AS Harold Wilson once said, in the white heat of a lobby briefing to journalists in 1964, a week is a long time in politics.
As it turns out, it is a long time on a theatre tour too. Both the role of Prime Minister (imminent exit stage left Sir Keir Starmer) and of the former Prime Minister in I’m Sorry, Prime Minister have undergone a change since the tour opened.
Sir Keir resigned on June 22; the next night, Robert Kitson took over from Simon Rouse as Jim Hacker at Cheltenham Everyman, Rouse having had to withdraw from the rest of the itinerary through illness.
Kitson had understudied Griff Rhys Jones in the West End run and York marks his third week of working in tandem with Clive Francis’s Sir Humphrey Appleby: a partnership now well into its comic groove as the blustering Jim and erudite Sir Humphrey joust in familiar point-scoring mode.
Writers Jonathan Lynn and Antony Jay’s beloved BBC political satire, Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister had run between 1980 and 1988, followed by the 2010 play, Yes, Prime Minister.
Robert Kitson: Taking over as Jim Hacker in I’m Sorry, Prime Minister
Now, writer-director Lynn picks up the solo baton for I’m Sorry, Prime Minister, a final chapter that began at The Barn Theatre in 2023 as I’m Sorry, Prime Minister, I Can’t Quite Remember, a title that indicated the vulnerabilities of ageing for the now venerable Hacker and Sir Humphrey.
This is no nostalgia trip for a treasured double act, however, but a freshly crafted comedy as politically sharp as ever in this age of cancel culture, with lessons to be learned by both the former political leader and his Civil Service nemesis, Cabinet Secretary Sir Humphrey.
Kitson’s Jim Hacker is now Lord Hacker, “older, but perhaps not wiser”, befuddled by the modern world, suffering from arthritis, back pain and congestive heart failure, and in need of a carer, as well as a stair lift.
“Care worker,” Princess Donnough’s Sophie corrects him at her interview to take on the role. It will not be his only politically incorrect utterance to meet her disapproval.
Indeed Jim’s indiscreet tongue is in trouble with rather more than former English Literature student Sophie at Hacker College, Oxford, where he is the long-serving Master after the college was set up in his name with a benefactor’s funding.
Princess Donnough’s care worker Sophie in I’m Sorry, Prime Minister. Picture: Danny Kaan
Since being forced to resign as Prime Minister, he has dabbled in journalism, written a book (6,000 sales in the first week, none since), turned up every so often for his attendance allowance and expenses at the House of Lords, but now he faces “the ultimate modern crisis: being cancelled by the college committee after his support of Cecil Rhodes’s statue staying in place, among other pronouncements against the tide of change.
Hostile students and equally hostile Fellows want him to be ousted: a P45 delivered by William Chubb’s gaunt college Visitor, Sir David, arriving in Grim Reaper black hood.
Jim will not go quietly into the night, re-establishing contact with Sir Humphrey, by now consigned to a “home for the elderly deranged” by his daughter-in-law, to draw on his skills of negotiation, eloquent, elaborate obfuscation and love of a Latin phrase.
Francis, reprising the role he first played at the Barn Theatre and then in the West End, is a master of comic timing, exquisite line delivery and tongue-twisting double-speak monologues, yet there are frayed edges to Sir Humphrey’s piercing intelligence and bureaucratic chess play. Immaculate suit, ever-present briefcase, superior air, are all present and correct, but could the first signs of dementia be kicking in as he loses the thread of his thinking in one of his magniloquent obstructive set-pieces.
Jim and Sir Humphrey must not only seek to outmanoeuvre Sir David but also face the modern thinking of Donnough’s formidable, frank and fearless Sophie. As well as politics, the world of education is dissected with a scalpel by Lynn as rising student fees and “offensive” words in literature come under fierce discussion.
Clive Francis’s Sir Humphrey Appleby and Simon Rouse’s Jim Hacker in a publicity shot for I’m Sorry, Prime Minister. Simon had to leave the tour through illness
Lynn has the measure of politics and education alike in the kind of wise, waspish and witty satire now all too rare on the British stage in a play as full of King Lear pathos as comedy, where there is a sadness to Jim and Sir Humphrey, now past their pomp.
Yet the comedy still prevails amid the melancholia, directed so astutely by Lynn and co-director Michael Gyngell in a high-class production where Lee Newby’s set design of Jim’s unkempt college rooms evokes academia, widower loneliness and a political past. Snow dusts the skyline in Leo Flint’s window video projections in a further nod to Jim and Sir Humphrey being in their winter years.
Physical comedy plays its part too, riffing on the ageing of the two protagonists, whether in a mobile-phone-going-off-in-a-pocket joke or the stair lift’s brief turn in the spotlight at the opening to Act Two.
Everything is so well balanced in I’m Sorry, Prime Minister, always giving both sides of the argument, showing the fault lines in Jim and Sir Humphrey alike, culminating in the warmth of the fitting finale – the recognition of the need for supportive friendship – that is genuinely moving.
The Barn Theatre presents I’m Sorry, Prime Minister, Grand Opera House, York, until Saturday; 7.30pm plus 2.30pm Thursday and Saturday matinees. Box office: atgtickets.com/york.
