In Act II Barillon learns the bad news, his unwanted and overexcited bride tries to claim her connubial rights, and her previous husband, lost at sea, turns up with the same idea.
Madame, however, would not dream of such a thing with a man who is officially not her husband. In the final act, three weeks later, an annulment is granted, bringing relief to the four principals (they live in the same house) and the return of Virginie’s young man, who wins her hand. Virginie seems to prefer this arrangement, as far as one can tell – her character, although strong on gaping and blinking, is short on self-assertion.This tiny comic idea is stretched to two and a half hours by repetition (“That is a telegram for you.” “That is a telegram for me?”), postponement (lots of sitting down and getting up again) and distraction. “Tell us your story,” says Barillon to his new wife’s old husband “Omit nothing.” He does. Deborah Norton’s lethargic production is further extended by passages in which everyone runs, jumps, takes a swing at someone else, or shouts: “Don’t shout!”Stalking about, shoulders hunched, Griff Rhys Jones as Barillon seems grim but never serious.

At home with Virginie after the ceremony, not yet knowing about the mistake, he shows his ardour by nibbling the back of her jacket. My memory is not what it used to be, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across this kind of foreplay. Alison Steadman just looks lost, as well she might with an imbecilic part and big-bustled costumes that make her look, in her more active moments, like a buoy in a storm. Not only are Tim Reed’s costumes unattractive and peculiar (Virginie’s Act I dress has what looks like a partly folded nappy hanging down the back), his set is disconcerting. One of the doors of the Paris drawing room opens on to a high balcony, while those on either side give on to the pavement (where the maid, who enters to announce visitors, presumably stands all day).You might be wondering when we will get to the jokes I’ve been trying to prepare you. The worst one in Graeme Garden’s adaptation is: “It’s a drinking song.” “Oh, songs drink, do they?” An average one: “She was a corker.” “She worked in the vineyard?” The best is Barillon’s announcement, when his bride/mother-in-law faints: “Unbuckle her corset – and stand well back!” This joke, however, is spoiled by the inaccurate verb.

Unfamiliarity with ladies’ underwear may be, for the average gentleman, a misfortune; for a farceur, it’s a calamity.To 1 Dec (0113-213 7700). The kerfuffle while we sat waiting for this show was the more surprising since The Place is one of the few theatres in London that give a free programme to every spectator. Yet there was this young woman making her way up the steps providing copies to many people who apparently lacked them, and making a great fuss about it in noisy altercation with a chap on the other side of the hall. These, it appeared, were cast members and Aria Spinta had already begun. Or at least was trying to begin, because when the man pressed a button to start the loudspeakers, the bossy blonde woman started an argument about whether they had agreed to change the order of the music.Then there was another shorter woman saying plaintively that it was her first show, and couldn’t we start? Well, start we did – but did we ever finish? The occasion, you see, was one of those “Let’s put on a show, and let’s do it right here” situations, but hit by more hilarious disasters than you can imagine. There was quite a bit of dancing, but we kept getting interrupted, and not only by the short girl who wanted the others to become jazzier and sexier. The original stocky man was a great victim: the swing on which he made some early entries managed to bind him in its ropes, and the women kept turning on him; at one point they even had him trying to sell us refreshments and T-shirts.His main purpose it seemed was to try to maintain a semblance of order: stopping two of the women from a spontaneous striptease, remonstrating when a second man insisted on announcing his solo in French.