Back in those boring Covid pandemic days, I realised that I’d never read any Gogol, and decided that was a situation that needed rectifying. So I downloaded his short stories onto my Kindle for free, and spent many a happy hour laughing my head off at his hilarious, thoroughly rude observations, pricking the pomposity of the pretentious, and noting how, two hundred years on, his truths live on and nothing much has changed.
I’d seen a production of his The Government Inspector in 2011, and although it was something of a critical success, I wasn’t overly impressed. It was a sloppy show that went for cheap laughs and camped it up over the top, even though it thought itself to be a true smartypants of a production. Surely, Chichester, with a new version directed by Gregory Doran, will do a slicker job of it. I assumed.
This production has gone – largely – for a traditional approach, with a truly 1830s setting, costumes and music. The opening scene shows much promise, with all the officials of the town in a panic because a government inspector is in their midst and they all fear he will root out their corruption, bribe taking and inefficiency, thereby ruining their lovely lives. In true Gogol style, no time is wasted getting to the heart of the play, and it’s performed with urgency and commitment. Good start.
However, then everything just grinds to a complete halt. Whilst the audience is now ready to see this government inspector for themselves, Gogol instead introduces us to the mayor’s wife and daughter, bickering petulantly and tediously about nothing much. And the pace that had been built up in the first scene instantly collapses. It’s not a very funny conversation and it doesn’t get many laughs. By the time the scene is over and we go on to the inn where the Inspector (it isn’t the inspector by the way – it’s a joke of mistaken identity) and his man are staying with no intention of paying for their board and lodging, it’s amazing how little we care about any of them. As the play progresses, we realise how completely unlikeable every character in the story is, and no amount of pomposity-pricking is going to do anything to improve it.
The staging doesn’t help; the opening scene ranges widely over the huge Festival Theatre stage, using every inch available; but the second scene is very static and just takes place on two chairs at the front, and the third scene is crammed into a tiny part of the stage, which literally prevents its characters from breathing. You feel you want to somehow release them from their confinement.
A fool and his money are soon parted, goes the saying, and that is at the heart of the play. Each town officer does his best to bribe Khlestakov, the (non-) inspector, and as that wretch realises what is going on, his requests for money get bigger and bigger. At the end, the entire town has made an idiot of itself, and our anti-hero has sped off, cash in hand, looking for some other sad saps to dupe. It’s a very credible cautionary tale. But this production is most definitely not the sum of its parts. Too much shouting, inadequate use of the stage, some roles bizarrely underplayed whilst others are overplayed, it feels very unbalanced. There’s not enough light and shade, and despite their best efforts you never really get an understanding of the peril that the townspeople face. Individual rounds of applause are reserved for the three musicians who pop up during scene changes, and for an amusing but hardly original design trick of having a little carriage dart all around the stage, depicting the escape of the villainous clerk Khlestakov and his servant Osip. I saw that done in On The Twentieth Century in 1978 – it was mildly amusing then and it’s mildly amusing now.
True to Gogol, the play ends with a final tableau for what feels like at least a minute, daring individual audience members to start the final applause, whilst most of us just sit uncertain and uncomfortable at what we’re seeing. Whilst I admire this faithfulness to the original text, it does put the audience through an ocean of odd reactions and emotions, and you just want to look away!
There are some successful performances – Lloyd Hutchinson is good as the Mayor, a fiery mass of anxiety and overconfidence, and Miltos Yerolemou and Paul Rider work together excellently as Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky, the two minor officials who are almost two parts of the same body. Nick Haverson gives the best performance of all as Osip, the servant, ruthlessly and viciously putting his own interests first, no matter what his master wants.
Sylvestra le Touzel and Laurie Ogden play the mother and daughter looking and sounding like Mrs Slocombe and Liz Truss, which is an alarming visual prospect; for me, their performances never felt credible or, sadly, entertaining. Tom Rosenthal’s Khlestakov is a competent performance but neither larger than life enough to convince us of his importance, nor measly enough to convey truthfully that he is a smalltown clerk.
I’ve never seen a Saturday night Festival theatre audience so empty, and I’m afraid it was even emptier after the interval. The comedy gets lost in the franticness, and this production simply doesn’t work.
Two Disappointing For More!
