It is no longer interesting, and might never have been, to observe that Australia does – actually – have class stratifications. This fact is something that was, apparently, often denied in the misty past. I can only imagine that those denying it did so in a BBC World accent.

In theory then, Jade Franks’ sharp skewering of the class system should translate perfectly well into the Australian context. And the larger plot points of Eat The Rich (but maybe not me mates x) have enough pop cultural context to be legible to audiences across the pond. Franks grew up in Liverpool and after high school she worked (as the working class must). From her desk in a call centre, she decides she wants to study at Cambridge and, thanks to her capacity for acing schoolwork and some coaching from her make-up artist sister, she flies over the various admission hurdles. Suddenly dropped into the unfamiliar milieu of the wealthy and well-connected at Cambridge, Franks is confronted with questions about identity, privilege, and the need to hide her job as a cleaner from a school administration that bans students from working.

Franks is an excellent and highly charismatic performer. She seamlessly and convincingly transitions between the bit characters that populate Jade’s world and Jade herself. The trio of snickering mean girls called Milly, Tilly, and Jilly appears, somewhat magically, almost as a three-headed monster conjured solely through Franks’ deft physicality. She is also very funny – comfortable and authentic as she presents droll jokes to the audience, and charming as she very occasionally breaks the fourth wall to scold us for not appreciating an inserted Australian-ism enough.

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The scripts zips along through Jade’s attempts at friendship, her first time experiencing attraction to a man with a jumper tied around his shoulders, her overwhelm at juggling pretence, cleaning work, and coursework, and her counselling sessions with a posh lady employed by Cambridge who does little more than spout clichés. Throughout, there are touch points that feel somewhat remote for audiences here in Adelaide. Mostly, these are superficial – a character who is unapologetically “northern”, which we can infer from context clues means they are from a less well-off region, or references to the budget-conscious bakery chain Greggs.

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But there is a bigger understanding gap here too, which is not as easy to close. The dislocation and isolation Jade experiences is profound – the class divide runs far deeper than aesthetics, even though much of its expression in the show is through devices like contrasting Jade’s glittery fake nails with the French tips of her classmates. The true substance of her outsider status is glimpsed best in the deep unfamiliarity of things like formal dinners at the University, where strict ceremony seems purpose-designed to expose and embarrass anyone new to this world.

These are only glimpses though, and it is hard to shake the feeling that the show would be more emotionally affecting with better first-hand cultural understanding. As Australians, we certainly have class divides, but they are not enforced the same was as they are in Britain. We eschew violent adherence to propriety because we’re too busy pretending to be laid back (and seem to prefer to instead dehumanise people through systems like Robodebt).

The result of this subtle cultural mismatch is that Eat The Rich probably feels more light and breezy than it should. I suspect there is deep pain in this show that many Adelaide audiences – who might understandably be ill-equipped to relate to nuanced British social symbols – will not fully parse. But still, it is a highly entertaining and thoughtful enough hour of theatre that hits all the right beats. And it deserves bonus points for a tightly-produced and fun soundtrack peppered with bangers that are recognisable regardless of where you grew up.

Eat The Rich (but maybe not me mates x) is playing at The Studio at Holden Street Theatres February 17 – March 22