If your comedy tastes lean towards Blackadder, with a generous helping of The Princess Bride, a dash of The Peasants Are Revolting  and just enough gleeful absurdity to make Monty Python nod in approval, then A Kingdom of Fools is your next theatrical pilgrimage.

You get the distinct impression playwright Ryan Atkins had an outrageous amount of fun writing this flying-cabbage farce. Possibly more fun than the audience, which is saying something. The script is bursting at the seams with old-school slapstick, witty wordplay and perfectly dreadful puns.

Yet beneath all the glorious nonsense lies remarkably disciplined craftsmanship. Comparisons to The Play That Goes Wrong are understandable, but misleading. This isn’t comedy born from theatrical fourth-wall mishap; it’s the gleeful collapse of a medieval tavern where dysfunction is simply the house speciality. Every perfectly timed pratfall, misplaced pisspot, prop and escalating catastrophe is engineered with almost mathematical precision, disguised as spontaneous madcappery. Kudos, to the stage management team and the poor soul on clean-up duty. A properly executed farce should leave the stage looking like a disaster zone. This one went above and beyond.

The cast play off one another with the instincts of seasoned comedians, knowing exactly when to steal the laugh and when to hand it over. Yarno Rohling relishes every ounce of Sir William Drakeford’s dandified bluster. He swaggers around with the self-satisfaction of a moustache-twirling villain—minus the moustache. Think a taller Lord Farquaad. Rohling has an unerring knack for landing a one-liner, tossing off each quip, before charging headlong into his next humiliation.

His side-kick Brendan Atkins is comedy gold as Sir Guy Ashcombe, the least graceful knight ever to squeeze into shining armour. He spends most of the show face down, flat on his back or tangled in spectacular misfortune, defeated by rogue logs and the serving maid’s lusty advances. Atkins’ deadpan delivery is immaculate. The harder he tries to remain dignified, the funnier it gets.

Every pompous noble needs someone to push back, and the underdogs of this tale are impossible not to cheer for. Meredith Welch’s Mildreth rules the tavern with the no-nonsense authority of someone who’s seen every variety of fool stumble through her doors. Amid the building lunacy, Welch never breaks, her bone-dry delivery launching some of the evening’s biggest laughs.

Alex Hutchinson-Smith’s goat-loving Thomas is as earnest as he is wonderfully clueless, the kind of man whose heart is always in the right place, even if his mind occasionally takes the scenic route. He also spends part of the evening without his shirt. Whether that was an inspired rehearsal-room discovery or a contractual obligation, the jury remains out. Either way… thank you. 

Nala Davies is an absolute riot as Ethelfleda, as a serving wench whose greatest ambition is to marry a nobleman and upgrade her postcode. Frankly, I don’t blame her. Career options for women during the plague were somewhat limited. Ethelfleda hilariously mistakes flirtation as a scandalously exposed forehead and what can only be described as the medieval precursor to twerking.

Ryan Atkins wisely casts himself as Alfric because asking another actor to spend half the play lumbering around in stocks would be testing the limits of workplace relations. He leaves a trail of spectacularly timed knockouts in his wake, punctuated by a remarkably convincing chicken impression, a mean right arm and an uncanny ability to weaponise eggs. It’s a masterclass in making the ridiculous look effortless.

As late arrival, Father Godric, Arnold Walsh provides the perfect foil to the village’s escalating absurdity. His increasingly flustered attempts to maintain order are repeatedly undone by events well beyond divine intervention, culminating in a spectacular exit through a window that deserves applause in its own right.

Then there’s Gerd. Lachlan Atkins’ lovable simpleton is Baldrick’s long-lost medieval cousin, armed with boundless enthusiasm and precious few functioning brain cells. Brilliantly, Atkins never chases the joke. Every delayed realisation and gloriously goofy vacant stare lands beautifully. Hopelessly endearing, Gerd is the sort of character you want to take home, give a good scrub and feed a hearty meal.  

In a theatre landscape sometimes obsessed with saying something important, A Kingdom of Fools asks a far better question: why not celebrate the noble art of being gloriously silly? Joyfully anarchic, unabashedly ridiculous and stupidly entertaining, it reminds us that laughter is reason enough to go to the theatre. Just don’t sit in the front row if you have an egg allergy.

A Kingdom of Fools plays at Eternity Playhouse from 16–26 July, and at NIDA Theatres, Space from 26–28 September.

For further details see : https://events.humanitix.com/a-kingdom-of-fools

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P.S. Confession: Reviewing is always satisfying, but I haven’t had this much fun writing one in ages. Ryan Atkins has a lot to answer for.

Because theatre – needs Faith