Cue appearances from Winston Churchill, Gordon Brown, David Cameron and, of course, the recently-deceased Maggie Thatcher. Somebody print the T-shirts.

The end result, however, is a mixed bag. For every hilarious scene involving John Major (a superb Paul Ritter) there are four flashback scenes asking us to feel sorry for the poor Richest Woman in the World. This is achieved with a Young Elizabeth, a Scottish Nanny and Nostalgic Reverb. There is also Sad Music, as Elizabeth’s past and present stare wistfully out of the window but have to hide themselves if they spot a commoner. There should be Will & Kate tissues on the armrests.

So when John Major has to deliver the news to Her Majesty that Diana is rising but Windsor is falling, the dramatic tension comes loaded with questions: What’s the point of this monarchy? Why should we pay for Liz to live in luxury but cripple her of the right to state a political opinion or force a PM’s hand? These are questions that are raised but never answered. Or, rather, they’re answered with a glib “Well, somebody’s got to listen to the PMs talk about themselves.” Oh, okay.

Perhaps writer Peter Morgan and director Stephen Daldry were feeling the double-whammy pressure of Windsor and the West End; the need to fill those seats with tourists who’ll run to Piccadilly for a corgi coaster set after Instagramming themselves at Buckingham Palace.

Instead of going through the trouble of giving psychological insight into a postage stamp, why not turn Elizabeth into the funky Queen we’d all like, all zingy one-liners and likely to fall asleep while Cameron’s nattering away? Why not have a servant sneer about an electric heater from John Lewis and portray Harold Wilson as a salt-of-the-earth Northerner who becomes so pally with Liz that he can jibe her about her German roots? A perfectly enjoyable fantasy, particularly when Richard McCabe plays Wilson with so much relish. Hell, throw in some live Corgis and get Mirren to crowdsurf.

Although handsomely staged and well acted all-round, this is a hollow experience. Jokes are made about Tony Blair with no analysis of the only PM ever to change the day of the weekly rendezvous even attempted. Cameron just seems to be there to make references to recent troubles such as Cyprus and the EU (yet any mention of the Queen’s recent £5m payrise is curiously absent).

Whereas The Queen was a focussed and measured portrayal of a figurehead staunchly refusing to sacrifice protocol in favour of public sentiment, The Audience appears to have no idea what to do with itself. What we get is a stage sitcom of sorts, wherein Liz II is a sharp-tongued psychotherapist and her 18th-century chairs are a couch substitute for every mess of a PM to squirm on – or, in Maggie Thatcher’s scene, wax lyrical about why the rights of black South Africans are no reason to lose a few quid.

But what can you expect from a show about a woman no-one truly knows, as free of personality as those Piccadilly coaster sets? Of course, that doesn’t matter. As long as there’s Royalmania, The Audience will keep filling seats.

Performed on Saturday 6 April 2013 at the Gielgud Theatre in London.