Some of what glisters is gold, even if the glister obscures it. Oscar Wilde's comedies are a case in point. Even when they are marred by false sentiment and poor structure, as is the case with A Woman of No Importance, the dazzling play of surface wit masks a serious underlying purpose. Social hypocrisy, and the sexual double standard, are central Wildean targets, and he is merciless in his attacks on them. If anything he belabours the point overmuch in this play, so that, between the incessantly hammered-home moral point and Lord Illingworth's inability to speak in anything but apophthegms, one is quite tired out by the end. The coup de grace is effected by the insufferable American goody-two-shoes Hester, whom young Gerald Arbuthnot has the unWildean folly to marry (or plan to; perhaps something saves him after the curtain falls) - though if Wilde's imagined Hester was as pleasant to gaze upon as Rachel Stirling is, one could forgive Gerald much. 
      There are plenty of opportunities for fine comic performance in Wilde, and they are taken here, exclusively by the women: Elizabeth Garvie and Prunella Scales ably support Caroline Blakiston and especially Joanne Pearce in this respect, and the latter practically steals the show. Rupert Graves did not quite overcome the monotony of having nothing but bon mots to utter and aristocratic attitudes to strike, but Julian Ovenden as Gerald Arbuthnot is excellent, having by the far the meatiest role, with the widest range of emotion and the deepest feelings to portray. Samantha Bond as his wronged mother is given by Wilde only one string to pluck throughout, and does it bravely enough; but by the end the combination of her moral outrage and Hester's moral righteousness have become insufferable, and the play collapses under the weight of its own good intentions, a result which even this fine cast and director cannot avoid.
AC Grayling