Theatre review: Kate Hamill’s playful Pride and Prejudice adaptation cranks up the wit and chaotic charm
Helped by Kate Besworth’s irreverent sparkle as Lizzy, Gateway Theatre’s adaptation loses the restraint and dives headfirst into Austen’s humour
Pride and Prejudice’s Melissa Oei Merewyn Comeau, and Kate Besworth. Photo by David Cooper
Pride and Prejudice is at the Gateway Theatre to April 26
HAS THERE BEEN A WORSE marriage proposal in literary history than Mr. Darcy’s? He shows up unannounced to see a clueless Elizabeth Bennet, blurts out that he loves her, lists all the reasons why he shouldn’t, insults her family and upbringing, and finally pops the question. A pretty spectacular misfire.
Jane Austen’s novel has been adapted, reimagined, and redressed plenty of times. If your mind automatically goes to Colin Firth’s stiff and dignified Austenian gentleman, gallantly emerging from a lake, or Matthew Macfadyen’s brooding version standing under a rainstorm, know that this production takes a different route. This version, adapted by Kate Hamill, also has Mr. Darcy (played with the right amount of restraint by Chris Walters) dashingly appear in a wet blouse, but only so he can be made to stand on a piece of newspaper to avoid ruining the carpet.
It tracks with Hamill’s take on the whole thing. The humour in Austen’s writing is already sharp, but this adaptation dives headfirst into it. If Austen steeps it like a pot of quietly scalding tea, this one brings it to a full, rattling boil. Every social misstep, every clash of personality and status, is stretched far enough to land a laugh, then held for a beat longer. No one makes it out with their pride unscathed, which feels oddly fitting.
Director Scott Bellis introduces the chaotic charm in full swing. At the centre of it is Lizzy Bennet, played by Kate Besworth, with the irreverent sparkle the role needs. Her quick wit and perceptiveness are there, reminding her more hopeful sisters (in this version, only three) that love is a game. Something with rules, wins, losses, pleasure, and humiliation—something she can’t quite avoid, try as she might.
Bringing that humiliation home—and giving some legitimacy to Mr. Darcy’s blunt remark about Lizzy’s family’s “total lack of propriety”—is Mrs. Bennet. Played by Anita Wittenberg, she’s all volume and single-mindedness. Matchmaking becomes her campaign, lining up her daughters like troops and barking: “Chest, bum, and dulcet tones, no one wants to die alone!” It’s to Wittenberg’s credit that she never wears thin, even when the desperation tips into absurdity.
Opposite her, Mr. Bennet (Greg Armstrong-Morris) stays buried in his newspaper, landing bone-dry one-liners. He also plays Charlotte Lucas, giving Lizzy’s pragmatic friend a clear-eyed presence that cuts through the noise. When Charlotte explains her decision to marry Mr. Collins, it’s delivered with the plain logic of a woman out of options.
Armstrong-Morris’s turn as a bonnet-wearing Charlotte might be used for visual gags but the actor smartly plays it straight; there’s no mockery, just a quiet kind of resignation that holds its ground. Lydia, the youngest and dimmest Bennet sister, played with a lot of energy by Melissa Oei (who later slips into the icy snobbery of Lady Catherine), is all cackles and impulse. But when she runs off with the duplicitous Mr. Wickham at 14 and the consequences settle in, the moment sobers up. In a play this fast and funny, those pauses land.
Other characterizations are broader, like the oily Mr. Collins (Dylan Floyde). There’s Jane, the calm, romantic eldest sister played by Merewyn Comeau, and Mr. Bingley (Rem Murray), basically the human embodiment of a golden retriever. All three actors switch into roles that are the opposite of the first they play, which is part of the fun. Floyde turns into the smooth-talking Wickham. Comeau delivers an unapologetically bizarre take on Lady Catherine’s niece, whose face we never see. And Murray plays the often-overlooked middle sister Mary, getting some of the biggest laughs with just the character’s exaggerated uptight physicality.
The ensemble handles the slapstick, screwball, innuendo-heavy humour so well that Lizzy and Darcy’s slow-burn romance sometimes fades into the background. Part of it is tone: they’re the straightest characters in the show, and the comedy around them is so big and fast it can flatten the emotional buildup. Still, both Besworth and Walters remain the core, even if the script dampens the emotion a little.
Visually, the production matches the tone: bright, ornate, and a little excessive. Sophie Tang’s set is simple but dressed up—heavy drapes, chandeliers, and a few pieces of furniture that get shuffled around as needed. The Bennet household is the busy, boxed-in centre of gravity. That sense of being trapped works, especially in a story where so much unfolds in parlours, bedrooms, and the occasional ballroom. Set and costume changes happen quickly with piano-forte renditions of pop songs playing between scenes, giving the whole thing a wink.
Austen’s ironies usually simmer in the background, but here they’re dragged into the open and turned all the way up. What this adaptation loses in restraint and longing glances it makes up for in a brisk pace and playfulness—making it funnier than it probably has any right to be. 
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