A gentle chuckle is never the aim of a great farce. But this rewriting of Flaubert’s 19th-century novel rarely induces a proper belly laugh. With the script bogged down in overly apologetic exposition, it’s never clear whether The Massive Tragedy of Madame Bovary! is making fun of the book, revering it, or trying to find new meaning within it.
Flaubert’s novel of a French countryside doctor and his freedom-seeking wife was touted as a masterpiece of realism. John Nicholson’s play reaches for the opposite, valiantly trying to mine humour from this desperately sad story. The set is hand-drawn in a cartoonish style, the cast speak directly to us and they break character to consider whether anyone in the audience has actually read the book.
Marieke Audsley’s production lacks confidence. Nudges towards playfulness aren’t pushed far enough, nor are the dramaturgical attempts to grapple with the story’s tragic ending. Outside the bizarre framing device of two rat-catchers, here to use up all the arsenic before Madame Bovary can get to it, the majority of the show is little more than a sped-up run through the plot: Emma (Jennifer Kirby) is reluctantly married to the sweet and gormless Charles (Sam Alexander), but eternally trying to escape her current situation by sleeping with any handsome man who crosses her path (all played by Dennis Herdman).
The cast work hard with what they’re given. Kirby is proud and exasperated as Emma, always needing something more. The other three rotate around her, running on and off the stage in an assortment of waistcoats and hats to sort one role from another. Alistair Cope is particularly malleable as a pharmacist turned nun turned sparklingly stroppy cow.
But there is a flatness to the script that robs it of full-bodied comedy. A sense of surprise is lacking throughout, the wordplay is laboured and the physical comedy feels sloppy, so their knowing glances are unearned. The aesthetic comedy is best when they lean into the DIY approach, embracing the creativity that silliness breeds, like drawing a gramophone on a board and the music only playing when the needle appears in chalk. Here is the wit, the timing, the creativity that is missing throughout much of the rest.
At Jermyn Street theatre, London, until 17 December
