A botched suicide, a love triangle, a single room, a single day: the makings of a great play. Wikipedia tells me that The Deep Blue Sea was praised for its deeper and more complex view of life (citation needed) but it does seem, in comparison to the other Rattigan play that Oxford has seen this term (After the Dance) that there is less humour and less decadence. Instead, it is more of a “Vim under the sink, two bars on the fire” sort of scene, full of empty lives and 1950s drudge.

 Hester, previously married to high-court judge William, is now in love with Freddie who drinks too much and used to be a pilot (cause and effect). Feeling rejected by Freddie, she tries to kill herself and fails. On stage there is a gas fire, a sofa, a drinks cabinet – nothing too lavish, because this play is about the script and it is about the characters written into the script. When Freddie, played by Alex Stutt, strides on stage much about his character is clear. He is energetic, his body movements and facial features are slightly exaggerated and he fits the role of an enthusiastic RAF pilot very well. This is matched by the way he speaks – quickly and with a buzz of boyishness. He is meant to have been drinking throughout the play so that, in the middle, his confrontation with Hester is fierce and full of emotion; quite rightly, I think, he plays down the drunken aspect to focus on this emotion, so there is no slurred speech or staggering around the stage and, as a result, there is less opportunity for bad acting.

 Sophie Ablett as Hester is quieter in comparison. But I cannot quite work out her character. At the beginning of the play she does not quite convince me that what is going on inside is the turmoil of a suicidal mind. She is devoted to Freddie but it is in her scenes with William (Jack Light) that she is more sincere. The interaction between Light and Ablett is great, it is natural and it is actually, despite the uncomfortable subject matter (her suicide attempt, her fragile state of mind), more comfortable. Light is quiet, calm, caring – his soft voice and excellent posture counteract Ablett’s skittishness and frailty very well.

So many plays rely on the characters getting drunk – probably to provide a change in tone and to alter the personalities of the characters. Actors deal with this in a variety of ways, from the sublime to the ridiculous. This lies somewhere in between. It is understated which, for a small BT audience, is a good thing. If Hester can squeeze out a little more emotion then this production is going to be excellent. A bit of spit, a bit of polish and the play will be what it needs to be: a reflection on love, on the way we express it and how we, all of us, need it.

FOUR STARS

Mathematics is a tricky subject.  This is especially true of the theatre: there just aren’t that many good plays about the art of numbers, or algebra, or geometry, or, for that matter, proofs.  David Auburn’s Pulitzer winning piece breaks that record though; my every impression was of a superb and moving play, every inch of it brought to life by a near flawless cast and production team.

Much of the play’s strength is down to its small cast; Jared Fortune is superb as Robert, the mathematics professor who descends into lunacy – unusually for a student production, the age of the character is played fantastically well.  Fortune comes across as very much the firm but caring father, a characterisation that that becomes increasingly emotional as we see him lose his grip on reality.  Millie Chapman, as Robert’s daughter Catherine, is equally accomplished.  The play opens after her father’s death, and watching her haunted by visions of her father, following him towards madness, desperately trying to reconstruct his work.

Set on the back porch of a house near the University of Chicago, this is a play very much tied to its place – the script drips with Americanisms, and the cast have each perfected (to my ear at least) an Illinois accent, which goes a long way towards the immersive experience on off.  The set is just as impressive as the actors; the fully reconstructed back wall of a suburban house, the wooden porch and the unkempt garden make for a stunning sense of place: you can genuinely watch this play and forget where you are.

Don’t let the mathematical theme of the play put you off going; though there is the obligatory joke about the ‘imaginary number’ the band plays, the debates over mathematics are only the backdrop to a simply incredible play about trust, love and dealing with loss, brilliantly realised by a stellar cast.  A must see. 

It’s not often that you’re given the chance to conduct and direct the first public performance of a contemporary opera. So when the possibility of staging Jonathan Dove’s Seven Angels appeared, I jumped at the chance.

