"Monstrous Regiment". Pilch

Terry Pratchett wrote 41 Discworld novels. At best (Guards! Guards!) they were brilliantly constructed combinations of Pythonesque humour, satire and tight plotting. At worst (Moving Pictures) they were tortuous plods through parallel cultural references, which the reader simply had to identify, shrug at, and move on, like a later episode of The Simpsons.

I was privileged to meet Pratchett 30 years ago when, as both a TV producer and a fan, I suggested adapting Wyrd Sisters for TV. It came to nothing (although others had better luck). The man himself was curmudgeonly and eccentric, wry and observant, concise and colourful – in every way just like his novels. But I found, while working with him on the adaptation, that the very thing that makes his books so appealing – all the undercutting comments and observational cul-de-sacs – would be hard to translate to screen or stage.

Monstrous Regiment has found the same problem.

It was the 31^st Discworld novel, and its clever title (based on John Knox’s infamous diatribe against female rule) neatly encapsulates the whole thrust of the story: women joining a men’s army – but with a distinctively Pratchett spin. Mulan meets Mort. The comic concept guiding the whole story is that our heroine Polly (Niara Milsap) disguises herself as a man to get into the Borogravian army and find her brother. But she is not the only woman in disguise fighting for her country. In fact, it turns out that virtually her entire platoon, and then its commanding officers, and then the very generals of the army, are all women. Classic Pratchett exaggeration ad absurdam. And if the idea reminds you of the stoning scene in Monty Python’s The Life of Brian (‘Are there any women here?’) then it’s no accident. Pratchett picked through the bones of Python like a battlefield scavenger, polished up what he found, and put it on display.

This production certainly has its heart in the right place. There’s a love of Pratchett knitted through it, and his distinctive humour is given full rein. The idea that all ‘Igors’ are called Igor and behave like Igors (right down to carrying a jar of detached fingers around so that they can say ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’); the running gag about vampires sucking; the comic asides (‘I ate a man’s leg once, but, fair’s fair, he ate mine’): these all nestle in that unmistakeable disc world of silly-clever absurdity. And the audience – stocked, if my eavesdropping ears are anything to go by, with dyed-in-the-wool Pratchnerds – laps them up with glee.

The whole appeal of Pratchett is in these jokey exchanges. In the books they’re delicious. But on stage they pile up. Rather than an integrated part of the dramatic whole, they become a constant ball-and-chain on the forward movement of the plot. Nothing can happen without its assorted witty add-ons. And after a while I was wishing they’d just get on with it. Monstrous Regiment seemed to be taking a monstrously long time.

But this was no illusion. Pratchett’s books are light, quick reads. The Tony Robinson audiobook of Monstrous Regiment takes just five hours to play. But this show – wait for it – is three hours and ten minutes long. That’s longer than most Hamlets. Longer than The Fellowship of the Ring. Longer even than Spartacus. And its sheer length weighs against it. It’s a clown in epic’s clothing, a Marx Brothers sketch trying to outdo Dr Zhivago. As a result, while it captures the lightness of the Discworld tales, it does it relentlessly and endlessly, like a drunk man telling you jokes in a pub. Any one of them is fine. Put together, they’re interminable. In short, it should be shorter.

Individual performances are appealing and funny. Alongside Milsap, Ruben da Costa as Sergeant Jackrum has a self-deflating bark that’s worse than his (her) bite. Jack Garland as Lieutenant Blouse is every inch the public schoolboy with a hidden desire to dress up as his mummy. Paul Becsi has convincing Transylvanian charm as the vampire Maledict. And Fiona Doxas is extraordinary in a variety of macabre roles from cannibal to washerwoman.

On the day that the Reform Party announced its intention to repeal the Equality Act, a play about gender parity feels more relevant than it did yesterday. And there are true (and unexpected) glimpses of stirring power in Monstrous Regiment – especially when each of the women stands up to volunteer to attack the Keep. It’s a moment that brings to mind the scene in Captain Marvel when all the little girls who have been beaten down by male dominion stand to fight back.

But the staging hampers rather than enables these actors to shine. Scene after scene begins and ends with a tedious procession of people walking on and off the stage, making tiny adjustments to the (minimal) scenery, rather than helping the action flow. Speeches often have longueurs between them, as if characters are waiting for their turn to speak, rather than talking to each other. The whole show feels cocooned in a kind of respectful silence, as if it’s being performed in a library rather than the Pilch. Sound effects are few and far between: the occasional explosion or clatter of hooves. But then nothing. Without an elaborate set, sound design could have helped bring this show to life. But it’s intermittent and, consequently, ineffective. The set too is slightly bizarre. It has the odd key prop, like a portrait of the Borogravian deity-cum-dowager The Duchess, but little else. And then it suddenly produces a remarkably detailed outdoor cooking station, with artificial flames, pot and wooden frame. No one eats from it. And nothing else appears to signify ‘military campsite’. The overall impression is of a scattergun approach to stagecraft.

As Lieutenant Blouse says, ‘It all comes down to thespian ability’. If you love Discworld, this production is an indulgent, whole-evening treat. But the harsh truth is, it’s more about affection for Terry Pratchett than instinct for theatre.