is full of doctors who feel up their patients, and vicars who look up girls' skirts. Booby-grabbing is frequently substituted for an actual punchline, and there is a running joke about the "permissive society" that flew right over our head. The older members of the audience (who were all tuxed up for the opening, which TOist loves to see) all seemed to have a good chuckle, so our nonplussed reaction may have been more of a generation gap problem than anything else. It's not that this production has nothing to recommend it; the inexplicable dance sequences are a lark, the lighting is beautiful, and Shiela McCarthy is always a joy to watch. And we certainly don't begrudge Panych his ribald whims, but we can't really help but wonder what CanStage, whose mandate is ostensibly to promote Canadian theatre, is doing with a dated (and misogynistic) British farce, no matter how shiny they've made it.
