Drama
Everyone knows Guys and Dolls. It's the musical that appears in every sixth form production in the country. So when I heard that Deep Blue Theatre was producing it here in Oxford, I was a touch dubious. It's an easy show to do as everyone knows it, but hard to do well in a manner that isn't just a straight rip-off of the perennial school musical. For those of you still in the dark as to what I'm talking about, Guys and Dolls is a feel-good musical set in 1950s New York. Gambler Nathan Detroit, desperately trying to find a location for his famous crap game, bets high roller Sky Masterson that he cannot take one young Sarah Brown, the head of the failing local mission, to Havana. He loses and what follows is Sky and Sarah's 'will they, won't they?' relationship paralleled by the long-term engagement of Nathan with his fiancée Adelaide, who is much less happy with the lack of wedding ring than he is.
Deep Blue's production differs from the norm as it steers clear of playing up to the obvious jokes that punctuate the play, preferring instead to play it straight, allowing the humour to carry itself. This is an approach that, whilst some purists may disagree, works well for Guys and Dolls. The four leads are really the crux of the entire thing, as this is essentially a play about the male-female relationship. Barry Gibney as Sky treads the fine line between repressed romantic and manipulating heel confidently, without allowing himself to fall into caricature on either side. Opposite him Lucy Page provides a Sarah confused by her own clash of morals and feelings but not overshadowed by Sky's charm. It is Nathan and Adelaide though that provide the real challenge for the show. Chris Heaney is a suitably boyish Nathan trying to juggle his barely controlled life whilst Laura Corcoran has stepped aside from the meek portrayal of Adelaide and embraced the ballsy night-club principal with both arms, making Adelaide's suffering later much more tender to the audience. Behind the principals, the extensive cast of colourful characters is well-captured by a multi-tasking company that manages to really get into the social dynamic that gives the play flavour.
Vocally the cast is very strong. The company numbers are particularly powerful, especially 'Luck Be a Lady' and 'Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat', where the whole cast erupts in well-worked harmony. Dancewise too the show is a success, in particular the HotBox numbers, in which ten or so ladies tease the audience ruthlessly with exciting numbers ("You'll never hear a 'doodle-oodle' like this again!"). Overall the production seems to hold itself up well and is pulled together into a slick performance of a favourite musical. If you want high drama, Guys and Dolls is certainly not for you, but then again I doubt anyone would have thought it would be. If you want a strong enjoyable musical that will leave you whistling tunes for days to come though, book your tickets early.
One of the television highlights of that forgettable decade, the 1990s, was the arrival of a short-lived but iconic drama. It was slick, it was sexy, it was funny. It had coke-snorting, alcoholism, gay sex, office life, bitching - the lot. It was This Life, that story of a group of 20-something lawyers making their first steps in the professional world.
The Head Writer of This Life was Richard Zajdlic, so we expect certain things from him when we watch his play Dogs Barking: a modern, gritty drama, with a focus on relationships and some sharply written dialogue. And that's what we get. But we don't get a lot more - we don't get huge depth, development, or, sadly, anything departing from the most programmatic of plot structures.
Breaking up is hard to do. But the assumption is that it's somehow rather less hard to do for young, childless people. The only thing Neil and Alex have when they split up is a shared flat. Neil goes, Alex gets on with her life and finds a new partner, and all is well. Then Neil comes back and demands his share of the flat again. The stage is set for a Strindbergian battle of the sexes, and though it never reaches those heights there are moments of unsettling repressed violence.
Director Valentina Ceschi is blessed with a talented cast of four. Charlie Covell, fresh from her triumph in Blasted, again shows that she is an actress to watch: focused and intense, she conveys perfectly Alex's indignation, confusion, and then fear. Once again Covell finds herself playing opposite an unpleasant naked man. Jack Merriot plays Neil in a controlled and often threatening performance. When Alex's sister, Vicky (a deliciously glacial Laura Power), appears on the scene, the unrelenting tension is tightened still more.
The problem Ceschi has is that the script isn't strong enough to carry such a sustained portrait of hatred. She shies away from going for an all-guns-blazing sex war, and instead settles for a nasty kitchen sink drama. Just like you get on the telly.
This modernised adaptation of the life and death of Socrates by Amyas Merivale (Balliol) is a succession of scenes from the Four Dialogues by Plato. It opens with the death scene extract from the Phaedo (Plato's account of Socrates' last day in prison). The audience quickly notices that the scenes are not in chronological order, but as Merivale intended, it only adds to the feeling of fatality, which grows throughout the play. Socrates is going to die. His arguments, his knowledge and his pleading will change nothing to the inevitability of his fate.
Merivale took the decision to split Socrates into two actors. Ben Van Der Velde plays an irritating but very human Socrates, whilst alter ego David Botham is the good, wise philosopher. One cannot help feeling that Merivale cast both aptly, as Van Der Velve grins and taunts the jury - the audience - and Botham looks on with the fatherly wisdom universally attributed to the philosopher.
Amyas Merivale himself is in succession Hippias, Gorgias and Euthyphro, portraying their arrogance, blindness and superficiality with some humour. He is well supported in these roles by his groupies (Joseph Fendon and Jack Rutherford).
At times the play is on the verge of becoming a comedy, a parody of the condemnation of philosophy itself. However, the Apology injects a serious note into the play, as Socrates pleads his case, accused by Meletus (played by Thomas Noakes) of corrupting the minds of the Athenian youth.
Was there anyone wiser than Socrates? The Oracle of Delphi thought not. Are we more knowledgeable by admitting that we know strictly nothing of life or death, or is that admitting failure?
This is not a play to see if you've got the meaning of life all mapped out and pinned down. If you do have questions, don't expect to find answers here, expect maybe the truth that there aren't any to be found.
12th Feb 2004