Editorial

The Editing Room:

‘What shall we write our editorial about this week?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Thank God there’s no more Doctor Faustus on this term!’
‘Pass me an eyeball.’*
‘Why doesn’t anyone film Oxford plays anymore?’
‘I can’t believe you’ve never seen Casablanca!’
‘I got bored, Star Trek was on.’
‘STAR TREK!’
‘We should just draw a picture instead.’**

Click here to see the picture

Over The Rainbow
Only Thesps Read
Obey The Revolution
Oh! The Russians
Opposites That Retract
Orchestra Takes Refunds
Objections To Reason
Only Truth. Really?
Old Tripe Rehashed
Obviously Too Retro

*A tasty Halloween chocolate treat.
** Picture by Helena Maratheftis
(nb. not an editor and not responsible for this).

The Real Inspector Hound – Moser Theatre 7.30pm, 1-5 November

Yet again, the ubiquitous Tom Stoppard is brought to the Oxford stage. The Real Inspector Hound by the Worcester College Drama Society offers a stripped down production which director Sarah Markiewicz claims “focuses on the most important thing about Stoppard; namely the language”.

Presenting Stoppard in a fresh and singular way brings its own difficulties which are often accentuated, not only by the ghosts of various successful (or otherwise) past stagings, but also by Stoppard’s own verbal trickiness and self-allusive punning. The Real Inspector Hound doesn’t completely escape the question of ‘why more Stoppard?’ and certainly wins no accolades for originality. Nevertheless it’s an often astute and funny reading of the work which, through its sharp acting performances and no-frills faithfulness to the text, proves worthy and engaging.

In reviewing any competent production of such an inter-textual play, it is difficult not to feel like any criticism has already been pre-empted by the dramatic device of having critics as characters on stage, commentating on the action whilst deriving comedy from journalistic pomposities. In the intimate confines of Wadham’s Moser Theatre, which was chosen specifically to foreground the play’s meta-theatrical concerns, one feels further implicated in the joke, both at the expense of the characters, and at our own expense for succumbing to an expectation of cliches. Matthew Evans and Simon Kantor as the critics, seated only feet away from the stalls, have a tight comic rhythm based on misunderstandings and interruptions. With the patter of cultural allusions, generic in-jokes and nudge-nudge audience complicity all being created (or anticipated) by the characters’ comments, directed or played clumsily it could all become rather smug, yet neither actor succumbs to verbal mugging or over-emphasis.

They ‘ and we through them ‘ witness the unravelling of a spectacular murder mystery, with plot-holes complimented by acting of the most portentously melodramatic sort which turns into a play-ground for an affectionate (if occasionally contrived) skewing of every convention. Eddie Donati as Magnus Muldoon is riotous; playing an anarchic ‘Canadian’ letch, his accent veers from Australian to Irish to Spanish and back again. Both his character and Joanna Keith’s Mrs Drudge – the high pitched gossipy housekeeper ‘ represent Stoppard’s homage to more cartoonish, knockabout humour, thus running the risk of crossing the line separating the gloriously bad from the simply irritating. Tommy Seddon, Jodie Adams and Annabella Lupton, playing a histrionic upper middle class menage-a-trois pull their parts off admirably.

Yet whilst it’s all rather entertaining and it may seem harsh to quibble with a work that’s so competent, the faithfulness to the material works against the production in a sense, as it fails to bring anything significantly new to the table in terms of interpretation, nor does it break the stereotype of a Stoppard hegemony in the drama scene.

Review by Martin Goodhead

Truth or Dare – Keble O’Reilly 7.30pm, 1-5 November

What happens when a group of old university friends encounter each other again in mysterious circumstances after thirty years? As you might expect, old passions resurface, secrets are outed and they remember why they hadn’t organised a reunion before. Perhaps not the most original premise, but Mike Coleman’s new work deals well with complex issues about memory and identity, spoiled only by a Priestley-esque descent into melodrama and supernatural intervention. This entertaining ensemble piece from an accomplished cast has some great one-liners and is worth seeing for its intriguing middle section alone. Ultimately, however, more could have been made of the play’s central preoccupations had a different course been pursued.

Truth or Dare is set over the course of one evening, during which five old university friends (along with the daughter of one) arrive at an old cottage, having received an invitation and unaware that the others would be there. The set is a simple representation of a living/dining room but achieves the rare distinction of using the O’Reilly space well. The theatre has a very large stage proportionate to its size as a venue and productions generally struggle to fill it adequately. The Oxford Theatre Guild also manages to create a realistic and inviting living space by avoiding a problem that persistently dogs student productions: that of appropriating college furniture to supply a production’s props.

