Review: I’m Sorry, Prime Minister is as funny as original TV sitcom

British politics often feels as absurd as ever, making the arrival of Jonathan Lynn’s final chapter in the Yes, Minister saga seem both timely and overdue.

Direct from a successful West End run, I’m Sorry, Prime Minister arrives at the Theatre Royal Bath to Saturday, June 6 as part of a major UK tour with affection, intelligence and a generous helping of nostalgia for the much-missed 1980s classic TV sitcom.

The years have not been kind to former Prime Minister Jim Hacker. Now Master of Hacker College, at Oxford, he finds himself facing allegations of political incorrectness and a campaign to remove him from office.

Naturally, there is only one man capable of navigating the bureaucratic minefield: the ever-devious Sir Humphrey Appleby. What follows is a battle of wits involving students, academics, lawyers and modern sensibilities, all viewed through the familiar lens of Lynn’s political satire.

Simon Rouse captures Hacker’s mixture of vanity, confusion and misplaced confidence beautifully.

He never attempts an imitation of Paul Eddington, who originally played the TV sitcom role, but instead creates a believable older version of the character, still blundering through life while somehow remaining oddly likeable.

Opposite him, Clive Francis is magnificent as Sir Humphrey. His mastery of the character’s labyrinthine language and bureaucratic double-speak draws some of the evening’s biggest laughs.

Every carefully crafted sentence feels like a comic masterclass in saying absolutely nothing while appearing to say everything.

The chemistry between the two leads remains the production’s greatest strength. Fans of the television series will delight in seeing the familiar relationship revived, complete with Humphrey’s elegant manipulation and Hacker’s perpetual bewilderment. There is a warmth to their exchanges that transcends simple nostalgia.

They are ably supported by Princess Donnough, as a feisty Oxford English graduate Sophie, who has become a care worker – not a ‘carer’ – in order to survive while waiting for something better to come along, and William Chubb as Sir David/Grime Reaper, who delivers the bad news that Hacker is being asked to resign from the role of Master due to indiscreet thoughts uttered publicly that reveal he is ‘out of touch’ with today’s ‘woke’ world.

Lynn’s script cleverly tackles contemporary and topical issues, including the current ‘cancel culture’, generational change and the shifting boundaries of public debate.

At times, these discussions feel slightly more ‘lecturing’ than dramatically-driven, and the play occasionally resembles an extended political debate rather than a tightly-constructed farce, particularly in the second act after the interval.

Yet Lynn’s writing remains consistently witty and often sharply observant, despite the occasional conversational tone. While it may not always match the satirical heights of the original TV series, which ran from 1986-1988, it still delivers plenty of humour.

Director Jonathan Lynn, working alongside Michael Gyngell, keeps the pace brisk, while the production benefits from an attractive study-set design that evokes the comfortable world of Oxford academia. The staging is traditional, allowing the dialogue and performances to take centre stage.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the production is its underlying poignancy. Beneath the jokes lies a meditation on growing old and irrelevant, and the uncomfortable realisation that the world has moved on without them. That theme gives the comedy an unexpected emotional depth.

For devoted followers of Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister, this is a delightful farewell to two of British comedy’s most enduring characters. For newcomers, it remains an entertaining evening of intelligent political humour. Either way, I’m Sorry, Prime Minister proves that while governments may come and go, Sir Humphrey’s gift for obfuscation remains gloriously immortal.