Austentatious has been running for 14 years now, which is no small achievement for an improvised comedy show, particularly one built around such a specific literary flavour. Styled as a “lost” Jane Austen novel, the show is built entirely from scratch, with the cast inventing plot, characters and dialogue live on stage, for better and occasionally for worse.
As we entered the theatre, a violinist was already playing, a simple but effective touch that gently set the scene before a word had been spoken. The evening then began with an extended improvised introduction from a fictional academic, Professor Sam Patton, who had supposedly come to educate us about Jane Austen. What followed was a gloriously straight-faced torrent of utter nonsense: Austen born and raised in Lapland, engaged to Father Christmas, somehow involved in Strictly Come Dancing in the 1800s, and the author of an absurd number of novels. It was confidently ridiculous and immediately won the audience over.
Professor Patton then invited suggestions from the audience for possible titles, with a handful of people offered a microphone to pitch their ideas. After a few options, the cast settled on Four Bennets and a Funeral as the title of the evening’s improvised novel. Somewhat surprisingly, that was the only point in the night where direct audience input was used. While it didn’t dampen the enjoyment in the room, it did feel like a missed opportunity, particularly in a show that could so easily invite the audience in a little more often.
A key feature of Austentatious is its use of a mystery guest performer, who is not announced to the audience in advance. On this particular night, the surprise guest was Stephen Mangan, a reveal that was met with an audible ripple of delight across the theatre. He slotted easily into the ensemble as one of the Bennet brothers, alongside Graham Dickson, and clearly relished the freedom of the format.
Once the story got underway, chaos followed in the best possible way. Characters were named with the clear intention of making each other laugh, the standout being Miss Cockblock, played hilariously by Charlotte Gittins, whose name was later insistently “refined” to the more respectable-sounding “Co-blo”. An elderly woman’s death immediately became a point of contention, with one character grieving sincerely while another insisted she’d spoken to her just that morning. There were six-year-old urchin gang leaders beating people up, a young woman mourning the grandmother she adored, and a steadily escalating tangle of relationships, rivalries and misunderstandings.
Rachel Parris initially appeared as that grieving young woman, before disappearing after a few scenes, possibly due to illness. Amy Cooke-Hodgson stepped into the narrative space she left behind with ease, bringing a different energy and a great sense of fun, and helping to keep the story moving as it threatened to sprawl.
One of the most commanding presences throughout the night was Cariad Lloyd, who carried a huge amount of the narrative weight. Playing a florist who also emerged as a kind of managerial figure within the story, she repeatedly drove the plot forward, grounded the chaos, and gave the evening momentum whenever it began to drift. Her command of the form was striking, and she felt like one of the most confident and experienced improvisers on stage.
Lauren Shearing, meanwhile, popped up in multiple roles across the evening, her comic timing consistently sharp. Whether dropping into a scene briefly or taking on a more substantial character, she made her moments count, often landing laughs with small, well-judged choices rather than sheer volume.
One of the strongest running gags involved how scenes were ended. Any performer not currently on stage could simply walk across it to bring a scene to an abrupt halt. In the second half, this became gleefully ruthless, with scenes sometimes ending just as someone opened their mouth to speak. It was anarchic, playful, and very funny, and you could see the cast actively trying to catch each other out.
Stephen Mangan delivered my favourite line of the night. As the “Cockblock / Co-blo” gag escalated, his perfectly timed response, ‘Low blow, Co-blo,’ landed like a gift, a quick, sharp line that showed exactly why he was such a good fit for the show.
My main reservation with the show, other than wanting much more audience input, came down to structure. I appreciate that this is improvised, and that unpredictability is part of the appeal, but it took a long time for anything resembling a cohesive story to emerge. Personally, I found myself wishing for some semblance of a narrative much earlier on. What eventually formed was a loose kind of murder mystery, though it was never really a mystery for the audience, only for the characters themselves. Some scenes landed brilliantly, others less so, and the hit-and-miss nature of the comedy was generally more hit than miss.
That said, I’m also very aware that I may simply not be the core target audience here. I enjoy Austen adaptations, particularly on screen, but I wouldn’t describe myself as a devoted Austen fan. Everyone I spoke to afterwards, and everyone I overheard leaving the theatre, seemed utterly delighted. If this is your cup of tea, no doubt consumed from a beautiful Royal Doulton china set with hand-painted periwinkles, then you’ll almost certainly have a wonderful time.
So gather your nearest and dearest, your sisters, cousins, or most trusted companions, and make your way to Austentatious post-haste – to do otherwise would be to regret a most unwise refusal.
Austentatious plays at the Vaudeville Theatre on Mondays throughout 2026 while also being on tour.
Book tickets now at austentatiousimpro.com
Words by Nick Barr
