Review: THE GOVERNMENT INSPECTOR, starring Tom Rosenthal

It’s a curious experience, that of being ‘a government inspector’  You’re greeted with a mix of obsequiousness and fear that creates a bubble of power that is seductive and dangerous - at least it was to me. Simple requests like, “Where can I get a cup of coffee?” become loaded with an ethical weight about whether expenses can cover a double cappuccino with oat milk or just the Maxwell House. Answering anything other than “Fine, thank you” to a question about the hotel induces panic that you might be inadvertently soliciting a bigger tab on the room service. And that’s when you’ve got nothing to hide…

In Gogol’s celebrated 1836 satire, the local administrators of a provincial Russian town have plenty to hide: bribery; arbitrary justice; punishment beatings. Kept in-house, far from the eyes of the Tsar’s men in the faraway capital, the grift pays for plenty but also fosters a complacency, a sense that the seat on the gravy train is theirs forever. When rumours emerge that a government inspector is due to visit, all that is threatened. When a St Petersburg man is found to have taken a room for the last two weeks and may already be reporting back, full scale panic sets in as damage limitation mode is activated.

Gregory Doran directs Phil Porter’s new adaptation in the style of a two hour production of Fawlty Towers, indeed John Cleese and Connie Booth leant quite heavily on this play for the plot of The Hotel Inspectors episode, so parallels are inevitable. There’s also plenty of Bertie Wooster in Tom Rosenthal’s Khlestakov, the young man at first bemused by his preferential treatment, but who eventually cottons on to the misapprehension and exploits it to extort roubles from the rubes.

But those inheritors of Gogol’s acid tongue and comic eye only highlight a key issue for the play. Basil was a monster, but he was vulnerable, his snobbish insecurity an inevitable consequence of a society that was set up to thwart the ambitions of the lower middle class. Bertie was foolish, but had no malevolence in his soul and a self-deprecating charm that saw him navigate life with his hat permanently cocked on the side of his head. We can see ourselves in them.  

Nineteenth century Russia was neither Torquay nor Edwardian Mayfair, but it’s hard to laugh at characters so bereft of sympathy. Lloyd Hutchinson is a stock blowhard as The Mayor who orchestrates the skimming, but there’s an audible gasp when a townswoman shows the scars of the public flogging he did not just sanction, but joined in for fun. Khlestakov doesn’t just take money from those who can afford, but also from those who won’t eat as a result, leaving one man to venture home with no shoes - in the snow. Exaggerated immorality crossed a line into gangsterism.

Miltos Yerelmou and Paul Rider channel their inner Chuckle Brothers as the garrulous Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky, but the joke wears thin long before a rare moment of poignancy is introduced. Sylvestra Le Touzel goes for a Mrs Slocombe vibe as the Mayor’s lascivious spouse, but the character is more pantomime dame than neglected wife. And her daughter, Laurie Ogden’s dim Marya, is jilted by Khlestakov, an outcome drained of humour by its inevitability and cruelty. 

Is it too much to ask that regional accents (which make perfect sense in the context of this out-of-the-way, rustic locale) not be used quite so often as the foundation of a laugh line? Your reviewer is not averse to leaning into his own for comic effect, but the unsophisticated Northerner seems to be one of the last stereotypes allowed on stage as a shortcut for comedy characterisation. And this production is by no means the only one to do so.

Of course, all of these gripes fade into the distance if the laughs drown them out, but there just are not enough to sustain the run time, the script short of zingers, the slapstick not as spectacular as one might expect in a big show like this, and the casual cruelty regularly wiping the smile from one’s face. That said, Francis O'Connor’s set lends a handsome period authenticity to the production and Darren Ware does some fine work on wigs, hair and make-up to complement the beautiful costumes. It’s all lovely to look at if not to witness.

There’s a message for our times about the venality of those who govern us and you can spot your favourite contemporary villain in this recreation of 1830s Russia (Trump obviously, Boris Johnson too and there’s a nice jibe at Putin early on delivered with half a raised eyebrow). Comedy is notoriously subjective and that makes reviews more arbitrary in this genre than any other. But if Mark Kermode’s Six Laugh Test is about as objective a measure as one can get, I fell about four short - and I was not alone.  

The Government Inspector at Chichester Festival Theatre until 24 May

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