It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man who has never read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, nor watched any of its numerous screen adaptations to date (no, not even the 1995 BBC mini-series that propelled Colin ‘wet Mr Darcy’ Firth to fame), may understandably worry about finding himself flummoxed as Bloomshed’s satirical take on Jane Austen’s oft-told story unfolds on the Malthouse stage.
Reader, I married him was not flummoxed. I was enchanted.
And here we pause for an aside, because Bloomshed’s take on Pride and Prejudice, which was originally staged at Darebin Arts Centre in 2025 and praised by ArtsHub in a glowing five-star review, actually unfolds on the Malthouse cake. The stage is dominated by a two-tiered wedding cake (designed by Savanna Wegman) of deliciously exaggerated proportions upon which the cast perform for much – though not all – of the production.
Pride and Prejudice – quick links
Exaggeration and lampooning
One of Melbourne’s leading independent companies, Bloomshed‘s previous productions of established texts such as Animal Farm, Paradise Lost and The Importance of Being Earnest have leaned into the essence of each adaptation while simultaneously exaggerating key narrative or thematic aspects for comedic purposes.
In Bloomshed’s capable hands, the politics, class consciousness (which Austen was already sending up) and rigid gender roles of Pride and Prejudice’s Regency era setting are cleverly and hilariously lampooned.
Here, the reserved and indolent Mr Bennet is played by a wilting Monstera deliciosa, carried about by the wittering Mrs Bennet (a wonderfully committed Emily Carr), who is just as foolish and frivolous as Austen writes her but to a gleefully exaggerated degree. Here, she is the classic embarrassing drunk mum who monopolises the microphone at a ball while trying desperately to auction off her daughters.
Said daughters include the weak-spirited Kitty Bennet (Syd Brisbane, doubling as the sanctimonious clergyman Mr Collins, the ailing Mr Bennet’s only heir), who’s so unpopular she’s eventually sent packing to Australia; middle child Mary Bennet (Lauren Swain), canonically belittled by her mother for her lack of good humour, who here becomes a morbid, murderous lesbian goth; and of course the second-eldest daughter Elizabeth ‘Lizzy’ Bennet, quick-witted and equally quick to judge.
Lizzy is embodied perfectly here by Elizabeth Brennan, whose glares, sideways glances, verve and vibrancy bring Austen’s beloved character to vivid life. Indeed, she’s so perfect an Elizabeth Bennet, one feels she’d be as equally impressive in a more traditional take on the novel.
Enter Mr Darcy
Elizabeth’s romantic, moral and intellectual foil, of course, is Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy (James Jackson), haughty, proud, endearingly awkward (thanks to Jackson’s superlative comic timing) and stinkingly rich. Early in proceedings, Mr Darcy blithely dismisses Lizzy’s concerns over his unfortunate tenants and their lack of a roof; he apparently cares nothing for thatching, though he does know a Thatcher (‘Marvellous woman!’).
As Lizzy comes to know him better, she – and we, the audience – develop a very different but still gleefully exaggerated picture of Mr Darcy, though his preoccupation with property remains – indeed, it’s the central theme of the production, as we’ll soon see.
Austen’s caddish militiaman George Wickham, presented here as a stereotypical fuckboi (beautifully realised by Lauren Swain), is one of the adaptation’s best realised characters. Swain’s strut, as Wickham leaves the stage in an exit extended to a ridiculous degree, is simply marvellous and rightfully received its own round of applause on Monday night.
Dance sequences and sly winks
Exaggeration is the name of the game in this production of Pride and Prejudice. The ludicrously tall top hats, designed by Samantha Hastings and worn by Mr Darcy and his friend and social equal Charles Bingley (the charming John Marc Desengano), bring to mind the sulphurous chimneys of William Blake’s ‘dark Satantic mills’. Many dance routines and physically comic sequences also punctuate proceedings.
Equally exaggerated but painfully slow, in contrast to the production’s more typically madcap pace, is a tea party hosted by Mr Darcy’s overbearing aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh (Desengano again). Here, the laughter is generated by the lack of movement and the scene is beautifully played, as is the production as a whole.
Working collectively, Bloomshed’s members use tension, tonal shifts and physical and verbal comedy skilfully and effectively throughout. John Collopy’s lighting and Justin Gardam’s sound design are equally assured, while the wielding of first one, then two, then three handheld misting sprays by members of the company nods gleefully to the aforementioned ‘wet Mr Darcy’ meme, while doing little to cool the character’s ardour.
Property and propriety
Austen’s central motif of marriage, its complexity and challenges – especially when marrying across class boundaries – is instantly established in the opening scene of Bloomshed’s Pride and Prejudice, in which Elizabeth and Mr Darcy lean tantalisingly close to each another, like a traditional wedding cake-topper. But are they about to kiss, or are they about to devour one another?
Pride and Prejudice is often celebrated as one of the great literary romances, but it is also widely recognised for its insights into the social mores and gender roles of the Regency period. Here, Bloomshed cut to the heart of the novel’s concerns with property by emphasising contemporary concerns.
Intergenerational wealth, grasping landlords, the great Australian dream of a owning a quarter acre block versus the nightmares of Airbnb, the challenges and tensions of renting in a housing crisis and even the uncomfortable truth of living on stolen land – all are referenced and seamlessly blended with Austen’s familiar literary concerns.
I don’t know what Jane Austen herself would make of Bloomshed’s Pride and Prejudice, but I bloody loved it.
