Rowdy, silly and more ham than Christmas: Pride and Prejudice meets Carry On

Sydney Opera House Drama Theatre, July 18, until August 30

Who knew? Jane Austen seems to have been exhumed, forcibly led to the altar, ordered to place her hand on a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and married off to a cross between a Carry On movie and some modern-day piece of music hall. Had she been given a say, I’m sure she’d have demurred – more politely than Lizzie did to Mr Darcy’s initial proposal, but firmly, nonetheless.

Glasgow playwright Isobel McArthur has taken P&P, gutted the original wit, and turned the dialogue into a mishmash of potty jokes, ribaldry and farce, with sight gags galore, and more scope for hamming than Christmas.

It’s also quite funny.

But it’d be funnier still had McArthur not saddled herself with telling the entire story, as the genuine laugh-lines don’t come thick and fast enough to sustain two-and-a-half hours. She needed to be as ruthless with editing the story as she was with editing the original wit.

Though it is quite funny.

In fact, somehow it won a 2022 Olivier Award for Best Comedy, and that production’s director, Simon Harvey, has whipped a local cast into shape.

McArthur’s cute conceit is having no male actors. A cast of just five plays virtually everyone in the novel, plus gossiping servants. Quick-fire (off-stage) costume changes are part of the fun, as is a curious playlist of songs that the cast sings on McArthur’s whim. Darcy, for instance sings I Think I Love You to Lizzy, and elsewhere tunes as diverse as Chapel of Love and Smooth Operator are shoehorned in, whether accompanied by the cast’s own instruments or backing tracks. Eliminating the songs would certainly have shortened the show, but then it wouldn’t have been so silly.

And it is silly – notably when the women wear their white dresses under the jackets that signify Messrs Darcy, Bingley, Collins or Wickham. (In a delightful touch, the unseen Mr Bennett is in a rearward facing leather armchair, with only an open newspaper defining his existence.)

The cast is amply strong for a piece that hardly taxes acting skills, led by the rich voice and presence of Amy Lehpamer in a clutch of roles including Bingley, his awful sister and Charlotte (who’s in love with Lizzy, and becomes hilariously robotic, once married to Collins).

Teo Vergara shines more brightly as Lizzie as the evening wears on, and Zoe Ioannou excels as Darcy and the frightful Mrs Bennett. Kaori Maeda-Judge is suitably sweet as Jane, grotesque as Lady Catherine and gormless as Wickham. Ruby Shannon battles a little to be Mr Collins, meanwhile playing both Lydia and Mary, with a running gag being everyone’s silencing Mary when she’s about sing.

Knowing P&P in advance probably helps – or maybe not, as you want the show to be cleverer and wittier than it is. For more laughs, see The Addams Family. But it is quite funny.

Hayes Theatre, July 14. Until August 9
They’re still creepy and kooky, but they’re also infinitely more of a scream than in the ’60s TV series, of which this 2009 musical is the lovechild. Common to both shows is the centrality of Morticia, on TV played by the lustrous Carolyn Jones, and here by Erika Heynatz in a performance so magnetic you’d follow her to her grave.

Once again, a Hayes show, this time presented by Joshua Robson Productions, and directed with such panache by Julia Robertson, hits the design bullseye. Designer Dann Barber beckons us into a magical black-and-white world, where all elements other than Morticia’s fabulous gowns seem drawn with pencil and chalk; where Shannon Burns’ choreography harmonises with this, so the characters ooze and slink, materialise and dematerialise, with help from Jasmine Rizk’s expert lighting.

Between them, Robertson, Burns and Barber somehow manipulate space and time so the cast of 16 – huge for the Hayes – never seems to crowd the stage, often thanks to the precision in deploying the six-person ensemble (including, miraculously, becoming a chair!), and the prevailing monochrome look.

The story? Really? OK, so four love stories are put to the rack until they sing, whereupon writers Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, with music and lyrics by Andrew Lippa, release them into the fabled land of happiness.