The Cabinet Minister finds the Menier Chocolate Factory rocking the 1890s like they’re the 2020s, in this frothy dig at the political class. This revival of one of nineteeth-century playwright Arthur Wing Pinero’s lesser-known farces sees a convivially amoral bunch of aristocratic one-percenters face financial ruin after the dodgy-dealings of the Right Hon Sir Julian Twombley – the titular minister and head of their family – come to light. Meanwhile, dressmaker Miss Fanny Lacklustre grabs the chance to exploit Lady Katherine Twombley’s own carelessness when it comes to spending money to blackmail her way up the slippery social ladder.
Nancy Carroll – who is the play’s adapter as well as playing Lady Katherine – knows her Pinero, having acted opposite John Lithgow in the National Theatre’s production of The Magistrate in 2012. Here, she’s trimmed subplots and scenes, while still giving the sizable ensemble cast plenty of one-liners to work with. Under Paul Foster’s reliable direction, they’re all characters lifted straight out of a Punch cartoon. The gaudy excess and posturing of their lives is reflected in the many fake flowers (painted or under glass) and busily vogueish furnishings of set designer Janet Bird’s drawing-room. (Think Boris Johnson’s much-ridiculed redecoration of No 10).
Carroll is also the star turn here. She brings an Edina Monsoon-like AbFab energy and physical comedy to the chaotic Lady Katherine as she watches her life slide away. She’s essentially an awful person, a nouveau riche snob who, like Eddie, lays bare the awfulness of her world. And yet, you can’t help but cheer her every putdown and mad dash to self-preservation.
Among a great supporting cast, standouts include Sara Crowe as Sir Julian’s interfering sister, who turns uncomprehending single-mindedness into a comic art. Dillie Keane (of Fascinating Aida fame) and Matthew Woodyatt are a hilarious double act as the impossibly Scottish matriarch Lady MacPhail and her verbally ungifted son, Sir Colin. Keane stomps around the baffled Twomblys’ home going on about crags and lochs like a crazed one-person tourist board. Nicholas Rowe’s congenially corrupted Sir Julian stands back from all the nonsense.
The satire here is, charitably, broad. Strip away the social hypocrisy, Pinero says, and the moneylenders and blackmailers are basically politicians without a parliament. A modern-day coda in this version doesn’t add anything cleverer. But you don’t turn to farce for nuanced or incisive commentary . What stops this production from being truly great, as funny as some of its lines and scenes are, is the lack of that singular and relentless escalation you find in the best of the genre. In spite of Carroll’s changes, there’s too much going on, too many trifling side-plots, in every way. It doesn’t build to that perfect pinnacle of comedic disaster.
