler versions of themselves. And while I have no quarrel with that interpretation, I do object to its inconsistent application. Case in point: the abrupt and unexplained tone shift in the third act. The benign ribbing that defines acts one and two turns biting as Leo and Otto - endearingly tipsy at the conclusion of act two - turn shamelessly smug in act three. Two years after Glinda abandoned them both, declaring she would paddle her own canoe rather than weigh down someone else's, the men return to claim her. They find Glinda - who earlier declared marriage repellent - now married herself to art dealer Ernest (a sympathetic Rene Ruelas), suggesting that her emancipation failed. Less surprising is her eventual surrender.

It's apparent from the start that these three thrive as a trio - if for no other reason than to relieve the Ernests of the world from the burden of loving just one of them.