Theatre
My friends and I were initially slightly confused about whether Twelve Angry Men had been a film or not. Some of them thought that I was mixing up Twelve Monkeys and A Few Good Men, the others seemed to think it was an action thriller with Bruce Willis. It was, apparently, a very good film starring Henry Fonda. It is a courtroom drama set on a hot 1950's New York summer afternoon. Of the jurors (the twelve angry men), only one thinks that the defendant (a 16 year old ghetto kid accused of killing his father with a switchblade knife) innocent. Gradually, he persuades the others that there is a reasonable doubt of the boy's guilt. Seating the audience in the round, director Jonathan Baggs manages to generate what he described as 'an underlying atmosphere of claustrophobia'. I was initially worried that having the audience on three sides of the juror's table would be perhaps a bit boring, but clever staging means that there is a great sense of immediacy. The audience gets the feeling that they too are sat round the table with the jurors. Juror 8 (Paul Matthews - the original 'not guilty' vote) is superb. With a measured tone and pace in a flawless accent, the logic of his arguments is self-evident. He burns with the passion of the character's convictions. The acting is steady, confident and thoroughly believable. Juror 3 (Ed Teversham) possesses equal fervour, but in the boy's guilt. With a harsher face, delicious Southern drawl of an accent and an almost continuous look of contempt he is a perfect nemesis to Juror 8. A realistic friction, excellent acting and novel production (which seems to work) makes this well worth watching.
Steven Vaughan
Set in the beautiful gardens of Worcester College, this Restoration comedy by William Wycherley is the perfect entertainment for a summer evening in Oxford. Directed by Laura Rowe, The Country Wife recounts the story of notorious rake, Master Horner (Ed Wiseman). Returning from France, he decides to feign impotency as a ploy to be trusted with high society wives. All goes to plan until he meets Mr Pinchwife (Dave Wood) who goes to extreme measures to keep his wife Marjory (Esme Patty-Ford) from the clutches of Horner. More intrigue follows in the mysterious love triangles of Pinchwife's sister. In short, this satirical depiction of seventeenth century "lad culture" is a bawdy comedy, yet at times has something profound to say about the loose morals of the Restoration period. With some excellent characterisations (in particular Alex Runchman as Sparkish), the performance has some very funny and raunchy moments. The actors are apparently relatively inexperienced, but fortunately there is not a wooden-plank to be seen. The fantastic period costumes add to the vivacity of Wycherley's script and the added bonus of a string quartet provides an air of refinement.
The only warning I would provide is that, as with many garden plays, make sure you sit near the front, or you could spend the whole performance straining to hear what is going on. Oh, and bring some insect repellent.....
Zoe Tite
From the title and your knowledge of the playwright (particularly if you happen to know 'Moab is my Washpot') you probably have a fair idea of what this play is about. You would be right - suffice to say Public School satire. What saves this production from potential tawdriness is the extent of audience involvement; simply by entering it you become part of the cast. Despite the temptation I shan't reveal the better tricks they have devised - to do so would be to ruin both your night and theirs - but they are fun. That is all the play is - a remarkably rare quality in Oxford productions. It is a two-man show, the cast directing each other, and both are capable comic actors (again a remarkably rare phenomenon). Nick Gill does need to 'play' his role more; his frequent one-liners and asides requiring either a more varied intonation or a very flat deadpan. This minor flaw is exacerbated somewhat by the deliciously over the top Leander Deeny who is buttock clenchingly good in his parody of the perennial Deputy Head. The lines of the play are slightly telegraphed, caused by an over-familiarity of it's jokes (the play is, literally, a presentation of stereotypes). This does prevent it from being riotously funny but the actors have succeeded in creating an amusing, pleasantly squeamish night that is worth seeing. Unless of course you were, as I suspect of several people I've met here, buggered by your Latin teacher, in which case I should imagine it will all be slightly too traumatic.
Andy Bull
Noel Coward once said of his play : "There's no heart in it. You can't sympathise with any of them." This sentiment is a welcome one in the midst of fifth week blues cliches. Blithe Spirit, which follows the absurd results of a seance held by an eccentric Madame Arcati, is a cheerful parlour comedy perfect for a summer evening. St Edmund Hall's production is elegant and controlled- steering clear from the potential to overplay the farcical events. The witty dialogue and improbable situations are understated, averting any recourse to slapstick. The piece is well cast - Jo Langham provides a dominant presence as Madame Arcati, with her mixture of ludicrous mystic and no-nonsense British dame. The guests at the seance are effective as real but silly characters in an unreal situation, suggesting some of that 'heart' which Coward denies. There are some moments of real pathos - although constantly intermingled with comedy. In places this production is found wanting in terms of variance of pace - the seance scene in particular could have been played out at more leisure. The strongest recommendation for the play, though, lies in the evident enjoyment of the company, whose likeable enthusiasm promises a pleasant evening.
Kate Quine
Every Oxford Student who has imbibed more than three pints of beer has probably dreamt of doing this. The route for my own 'special' walking tour, along with the beermat upon which it was inscribed, was lost somewhere between the King's Arms and Park End. Whilst less than ideal for two decidedly sober journalists from rival papers on an overcast day this has the potential be one of the best days out to be had this term, or not.
As 'organic project' it just depends. Difficult as it can be to sustain improvised banter for 40 minutes (our unwillingness to become involved was at times more excruciating than the attempts of the 'guides' to spar with us) they do actually have the confidence and rapport to pull it off in front of a more responsive audience. Certainly it pricks the pre-exam Oxford atmosphere. Accept that as soon as you join the tour you become part of the production, people will stare at you with contempt, smile and take a photo of them, experience the city from the 'other side' whilst retaining your smug sense of superiority over
any accompanying tourists.
For those whose analytical habits are too deeply ingrained to relax and enjoy being puerile a deeper consideration of the premise raises questions about the validity of history and its application to daily life, and the notion of the 'fame trail' that is so relevant and bewitching in a town as packed with relics and shrines as Oxford.
But don't attend expecting too much of this to come across on the day. In fact don't expect anything on the basis of reviews - the nature of this production makes it impossible to predict. To work as a coherent (or rather gloriously incoherent) and enjoyable production it will require a dynamic chemistry between actors, audience and weather. Pick a sunny day and have a few drinks. Let me know what it's like.
Chloe Morgan
This piece grew out of last term's highly successful production of Baroque by Candlelight. This Dido is, however, more ambitious than its predecessor. The director's rather schizophrenic conception is that it needs to be 'played for laughs', to relieve the unrelenting gloom of the piece. The cast are primarily all singers and their voices are fine, though can hardly fail when supported by Purcell's beautiful score. Here they must also give expression to a great tragic myth. They make a fair attempt, progressing through a set of 'stock moves' in a somewhat self-conscious manner. As a result the piece could not quite lift itself from representation to reality.
The Queen herself is another matter, her sweet and capable voice charged with the emotion of her grief. In the famous Lament her despairing presence, articulated both vocally and visually, fills the stage. The setting itself is stylised and geometric, in keeping with the architectural quality of the music. Dido's performance alone is reason to go and see this.
Sophie Lewis
24th May 2001