A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, at the open air Roman Theatre in Verulamium, is exactly what the title promises, a cheeky riot of mischief and melody served under the open sky.
From the first blast of Stephen Sondheim’s ‘Comedy Tonight’, you feel the show’s intent, pure crowd‑pleasing escapism with just enough wink to stop it sliding into pastiche. The show mashes ancient Roman stock types with vaudevillian snap, a forerunner to Up Pompeii and The Producers, yet here it unfolds against genuine Roman stones, giving the nonsense an oddly epic frame.
Your master of ceremonies is Pseudolus, the slipperiest slave in Rome. Freedom is his holy grail, and he spies a loophole when starry‑eyed Hero, his young master, falls for Philia, the ingénue living next door in a house of courtesans. Philia, alas, has already been sold to swaggering Captain Miles Gloriosus. Pseudolus promises to unite the lovers in exchange for his liberty then spins lie upon lie, planting a fake corpse, coaxing a nervous colleague into drag and mixing a potion from horse sweat and whatever else is handy. It’s slapstick and face with knobs on.
Sondheim’s score is a burlesque soufflé, short, punchy numbers that amplify the silliness rather than drive story. The classic ‘Everybody Ought to Have a Maid’ grows from gentle innuendo to full‑blown bawdy anthem, each reprise bigger and dafter.
It is comedy gold. Pseudolus juggles schemes like flaming torches, tossing asides over his shoulder and improvising topical zingers. He channels the spirit of Frankie Howerd without mimicry, a stand‑up in sandals who makes you complicit in every fib. His foil is Hysterium, a jittery pot of panic. Watching Hysterium impersonate a dead virgin bride in full make‑up while trying not to scream is the kind of finely tuned physical comedy that leaves cheeks aching.
Veteran scene‑stealers fill out the parental roles. Senex is a henpecked husband desperate for one last fling, milking every furtive leer and sheepish retreat. Opposite him is Domina, purple robes swirling, hair stacked like a pastry tower, voice that could shatter amphorae. Her solo ‘That Dirty Old Man’ becomes an operatic roast of her wandering spouse, earning spontaneous applause. Miles Gloriosus arrives flexing imaginary biceps, less Roman war hero more handsome action figure, delivering ‘Bring Me My Bride’ with a booming baritone and a heroic pout.
The Roman Theatre’s ruins are used as base layer, adding three pastel house fronts bristling with doors and balconies and the obligatory statue that collapses in shock at the first naughty joke. The ancient stones glow under the lighting, shifting from amber dusk to jewel‑box night, with comic flashes highlighting every slammed door. The band, tucked into a side portico, keeps tempos tight and punchlines sharper.
Forum’s sexual politics belong to another era. Women are prizes, virgin courtesans an oxymoron, and jokes lean on lusty old men. This revival meets the problem head‑on by exaggerating it until the tropes parody themselves. When Lycus flaunts his “merchandise” the women strike poses so ludicrous it feels like they are in on the gag. When Senex dreams of mischief a door slams on his fantasy. Modern audiences laugh at the absurdity rather than endorse it, and moments of small female triumph land big cheers. It remains bawdy but never bitter, an equal‑opportunity lampoon of ego and desire.
Forum will not change theatre history, Sondheim himself evolved into far richer territory, yet as a live experience it is a masterclass in timing. It reminds you why farce survived millennia, because mockery of pomposity and celebration of cunning underdogs never gets old. And yes, you will likely find yourself mumbling Comedy Tonight at the bus stop, a silly ear‑worm but also a reminder that sometimes joy is a radical act.