It is sometimes a no for Yes, Prime Minister

PM Jim Hacker is locked in a perpetual power struggle with Cabinet Secretary Sir Humphrey Appleby
10 April 2012

Yes, Prime Minister and its forerunner Yes, Minister were among the most beloved sitcoms of the Eighties, and Antony Jay and Jonathan Lynn’s new stage version of their TV hit, directed by Lynn, seems a timely resurrection.

The set-up is familiar: PM Jim Hacker is locked in a perpetual power struggle with devious Cabinet Secretary Sir Humphrey Appleby, and their wranglings reveal the essential duplicity of governmental process and above all the crafty manipulations of civil servants.

But satire gives way here to farce. The plot centres on attempts to secure Britain’s economic future through a deal with oil-rich former Soviet republic Kumranistan. Unfortunately, Kumranistan’s foreign minister, who’s staying at Chequers, has a pretty racy idea of deal-making — "horizontal diplomacy" is one name for it — and soon Hacker’s staff are embroiled in a scandal that involves, among other things, underage prostitutes and global warming.

If this sounds daft, that’s because it is. After a sedate start, plausibility is extravagantly stretched. Fortunately, the jokes come thick and fast. While the targets are largely predictable — greedy bankers, the BBC, the European Union — the writing has a relentless energy.

Jay and Lynn have brought matters right up-to-date: there are quips about coalitions and the perils of a hung Parliament, and nearly all the characters peck away at BlackBerrys.

Henry Goodman’s Sir Humphrey is a prissy mandarin who mixes arch-refinement with unctuous evasiveness. His sidekick Bernard (the excellent Jonathan Slinger) manages the unlikely feat of being both toadlike and hectic. Emily Joyce is nicely poised as the PM’s special adviser.

But it’s David Haig as Hacker who has the best lines, and his adroit timing and nervous vitality impel the production. Haig’s PM is very different from Paul Eddington’s TV incarnation. Brilliantly dyspeptic, he has moments of pop-eyed indignation where he seems rather like a turbocharged Basil Fawlty, ranting about "the health service, schools, all that crap".

What’s disappointing, though, is the lack of subtlety. While it would be impossible not to laugh at the antic set pieces, the play lacks the salty intelligence of The Thick of It, which has become the benchmark for political satire. It’s entertaining, certainly, but its outrageousness feels a bit strenuous.

Until 5 June. Information 01243 781312.

Yes, Prime Minister
Chichester
Chichester

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