Well, children, I hope you’re all well and truly recovered from the week of glowstick- and naivete-fuelled debauchery that was freshers’ week. I jest, of course, and send my commiserations to the freshers, waking up with their first hangover after passing out in their second half of cider. Still, now that the kiddies are out of the way, the grown-ups can get back to the serious drinking.
I hope you’ve all caught the theatre bug (I’m not sure if it’s sexually transmitted or hot-airborne, but either way it’s everywhere).
Now, I’m going to start name-dropping in this column, so for all you freshers out there, I’m going to label them – it I put a * after their name, they’re some thespy loser not worth knowing; if I put a # after their name, they’re very important and fantastic and worth looking out for. You will never see a #.
What’s that cresting the horizon? Is it a bird? A plane? A for the benefit and advancement of humanity? No! It’s a new Oxford Playhouse production. In this case, Charlotte Beynon’s* Royal Hunt of the Sun – not to be confused with Shaffer’s other works about a tiny German soldier trying to stay clean in the trenches of WWI (Soiled Runt of the Hun), or a group of Etonians trying to escape Oxford down the Cherwell (Spoiled Punt on the Run), or [Editors note: You really don’t want to hear this next title. Really]. Apparently it’s not selling all that strongly, as it’s too violent for the old dears that make up the matinee contingent of the Playhouse-goers.
There’re a couple of other shows on this next week: Murder in the Cathedral, which involves singing and the Lesson, which involves an upside down chair. I don’t know enough about them for proper abuse, so I’ll just cover the general basics: they’re awful, everyone involved in them is a wanker and the world would be better if they burned down.
Oh, if you want a laugh, check out the Oxford Theatre Review’s video of the Oxford theatre scene. I’ve never seen so many people be so passionate about a pile of shit since James Corrigan* staged a play in his toilet. When the best acting comes from the panto club (they’re the ones with the lettuce), you know you’re in trouble. Oh, and Alex Jeffries*, after the video, I think you and the Oxford Theatre Scene need to have a talk: it loves you, but it’s not in love with you.