The Government Inspector at Chichester Festival Theatre – review

Ukrainian born Nikolai Gogol wrote The Government Inspector nearly 190 years ago. In it, Gogol mercilessly pillories the corruption and ineptitude of governments and mocks the bureaucracy that ensnares societal function. It’s easy to see why Phil Porter has found it relevant and worthwhile adapting it to launch the new Chichester season.

Gregory Doran makes his directorial debut at Chichester with a robustly comic production that leans heavily into the farce of the piece, leaving the satire mostly behind. Porter’s script is rambunctious and rapid, and in the hands of this humorously colloquial company, it largely sounds a treat and is full of genuinely funny lines. As servant to Tom Rosenthal’s Khlestakov, Nick Haverson’s Osip corrects what his master calls “fine living” to simply “twatting about”. It’s not the language of Tsarist Russia that was perhaps intended, but it works terrifically, even within the traditional setting.

The brutish town Mayor along with his officials of local government are tipped off that an undercover inspector is heading their way from St Petersburg. Fearing that the aim is to “crush the traitors from within,” they convince themselves that “Russia would never do that”. There is no subtlety to some of the messaging here! They conspire ever deeper to ensure that the man that they believe is the inspector is left in no doubt as to their good conduct in all things, and when they resort to bribery, it is only that they are the ones that are more used to accepting the bribes than giving them that make them feel so uncomfortable.

Lloyd Hutchinson’s Mayor blusters and bombasts as he steers his conspiratorial partners ever further into deception. Only very briefly does Doran allow the darker underbelly of the play to sneak through as we witness the horrors that the mayor has been inflicting upon the residents of the town. It’s a frustrating glimpse into something more substantial that is never fully realised, however.

Miltos Yerolemou and Paul Rider’s Bobchinsky and Dobchinksky are a Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee pairing of comic underdogs with some fun comedy business, whilst Sylvestra Le Touzel is part Hyacinth Bucket and part Panto Dame as the haughty mayor’s wife Anna, belittling her daughter (Laurie Ogden) at every opportunity.

Rosenthal’s Khlestakov enjoys plenty of physical comedy, particularly as a cackling drunk who is baffled by the actions of those around him. His lofty views of the provinces and the provincial folk within are curbed only by his thoroughly abysmal treatment – “like vermin” – of his manservant, Osip. Haverson squeezes every ounce of comedy from the brow-beaten employee, particularly being the only character to understand what is going on.

The Russian skyline of Francis O’Connor’s rustic stage design is made up of snow-capped bureaucratic turrets that are both buildings and bulging filing cabinets. Some clumsy scene changes are masked by a trio of Russian Cossack musicians who help to set the tone nicely, however.

Momentum drops in the second act and the comedy becomes more laboured as we build to the inevitable crescendo. Doran leaves us with a lingering tableau of inaction at the finale that feels like the final misstep to which the audience isn’t quite sure how to respond. A frustrating end to an evening of both highs and lows.