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It has been almost 200 years that the political satire of Nikolai Gogol has rebounded on the scene, but it is easy to see why Gregory Doran rekindled it in 2025. Gogol, which was born in Sorochyntsi, in the center of Ukraine, presents us an assortment of officials of the Russian government corrupt by a taxation.
One wonders what the playwright would do from the political scene today. Doran and the translator Phil Porter firmly keep the action at the beginning of the 19th century, allowing contemporary resonances to infiltrate. It is an intelligent decision. But the resulting production, although dotted with pleasant moments and performance, supports somewhat for the effect.
The action takes place in a sleeping provincial turmoil, mentioned in a chocolate box style by the pretty set of Francis O'Connor. A news according to which an infiltrated inspector of Saint Petersburg arrives in town coincides with the arrival of Khlestakov, a mysterious foreigner who fled in a local inn. An inspection seems imminent and, since business as usual for the city involves bribes, blackmail and brutality, the dilapidated crew of civil servants gathered for an emergency meeting is suddenly eager to hide their traces.
The mayor (Lloyd Hutchinson, magnificently pompous and absurd) opts for an offensive charm and rushes towards the inn where Khlestakov – which is in fact an employee and a modest waste – is kidnapped in the squalor, entering the owner's refusal (Nick Haverson). When the mayor comes to Grovel, Khlestakov sees a chance to pluck his nest.
Soon, he corrects it drunk on everyone, pocketing the biggest bribes he can bring together, tending his luck with the mayor's opinion woman (Sylvestra Le Touzel) and the daughter of Browbeen (Laurie Ogden) and the merger of the depleted city dwellers. Tom Rosenthal brings elastic physicality and a beautiful audience relationship to this cheerfully venal and egocentric rascal.
Doran, former artistic director of the RSC, spent decades arguing with the various intrigues eager for Shakespeare, and clearly savor the chance to visit a similar territory in a comic vein. Its production is propelled by manic energy, laid out of slapstick and populated by greatest than life buffoons – there is a particularly pleasant double act of yerolemoumou and Paul Rider as interchangeable Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky interchangeable bobodies.
All this is for good – Gogol is one of many writers who have introduced the criticism of caustic political criticism to stage in the form of the farce. But under the comic frenzy of the play, he tackles shocking cruelty and corruption. We rarely feel the complete bite of this here. There is also an excessive and too cooked feeling of a part of the comedy, as if the cast felt the need to ensure that it is indeed funny, rather than allowing humor to come from a truly felt situation.
The familiar text to wear has superb lines – “I am, in a greater or less important measure, married” – and there are moments of laughter aloud. But compared to, let's say, the recent blisters of Daniel Raggett Accidental death of an anarchistEverything is a bit flat.
★★★ ☆☆
At May 24, cft.org.uk
