Words by India Farnham | Production images by Johan Persson & Danny Kaan
Things have changed quite a bit since the ‘80s.
Cassettes and vinyl have been replaced by music streaming services, landline telephones have been replaced by weird touchscreen rectangles and magazines have been replaced by… well, actually, let’s not go there.
But the most important change of all, of course, has been one of attitudes and opinions.
Or at least, that’s the one that’s really troubling a Mr Jim Hacker.
That’s right, our favourite greasy-pole climbing ex-Prime Minister Jim Hacker is back in this single-location, nostalgia-forward play – the long-awaited final chapter of the Yes, Minister story – written by the series’ original co-creator Jonathan Lynn.
Over 45 years since the original TV show took the British public by storm, Jim (played by a delightfully crotchety Simon Rouse) is now 80… erm, something, living at his namesake college at Oxford University, and facing his stickiest situation yet (bar losing track of his glasses, which may or may not be on his head): being cancelled by the college committee.
What for? I hear you cry. Well, nothing much. Just a couple of well-meaning jokes. One about a female professor’s lingerie. And one about immigration. Oh, and one about the British empire being good for India…
So, yeah. Like I said, nothing much. Thankfully, he’s enlisted some help to make sure he retains his role as master of the college and can live out his retirement in peace. Allow me to (re)introduce you.
First, to help with talking to the college, our old friend Sir Humphrey Appleby, played by a fun-loving, silver-tongued Clive Francis, turns up, fresh from the old people’s home but as quick-witted as ever. Eccentric, contrary and prone (still) to vaguely informative rambles, Humphrey is (still) hell-bent on politely undermining Jim (‘Your memoir must have sold loads…oh, here’s a whole box of them!’) and heartily refuting any of his claims to having been a decent Prime Minister. Yeah, I’ve missed him too.
Next, to find the glasses, and to assist with the comfortable retirement plan, is Jim’s care worker (‘Care worker? What, like sex worker?’) first-class English Literature degree holder Sophie. Played with genuine warmth by Princess Donoghue, Sophie’s endless patience does just about enough to convince us she’s happily employed, despite the fact her boss cannot remember her surname, continually tells her to pipe down, and clearly has some outdated opinions about her marriage (‘I’ve got a wife.’/ ‘How very modern of you!’).
With all the action taking place from Jim’s residence in Hacker College – a comfortable, lived-in, open-plan apartment designed brilliantly by Lee Newby – much of the trim two-hour runtime of I’m Sorry Prime Minister is preoccupied with the old chums catching up on the state of British politics today, which, rather depressingly, hasn’t really changed since the two of them were at its fictional forefront. From woke culture to positive discrimination to Brexit (being somehow compared to a boiled egg), Jim and Humphrey’s back-and-forth leaves no stone unturned, interrupted only – and thankfully – by our stoical Sophie, a paragon of modernity, whether she likes it or not, whose gentle corrections continue to steer Jim from further cancellation, whether he likes it or not. It’s a harmonious arrangement.
Despite the old fellas bumbling on, somehow managing (in classic politician style) to say a lot about politics whilst also saying not a lot about anything, what the audience respond most to are I’m Sorry Prime Minister’s insights into ageing. From trains of thought being forgotten mid-sentence, to a jaunty stairlift transporting the men a laughably short distance, Jonathan Lynn presents old age, warts and all, with a contagious fondness. And whilst they might refuse to admit it, Humphrey’s genuine laughs and Jim’s re-energised egotism are immediate indicators that this funny pair are better together. Even Sophie, whose magnetism is very nearly dulled by the script’s tokenism, is eventually allowed her moment to shine.
And that’s that! A final farewell to these iconic British characters. I’d say all’s well that ends well, but Sophie would probably just tell me that phrase is from a work of famous queer literature, so instead, I’ll go for this: goodbye, Prime Minister!
I’m Sorry, Prime Minister is showing at Theatre Royal Bath until 6 June
