Drama
Bewick College is located somewhere in pretty central OX1. By my reckoning it's somewhere between Broad Street and the High. It's a big place with multiple quads, one of which is entirely cubic, and it features some of the finest stonework in Oxford. Don't be surprised if you don't know anyone from Bewick: it seems a pretty insular place. The undergraduates sit around constructing elaborately complex plots to capture the key JCR positions of Welfare Officer and Sports Rep, and the old graduates, back for a Gaudy, seem unhappy that they ever left.
Jem Bloomfield's Bewick Gaudy, deservedly winner of the Cameron Mackintosh Award for New Writing, is set in this claustrophobic world. The idea is daringly simple: old students come back and meet new students. According to the blurb, the play 'pits idealism and nostalgia against the gritty realities of student life: sex, politics, and booze.' Apart from a quibble about whether sex and booze need really be 'gritty', the production falters because it doesn't sufficiently differentiate between the old and the new. Bloomfield's script gives the actors plenty to work with, but director David Cochrane (despite a stylish production) never hardens that boundary.
The undergraduates are ably played by Gus Docx, Alex Painter and Helen Prichard. Painter lacks the necessary flamboyance to play the vain, homosexual Ed, but Docx and Prichard - a classy actress in the making - both get inside their contradictory characters. The graduates, it must be admitted, are a more mixed bag, and the play suffers from undercasting. That said, a thoroughly objectionable Mary Lee Costa entertains as the fading glamour girl Jeanie Patrick, although a seduction scene with Docx ends in one of the most hilariously bad stage kisses I have ever seen.
Despite the uneven quality of the acting and a production in need of an injection of pace, Bewick Gaudy is well worth seeing for its sharp exposé of Oxford life and a script which is by turns lyrical and naturalistic, and strewn with great one-liners: "All you English students were dipsomaniacs in training" is a personal favourite.
I want to end with a plug for the O'Reilly at Keble. In many ways, it's Oxford's best theatre. So put on your hiking boots and fill your thermos, and walk a hundred yards up Parks Road. This week, it will be worth it.
I'm often amused by dramas about divorce. So many of them about these days. It must be symptomatic of 21st century discontent, when one in two couples are likely to untie the knot. We all know the theme - life is mirrored in its ugly, nasty, sick-on-the-kitchen-sink detail. Many times the effort falls flat and we end up with cardboard characters reiterating the same old platitudes about love and the eventual fallout that requires an army of street-sweepers to clear the debris. I've been longing for a meaty play that makes me uncomfortable. Happily, I was squirming in my seat throughout Marianka Swain's Under My Skin, one of the winners of the OUDS New Writing Festival.
Joanna Trollope, mistress of the Aga Saga, once called marriage an outdated institution. And perhaps it is: who in their right mind would subject themselves to emotional roller-coaster rides and physical torture? At least that's what David and Miriam, his American wife, inflict on each other in this two-hander. Matt Williams plays David with almost exaggerated British reserve, making the disappearance of his faux calm as he negotiates with her over the divorce settlement a powerful statement. Miriam's hysterical outbursts cause further damage, and Gray turns in a riveting performance. Her denying him access to Jessica and Will lacerate him, and he retaliates by alternatively beating her up and kissing her. I found this behaviour frighteningly real, to the point that David, City-slicker man broken down, reminded me uncannily of my ex.
If the war of the sexes takes place centre stage, the clash of cultures enters stage right. The moment when both realise their destructive passion is pre-empted by the Transatlantic rift that separates the way they act and think.
What impresses me most is first-year Swain's ability to convey the extent to which one couple's duelling has a domino effect on other people. The portrait would be skewed without allusions to the children and the lawyer, Alan, the latter probably a wealthy man from divorce-case fees. And David's observation that Jessica's transition to her new school "must be difficult" is a gross understatement. I wouldn't be surprised if his daughter failed her end-of-year exams.
Director Emily Levitt's staging is simple and biting. White walls, a coat rack, a table and chairs - the antiseptic antithesis of the cluttered yuppie household.
Under My Skin anticipates the morning-after scenario of love gone wrong. I can think of no better post-Valentine's Day cure. It's explosive and caustic. Just be careful it doesn't burn your insides.
As a concept this is fantastic: Tony Martin (real life burglar slayer), when released from prison, is confronted by the father of Fred Barras (dead burglar) and Brendon Fearon (accomplice who got away), who break into his house and want answers. Answers to what I wasn't sure, but that didn't really matter; the mixed up emotions of blame and guilt of Fred Barras' father (also called Fred) meant he didn't really know either.
Portraying such a well-known figure as Martin - seen by half the nation as a hero and half as a murderer - is certainly not easy. Ned Dalby (who also directed the piece) was spot-on, and his facial mannerisms were eerily reminiscent of someone locked in a cell for the past five years -- unsure of the world, unsure of himself. James Bounds was similarly strong as Tony's friend Malcolm Starr and the scenes between him and Tony were thoroughly authentic and complimented by some great dialogue.
Unfortunately this momentum wasn't maintained throughout, and there were times when much of the interaction was really cliché. Although there are complex issues surrounding the death, it was all a bit obvious and without irony. When it was trying to be an authentic character-driven piece the dialogue wasn't always there to support it.
Fred Barras Senior (James Lee) was portrayed as a hate-filled gypsy, which I rather liked. Although the character was well developed, he did get a bit tiresome towards the end. The other two characters, Brendon (Christopher Chalk) and DS Jones (Cliodha Mcallister), a policewoman assigned to Martin were somewhat weaker, both because of the script and production. The staging could also have been improved, as quite often the blocking felt awkward and forced. Despite this, the production does give some real insight into the events around the death of Fred Barras, and there are some really well crafted performances, but on the whole it wasn't quite there.
19th Feb 2004