Neil Bartlett first grabbed my attention in the Project Theatre nearly twenty years ago in his production of Sarrasine, a scintillating reworking of a Balzac story, a dangerous, haunting and inspirational piece of musical theatre. I saw it twice and the poster adorned the walls of several of my flats for years afterwards. Bartlett’s perspective is trailblazing; his métier is a confident, intelligent Wildean aesthetic, in his theatrical productions and in his writings.

It is right and fitting that he should be invited to direct Wilde at the Abbey, and An Ideal Husband is an intriguing choice. It’s not Wilde’s best work, but nevertheless it still makes for an entertaining evening.

The first act, a party set at the home of the Chilterns, was a delight – we entered a superbly staged world of a decadent society, the women resplendent in high fashion, the players displaying almost a Commedia dell’Arte physicality, jousting in a heightened Berkoff-esque wordplay that seemed faultless.

However, the darker themes of the play soon become apparent: blackmail, insider dealing, political hypocrisy, honour and character, love and betrayal, redemption and forgiveness. They are too personal for lightweight comedy; or, perhaps, Wilde’s unhappy end reminds us that they are, in truth, no laughing matter. As a result, the flippancy and sparkling irreverence of the play’s opening act is hard to follow.

The set-up is for Sir Robert Chiltern, a rising star of the political firmament, to fall, brought down by the scheming Mrs Cheveley, who can prove his entire career and wealth was based on selling a government secret.

Derbhle Crotty is outstanding as the blackmailer, seductive, sinister and passionately self-serving. Lord Goring, an old lover of hers and a friend of the Chilterns, is, on the surface, a determined, frivolous dandy. He proves to be a man of real substance and character when tested, and becomes a formidable match for Mrs Cheveley, and a reliable friend in need, the catalyst to enable the Chilterns to forgive each other their human weaknesses, and move on.

Lord Goring: All I know, Gertrude, is that it takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it. And even more courage to see it in the one you love.

Mark O’Halloran is as perfect a Lord Goring as one could imagine. He brings a sense of being a “wise old soul” to the part, as well as impeccable comic timing, and at times he reminded me of one of my favourite English actors, Leonard Rossiter.

The costumes were sumptuous, and the lighting in particular was excellent (by Chris Davey). I was confused by one aspect of the production, however: the set. Although set and costumes were both the work of the same person, Bartlett’s long-time collaborator Rae Smith, they did not feel like they were in the same production at all. There was no expense spared in the costumes; they were stunning in every detail. The set, however, looked like it would be serviceable enough in a fit-up company in the fifties, on a regional tour; painted plywood boards everywhere, a sort of designer shabbiness, with a post-modern self-consciousness; we see behind the sets to the bare walls and doors, we see the braces and stage-weights, the chandelier has an ugly electric plug showing half way up the chain. The red velvet curtain that falls between acts is bedraggled and torn, but only covers half the wide Abbey stage. I could easily imagine this production working very well in a severe black box, with no pretence at period detail; on the other hand, a decent attempt at a subdued but quality set that allowed the actors to shine would have done no harm at all. But this was neither fish nor fowl, and was distracting to me. Perhaps I expect more from the National Theatre; yet I am usually more than happy to support a production that confounds a certain bourgeois expectation that classic period plays should have gorgeous sets. The sets should never be the point in Wilde; perhaps I am just old-school enough to believe they shouldn’t attract my attention at all.

However, this production is well worth a visit; well-paced, witty, snappy, and passionate. I’ve rarely heard such uniformly crisp, crystalline English accents on an Irish stage, and even though I saw the show in preview, the ensemble acting was as tight as a drum. The dialogue between Sir Robert and his wife, when they are torn apart by the prospect of ruin, is as relevant now as it was then; the corrosive effects of idealization in a marriage, indeed any relationship, and what happens when someone falls off the pedestal on which their partner has placed them. But I was curiously unmoved, as their love was tested; perhaps it’s because in the cynical 21st Century, it’s hard to accept undiluted moral outrage that a politician has a guilty secret. Neither of the Chilterns is easy to warm to, but I don’t believe that is the fault of the actors. Perhaps, in their exchanges, Wilde was safely playing out the many conversations, imagined and real, he had with his loyal wife, Constance, over his own secret life, which would have been incendiary and heartrending. Had the real issues of Wilde’s marriage been addressed in this play, it would have been electrifying. But of course that would have been impossible at the time, so in a sense we are reading between the lines.

Wilde was being blackmailed himself, at the time he wrote this play. The storm clouds were gathering, and he was arrested for gross indecency during its first run. By sailing so close to the wind in his emotional subject matter, but distancing himself from the real matter in hand, perhaps he lost perspective. It is purportedly a comedy, in that it plays around with appearances, illusions and reality, but, at its heart, it is a neutered tragedy. Perhaps a sense of superstition prevented him from cataloguing his hero’s downfall. Maybe he was refusing to tempt fate by presaging his own destruction. Life imitates art; perhaps he believed, or hoped against hope, that by creating a story with a happy ending he could avert the inevitable, and keep the circling wolves from his door. As Wilde would have been very well aware, wishful thinking, as played out in the eventual happy resolution of An Ideal Husband, is antithetical to great art. That Chiltern doesn’t fall, that his corruption does not get exposed, is a happy ending of sorts; but his last words are insecure, self-doubting. It is neither a comic nor tragic story. It is human, but not as dramatic as real life.

The tense exchanges between former lovers Lord Goring and Mrs Cheveley are richly satisfying; and there are elements of pure farce in the final scenes which are timed to perfection. Goring, happily, finds his playmate in the end, in the chirpy Mabel Chiltern, (played delightfully by Aoibheann O’Hara), and they all, seemingly, live happily ever after; a bittersweet backdrop to the real tragedy that befell Wilde, which he must have known was coming. I would give anything to have been in the audience watching this play in 1895, the night the news had been broken that the playwright had been arrested.

All in all, an interesting play played with relish by an excellent cast; like a beautifully accomplished portrait of an imperfect subject, showing its best qualities. Pity about the cheap frame.