Hailed as the final chapter of Yes, Minister—that much loved political satire many of us remember so vividly from the seventies and eighties—I’m Sorry Prime Minister, arrives with a certain weight of expectation. Jonathan Lynn, who co-created and wrote the original TV series, returns to these characters decades later, and there’s something rather touching about seeing Jim Hacker and Sir Humphrey once more stepping into the light. It’s impossible not to give a nod to the original cast: Paul Eddington, Nigel Hawthorne and Derek Fowlds, who defined these roles with such precision and charm. Their legacy lingers over the production like a fond memory.
This time, though, we are far from Whitehall. The action unfolds at Oxford University, where the now elderly ex Prime Minister Jim Hacker—played by Griff Rhys Jones—has effectively set up shop as the ageing Master of the college named after him. Hacker invested heavily in the college to ensure his legacy would outlive him, and Sir Humphrey, ever the master of bureaucratic manoeuvring, helped craft the legal framework that allowed Hacker to remain in post until he chose to retire. Naturally, Hacker never imagined that anyone would dare to challenge his tenure. So, when he suddenly finds himself being pushed out, he reacts exactly as you’d expect from a thwarted politician: with indignation, denial, and a frantic scramble to cling to power.
Now in his eighties, Hacker attempts to gather his old allies to help him resist this unceremonious ousting, only to discover that most of them are, inconveniently, dead. With no one else to turn to, he reluctantly summons Sir Humphrey, whom he now regards as possibly “deranged”—though, in truth, Humphrey seems no more deranged than he ever was. The other person drawn into this farcical rescue mission is Sophie, an Oxford graduate from Hacker College now working as a care worker on a trial placement. She arrives expecting to help with Hacker’s day-to-day needs and instead finds herself entangled in a political melodrama.
The play is not action heavy, but the rapid fire dialogue and sharp wit more than compensate. Clive Francis, as Sir Humphrey, repeatedly delivers long droning monotone monologues with Hacker standing in bemusement —and each one earns a round of applause. Francis has impeccable timing and a deliciously dry delivery; he captures Humphrey’s eccentricity and sly charm with real finesse through his speech and physical actions.
Griff Rhys Jones plays Hacker as a cantankerous old codger, still clinging to his snobbery and his outdated vocabulary. In the modern, socially conscious environment of Oxford, his remarks land with a thud, and Sophie is quick to challenge him. Stephanie Levi John plays Sophie with strength, intelligence and a grounded presence that balances the chaos around her. As a Hacker College graduate, she is well read, articulate and utterly unimpressed by Hacker’s bluster. What begins as a clash of opposites gradually becomes something more interesting: a reluctant partnership in which Hacker realises he depends on her far more than he expected, while she keeps him in order.
William Chubb appears as Sir David, a figure who drifts in like a scholarly Grim Reaper in a dripping black coat, embodying the dreary British weather and the inevitability of institutional change. He plays the straight man with admirable restraint, anchoring the more absurd moments with a seriousness that only heightens the comedy.
Rhys Jones, meanwhile, offers a surprisingly nuanced performance as an unpopular former Prime Minister who has outlived his influence and, in many ways, his relevance. There’s a sadness beneath the bluster—a sense of a man who once held power now reduced to rattling around his own legacy. I found myself imagining what Boris Johnson, David Cameron or Tony Blair might be like in their eighties, and it wasn’t a comforting thought. Rhys Jones seems to understand that discomfort and leans into it.
The audience loved it. Laughter rippled through the theatre throughout, and the ending—no spoilers—was unexpected and oddly poignant. The set design deserves special mention: framed photographs of former Prime Ministers, shelves lined with political biographies (I spotted Tony Blair and Stalin side by side, which felt like its own joke), and a bust of Churchill that becomes increasingly relevant as Hacker waxes lyrical about imperialism. The attention to detail is clever and quietly satirical.
A witty, affectionate and timely production, very much rooted in the 21st century yet still recognisably descended from the Whitehall days of Yes, Minister. A strong cast, a sharp script, and a thoughtful creative team make this a fitting final chapter for characters who have been part of British cultural life for nearly half a century. I won’t tell you the ending, but it is unexpected!
The show runs until 9th May 2026 - https://theapollotheatre.co.uk/tickets/im-sorry-prime-minister/
Reviewer - Penny Curran
On - 12th February 2026
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