When I first saw Pride and Prejudice* (*sort of) back in 2020, it completely upended my expectations of what a literary adaptation could be. As a big fan of Jane Austen’s work, I had long considered the 1995 BBC adaptation—with Jennifer Ehle's radiant Elizabeth and Colin Firth's brooding Darcy—the gold standard. But this irreverent, high-energy reimagining swept in like a breath of fresh air, full of belly laughs and smart subversions. Watching it evolve into a West End hit and scoop the Olivier for Best Comedy seemed totally deserved.
Returning to the show on tour, I felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension—would it still have the same spark five years later? In truth, this staging didn’t knock me sideways in quite the same way as my first encounter, but that has more to do with familiarity than any lack of quality. The wit, creativity and sheer theatrical daring of Isobel McArthur’s adaptation remain intact, and the cast is uniformly excellent.
The conceit is brilliantly meta: five servants, tired of their supporting roles in aristocratic dramas, decide to retell Pride and Prejudice themselves. What unfolds is both a tribute to Austen and a gleeful rebellion against traditional period drama, complete with karaoke numbers, regional accents and breakneck costume changes.
McArthur’s script is sharp and fearless, layering modern slang and swearing over Austen’s structure without losing sight of the novel’s emotional and thematic weight. This is no frock-obsessed heritage piece. Beneath the humour, the show pulses with a clear-eyed understanding of the economic and social constraints facing women—then and now.
Among the production’s smartest choices is the way it handles Mr Bennett: represented not by an actor but an empty, turned-around chair, it’s a wonderfully minimalistic symbol of paternal detachment. And the omission of Kitty Bennett—the most forgettable of the five sisters—is a canny bit of self-awareness. Meanwhile, giving the characters access to a karaoke machine might sound like a gimmick, but it pays off. Elizabeth’s rendition of “You’re So Vain” to Darcy is a comic highlight that also lands emotionally.
Naomi Preston Low brings a fiery, grounded energy to Elizabeth, more working-class warrior than genteel heroine. The cast’s ability to switch personas is part of the fun: Rhianna McGreevy is pitch-perfect as both the fluttering Mrs Bennett and the taciturn Darcy, capturing the desperation of the former and the wounded pride of the latter with equal flair.
Emma Rose Creaner shines in a range of roles, including a delightfully grotesque version of Caroline Bingley and the yearning, sidelined Charlotte—who, in this version, carries a torch for Elizabeth. It’s a fresh take that adds emotional depth without straying too far from the original novel.
Eleanor Kane brings manic delight to Lydia and outright oddness to Mary, though her Mr Collins didn’t quite hit the mark for me. This version leaned into slow-wittedness over sycophancy, and I missed the creepy charm of a truly oleaginous Collins. Still, Kane’s comic instincts are undeniable.
Christine Steel delivers standout turns as the oily Wickham and the gloriously imperious Lady Catherine de Bourgh, proving once again how much this production thrives on actor versatility.
The set design by Ana Inés Jabares-Pita cleverly nods to the Regency era while allowing space for playful invention—none more memorable than Jane crooning Etta James’s classic “At Last” whilst sat on top of a wooden horse.
Imaginatively directed by Isobel McArthur, this production brims with mischief and intelligence. It may not be for the purists, but for anyone open to seeing a classic shaken up, stirred and shouted through a karaoke mic, Pride and Prejudice (sort of) remains a wickedly good time.