Playwright Caryl Churchill is probably best known for Top Girls and Serious Money, two 1980s satires that tackled political issues with wit, style and verve. I’m less familiar with 1979’s Cloud 9, which gets a full bells and whistles revival at the National Theatre directed by Dominic Cooke and covers similar themes and then a few more just to make sure nothing is missed out.

The structure comes in two halves, separated by an interval and a century. At the start we encounter pith-helmeted Victorian Clive (Sam Troughton), an outwardly upright colonial administrator and his large family. The emphasis is very much on empire and duty. "We're not in this country to enjoy ourselves” is a theme.

And yet they certainly do their best to enjoy themselves in some surprising ways. Not just tea parties under the blazing sun but sex. Lots of it in lots of places. Harry Bagley (Tom Mothersdale), an explorer who pitches up one day, seems determined to bag everyone, including young son Edward. Different times I guess. 

It is described as farce but it’s a long way from enduring West End farces such as Run For Your Wife which were all the rage when this first opened and the energy is much lower than Oh, Mary! a modern farce with similar fondness for voluminous crinoline. Churchill is using the format to critique power structures, race, gender and repressed desires of the Victorian era that in the end could not be repressed. The casting has women played by men and men played by women. In the original Royal Court production a white actor was cast as randy, rebellious black servant Joshua. Here he is played by a black actor (Eloka Ivo), possibly to avoid controversy. 

The action, set in front of a lush, green forest (designer Miriam Buether) is intermittently funny and features familiar comedy faces Charlotte Ritchie, Ellen Robertson and Rebecca Humphries in the large ensemble, but isn’t quite the bedhopping hoot I was hoping for. In fact the second – ostensibly more serious half – was just as comical in its own way.

After the interval the setting moves to the late 1970s and we are in a park, with actors sitting on ruins – symbols of the collapse of empire? - while plucky audience members also join them onstage. The same characters are now tackling seventies sexual and social attitudes. Women are more empowered, more in control of their lives. Or are they?

While the dialogue is the first half is knowingly anachronistic, with its sprinkling of obscenities, here it’s all orgasm this, masturbation that in keeping with the let-it-all-hang-out times. Gay men can now have casual pick-ups on commuter trains (smaller carriages in them days). Female desire is forefronted. Is this a turning point in feminist history?

Times are clearly changing sartorially too. Charlotte Ritchie’s character wears dungarees, Rebecca Humphries sports a punkier Seditionaries 'boobs' T-shirt at one point. The performance are consistently impressive, with nobody particularly standing out though Sam Troughton certainly shows range, playing both colonial Clive and screaming toddler Cathy.

The female characters are stronger here and the dialogue sharper. The action ends on a positive note. It may be possible after all to live authentic lives openly. I can imagine this going down very well indeed when it first opened. It's still interesting and enjoyable but feels a little more like a historical document of not one but two bygone ages now.

Until January 13. Tickets here.

Pictured: Ellen Robertson (Edward), Charlotte Ritchie (Maud), Sam Troughton (Clive), Stuart Thompson (Betty), Eloka Ivo (Joshua) Rebecca Humphries (Ellen) © Johan Persson

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