Ooh, Betty! The return of Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em proves that some jokes never get old
Those who remember the 1970s can call the decade to mind with any number of phrases – from “Everybody out!” to “Who loves ya, baby?” and “Who knows the secret of the Black Magic box?”. But perhaps the niftiest verbal portal to that now distant era lies in the exclamation “Ooh, Betty!” – or, more simply “Ooh!”. That was, of course, the default utterance of Frank Spencer (Michael Crawford), anti-hero of the sitcom Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em, as he reacted with dumb-founded bafflement and childlike helplessness, while his tolerant wife Betty (Michele Dotrice) looked on.
The role defined, and to some extent confined, Crawford whose fey, blundering embodiment of inadequate masculinity was at once the object of national derision and an inadvertent swipe at a country which itself suddenly looked mishap-prone and ineffectual.The main challenge for a stage adaptation is two-fold: to honour the nostalgic affection in which the sitcom (written by the late Ray Allen, and partly inspired by his own ineptitude) is held; and to supply a decent creative rationale to dispel accusations of tawdry exploitation.
It’s almost impossible to escape Crawford’s imprint on the role of Frank – and doing so is hardly desirable. But just as Adam Jackson-Smith manages to capture the Cleesian mannerisms of Basil Fawlty while achieving a distinct haughty energy in the current West End spin-off of Fawlty Towers, so in this period-faithful staging Sam Denia honours the original performance with due respect for the minutiae of Crawford’s mincing carry-on, while brilliantly bringing his own limber physicality, eliciting something that feels fresh rather than synthetic.
Sure, there’s some disconcerted adjustment as Denia, entering the Spencers’ dilapidated home in that signature beret and trench coat, gives us the familiar high, simpering voice and running commentary of gormless half-laughs. But as soon as his Frank describes a failed magic audition (his latest bid to escape ever-renewed unemployment) – “I’m stood juggling in front of Mr Lockwood, knowing that my balls are misshapen and my wand is smaller than everyone else’s” – restorative, uncomplicated laughter is rolling around the auditorium, and the evening’s away.
In contrast to Cleese’s crowd-pleaser, which splices together episodes seen on TV, this adaptation by Guy Unsworth (first seen in 2018) fuses elements drawn from the series (notably an episode in which Frank learns, with much mental effort, that he’s going to become a father) with its own daft plot about a visiting bank-manager and a TV talent-show crew.
Simple-minded as it is, no one could accuse the venture, ably directed by Joseph O’Malley, of laziness. In its flurry of well-timed slapstick – from exploding lights and collapsing scenery, to doors repeatedly slammed in the face of visitors – the evening is the equal of The Play That Goes Wrong; it achieves the demented logic of a bona fide stage farce.
The antediluvian sexual politics leave Laura Anna-Mead with little to chew on as the meek and mild Betty. Even so, her secondary status rams home the still relatable fact that this woman with a baby on the way already has a fully grown one to contend with.
Until Aug 17. Tickets: 01285 648255; barntheatre.org.uk
