Sir Humphrey Still Dazzles, But the Script Lets Him Down
There is a particular pleasure in watching politicians squirm, and few writers have wrung more comedy from it than Jonathan Lynn. More than four decades after Yes, Minister first taught the nation how Whitehall really works, Lynn has brought Jim Hacker and Sir Humphrey Appleby back for one last bow. I’m Sorry, Prime Minister, which arrives at Theatre Royal Brighton this week, is billed as their final chapter. It is warm, often very funny, and just a little too gentle for its own good.
Time has not been kind to either man. Hacker (Simon Rouse) is no longer prime minister but master of Hacker College, Oxford, and his comfortable retirement is under threat. A few ill-judged, politically incorrect remarks have left him facing eviction by his own college committee. Resentful, weary and quietly panicking, he calls on the one man who can either save him or thoroughly confuse the situation. That man is his old adversary Sir Humphrey (Clive Francis), now unceremoniously parked in a care home for the “elderly deranged” by his own son.
Lee Newby’s set is the first thing to admire, and it does a great deal of quiet storytelling. Hacker’s world is a snug, cluttered, book-lined study, with tall windows that frame a glimpse of Oxford spires and the slow turn of the seasons outside. A stairlift sits in the corner, a small and rather touching reminder of how far these two have fallen. It tells you everything about Hacker’s shrunken horizons before he says a word.
The old engine of the series was the duel between naked political ambition and labyrinthine civil service obstruction. Much of that has gone. Hacker is now a relic, and Humphrey a diminished one, so Lynn hands the energy to a new character. Sophie, Hacker’s care worker, is played with real poise by Princess Donnough, and she becomes the voice of a modern world these men no longer recognise. When she gently corrects their more antique opinions, the comedy is at its sharpest.
This is also where the play wobbles. Watching two rigid old men have their certainties challenged is genuinely satisfying. But at times the script strays close to lecturing, and you can feel it reaching for a lesson rather than a laugh. Lynn is too good a writer to preach, yet here he occasionally does.
The performances carry it through. Rouse gives us a Hacker who is vain and baffled in all the right ways, with just enough wounded vulnerability underneath to keep us on his side. Francis is the real draw. His Sir Humphrey remains a master of the endless, elegant sentence, the kind that begins by promising clarity and ends by burying the point entirely. His finest verbal contortions drew spontaneous applause, and rightly so.
What lets them down is the writing around them. The script feels underpowered, lacking the ruthless precision that made the television series such a joy. You find yourself missing the original cast, given a fond and well-earned tribute at the curtain call. Even so, an evening in the company of Hacker and Humphrey is still an evening well spent. A sharper, more nuanced script would simply have sent them off in greater style. If you love these characters, go anyway. Just do not expect the old bite.
The Brighton connection
For Brighton audiences, this is a rare chance to catch a polished national tour on its way through the city, and Theatre Royal Brighton remains the natural home for exactly this kind of well-made, nostalgic comedy. The show runs until Saturday 18 July, and the audience I joined on New Road lapped it up, laughter and all. If you grew up on Yes, Minister, or simply enjoy watching clever men outfox themselves, it is worth the trip into town.
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