Use of the balcony for an alternative bedroom set is effective as we feel that we are getting a slightly sordid glimpse into private affairs. Tony and Robert, once inseparable, have grown into the antitheses of each other. Robert sees Tony as the eternal student who needs to move on; Tony struggles to come to terms with the ultimate sell-out of his idol. On the surface, Ruth and Nikki play the dutiful wives, but it soon becomes apparent that all are to one degree or another unhappy and frustrated, as jokes about cheap lager, unwashed plates and copious amounts of sex and drugs give way to insults and the dredging up of unwanted memories. Stand out perfomances include that of Steve (Steve Wright) as the aging Lothario whose acute perception still succumbs to the temptation of denial and self-justification, and Cathy Oakes as the shrill alcoholic ‘beamer beaver’ (one can’t help but be reminded of Ange in Abigail’s Party, a similar drinks party from hell). However, the cast fail to sustain momentum at moments of crisis and this partly contributes to the unsatisfactory denouement.
The production is at its best during the dinner scene where traditional table etiquette is ignored and sex, politics and religion are the staples of an increasingly drunken conversation. Their reminiscences about their student days are some of the funniest dialogue in the play (although delivery was occasionally disturbed by the odd first-night fluffed line), while their cliched glorification of the swinging sixties is thrown into relief by the voice of the post-hippy generation, Jade.

Through her eyes we see the artificiality of their memories as she shoots down their idealised truisms about the past; after listening to them discourse on Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ and its symbolism of an optimism and hope peculiar to their generation, Jade’s laconic observation that the song was a hit from the seventies raises a laugh but forces them and us to admit that they have ‘collective false memory syndrome’. Robert’s awkward mention of the old joke ‘if you can remember the sixties then you weren’t there’ puts the play’s position squarely; it is an examination of our re-imaginings of the past, and the way we use the past as a tool for self-justification in the present.

In the play’s last scene, after the recriminations and drunken honesty of the dinner, the role of the Maggie, the mysterious housekeeper, is revealed and the play tackles the wider theme of responsibility and consequence. Maggie has brought them together to confront them with their sexual and force them to realise the significance of the actions they lightly dismissed under the blanket of free love. This is the play’s real weakness; it cannot resist spelling out its messages for us. With Jade playing devil’s advocate and the over-consumption of Liebfraumilch leading to hasty words, the reunited friends soon show us their true colours. In due course, the characters’ hypocrisy and ignorant selves emerge organically from their dinner table discussions, which are very well structured. By contrast with the dramatic subtlety of this scene, the eventual catalogue of sexual misdemeanours and bed-hopping seems like overkill.
The tight structure and unobtrusively realistic dialogue keep it highly watchable throughout and it provides thought provoking insight into our manipulation of our own (collective and individual) pasts to justify our present. Comparisons with Priestly’s An Inspector Calls are perhaps inevitable but, that aside, this is a play that demands attention.

Review by Vanessa Garden

The Insect Play – OFS 7.30pm, 1-5 November

The Insect Play has the audience hooked right away. The vibrancy, humour and life which the production emits, coupled with sterling performances all round, make for an hour and a half of innocent fun. Or is it really all that innocent?

In all honesty, a play about insects written by two brothers from communist Czechoslovakia appeared an uninspiring prospect for an evening’s entertainment. The Insect Play, however, has one of the wittiest, most engrossing-yet-simple plots I have seen in a long time. Our first impression is an air of a relaxed summer’s afternoon. The auditorium is decked with foliage and the set resembles something from the Borrowers, an atmosphere aided by the jazz music playing in the background.
The initial flurry of activity on the set therefore quite takes the viewer by surprise. Rowlands’s direction seems closer to choreography at times as the butterflies flit gaily across the set and the Lepidopterist (Tom Cartlidge) and the ‘hero’ of the play, a tramp (Iain Drennan), show the audience that this is going to be far from a quiet walk in the park.

The butterflies in the first act seem to exude life. Their carefree, yet immature and idiotic upper class mannerisms are somehow both repellent and absorbing. The 1920s flirtation and foppery are brought out by the cast in a most convincing manner. Especially impressive is the marvellous ‘orgasmic’ poetry of Felix (Ted Hodgkinson) and Iris (Lucy White). White’s characterisation had the audience plainly charmed throughout the whole of this scene, her girlish immaturity and giggling flirtation capturing the essence of the excesses of the Age of Jazz to a tee.

Yet the whole play isn’t merely upper class snobbery. The dialogue between the overtly working class Mr and Mrs Beetle (Harry Ullman and Charlotte Hayne) works especially well and much of the play hinges upon contrasts and interactions between characters of widely different social backgrounds. Here Rowlands is also able to make the most of the opportunities offered by the multiple entrances and levels in the OFS. Throughout the play, the audience’s attention is cleverly diverted to other parts of the auditorium: in particular the arrival of the ant army is impressive.

Initially The Insect Play appears to be little more than a slightly bizarre play concerning the lives of insects. Yet whilst the upper-class butterflies, the thrifty beetles, the naive crickets and warlike ants were originally drawn from post-war Czechoslovakia, they seem just as applicable to the modern world. The pretentious butterflies seemed to resonate only too well with the Oxford audience! Similarly Laura Jones’s choice of bio-chemical warfare suits for the ant army, nicely updated the gung-ho Americans first envisaged in the context of the Cold War.

The play becomes more and more uncomfortable for the audience to watch as they gradually comprehend that it is in fact humans, indeed facets of themselves, who are being gently derided. Whilst at first Drennan, as the inebriated tramp, appears to be the craziest character on the stage, representing the dregs of human society, by the end the audience is led to appreciate his relative sanity compared to his peers. The philosophical nature of the play is quite overt towards the end and it is a shame that some of the fine poetical monologues which the Tramp delivers were rushed and lost some of their effect. Despite this, the harsh and uncomfortable reality of man’s plight is delivered forcefully, and the message is simple without being patronising.

At the play’s heart is an escalating tension which is well captured by Rowlands. The initial death of a butterfly – ‘snapped up’ by a bird – is followed by further deaths. The lighting used throughout the play is subtle and creative. Colours mirror the moods of characters and a colder edge and more shadows are added as the play reaches its denouement. As a whole, the lighting was unobtrusive yet skilfully executed, providing an appropriate aura for the really rather tragic conclusion.

Don’t fear a night of philosophical ranting, for The Insect Play is subtle in its critique of human activity and human nature. Instead, allow yourself to be whisked away and indulge your imagination in the hilarity of this theatrical Bug’s Life. Slick direction, creative lighting, gorgeous sets and costumes galore, and a fantastic cast provide The Insect Play’s allegorical heart with a perfect context and make it well worth seeing.

Review by Richard Hunt

Counting the Ways, BT 7.30pm, 1-5 November

Engaging from the start, Counting the Ways holds the audience’s attention throughout. The production appears notably professional and polished, and is without doubt an example of the high standards student drama can reach.

Even before the actors had set foot on the stage, the look of the neutral, sparse set was stylish and appealing. The simple, dominantly-beige costumes blended well and provided an appropriate and unassuming backdrop for the varied, and at times suitably ambiguous, dialogue. A pleasing contrast to the monochrome setting was presented by the bright, overtly symbolic roses brought on during the play. However, these innocent looking flowers spelt trouble for actor Sam Thomas. As called for by the script, he bravely ate the head of a rose, which promptly went down the wrong way. The audience was patient as he proceeded to choke in front of their eyes, and Thomas handed the situation with consummate professionalism.

Playing older characters, Poppy Burton-Morgan and Thomas were able to use this challenging script to its best advantage as a showcase for their acting abilities. The dialogue must have looked bland on the page but both actors used excellent intonation and emotion to give a thoughtful interpretation of the work. Special mention must be made of the couple’s fight scene. The pacing of this section was perfect, the anger thoroughly believable, the reconciliation spell-binding.

In the middle of the play an offstage voice abruptly demanded ‘identify yourselves’, whereupon the actors stepped out of character and introduced themselves to the audience. Whilst this idea is certainly novel, and among other things allowed Thomas to excuse his earlier coughing fit, it seemed a glaring anomaly in an otherwise seamless show. The two very skilled actors were forced to destroy the tension they had created and indeed seemed rather apologetic about doing so. To their credit, on returning to the action they succeeded in restoring the lost atmosphere incredibly swiftly, and the audience appeared captivated once more.

The brevity of the Albee’s scenes is challenging to delineate, especially considering some are only one word long. This was achieved partially through the choreography of the piece, and partially by the lighting. Given the size of the theatre, lighting designer Laura Perry does a praiseworthy job. It could not be called ‘subtle’to have a complete blackout between each and every scene, but it was consistent, suitable for the style of the play, and executed faultlessly.

Director Will Robertson, along with his cast and his production team, should be proud of this admirable piece of theatre. The only lamentable aspect of the evening was the pitifully small audience. This play deserves to be seen.

Review by Mary Keniger