However, this isn’t opera as you might typically imagine. With a tiny cast of two singers (with harp accompaniment) and merely 30 minutes in length, this is an intense and intimate experience. Tracing the parallels between the lives of the Renaissance painter Piero della Francesca and Jesus Christ, the opera is divided into seven short scenes (most of which reference a particular painting by Piero of key events in Christ’s life). The scenes are comprised of a dialogue between Piero and an Angel figure (who takes an ambiguous role, encompassing the roles of muse and the Madonna). The Univ Chapel has proved a brilliant space in which to stage the opera, with the tableau ideas springing to life in this religious setting.

It is being paired with and preceded by Judith Weir’s The Consolations of Scholarship. If Seven Angels seems against the grain, then the Weir will definitely come as a shock! Although similarly concise in length, it’s entirely different in scope. Set in 13th century China, the performance includes supernatural dogs, hanging jackets, games of chess and Chinese goddesses. The multiple characters involved in the plot are all played by just one soprano, creating an entertaining (and impressive) theatrical experience

So, if you’re looking to try something different, head to the Univ Chapel. You definitely won’t regret it. 

Bearing an uncanny resemblance to Nick Grimshaw, lead vocalist Dan Smith of Bastille launches the neo-synth pop quartet’s headline gig at Oxford’s Jericho Tavern with full-throttled aplomb. The thunderous piano chords of ‘Icarus’ ricochet off the walls of the intimate venue, while Smith’s bouts of frenetic drumming provide a sublime fury in an evening which sees an up-and-coming band deliver a near stadium-quality performance.

Though it’s only their second visit to Oxford, Bastille have already amassed a cult following of dedicated fans, some feat for a band yet to release their debut album. Named after Bastille Day, the day on which lead singer Dan Smith was born, Bastille has flourished from the meagre roots of a struggling south London musician, to the formation of a fully functioning band, a far cry from Dan’s musical origins of writing music in his bedroom. Regardless of their success up to this point, lead singer Dan Smith still writes and produces his own music. The creation of the band has not altered the integrity of his musical synthesis, which is mirrored in the intensity of his live performance.

Smith’s musical influences range from Bon Iver to artists like Kanye West. Whilst iTunes terms his music ‘alternative’, Smith prefers to regard his musical offering as pop music with ‘integrity and depth’, a breath of fresh air in a pop music market saturated with lyrics dealing with insalubrious issues of debauchery and clubs. Without any pretentious effort to actively create ‘independent’ music, his music seems to reject categorisation. Smith’s conscious decision to create an album with a highly varied sound – from the evasively eerie ‘Overjoyed’ to the rhythm-driven ‘Icarus’ – allows Bastille to escape a uniform tone. On being asked who the implicit second person address in his songs refers to, Dan replies coyly that ‘it could be anyone, or even myself’. This modesty can be seen in the creation of his videos, which he states he does not want to feature in. Bastille prove to be a refreshing break from musicians in pursuit of fame, letting the music purely speak for itself.

Bastille’s much anticipated debut album, which is set to be released in September, will feature a mix of sweeping epic choruses, ethereal pervasive echoes, and stripped back vocal tracks, according to Dan. Expectations are clearly high for a singer brave enough to channel an array of sound types, and who has been given the chance to record at Abbey road studios. But if September seems too far away, there will be plenty of opportunity to see them live in the upcoming months.

The experience is certainly recommended. An irresistible dynamo of energy, Smith launches himself into the crowd (admittedly given the size of the Jericho, this isn’t an ambitious endeavour) to perform an encore of ‘Flaws’. With vocals slipping somewhat in the mass of bodies (and let’s not forget, outstretched hands lead to dangerous eye-gouging territory) the rendition is nevertheless carried by Smith’s forceful presence and the band’s well executed electronic basslines. All things point to a triumphant performance by a band surely on the cusp of bigger things.

Age? If thought dubstep was the latest thing to hit the electronic music scene you’d be surprised, post-dubstep has emerged as dubstep has split into ‘bro-step’, epitomised by Skrillex, and a slightly less well defined ‘post-dubstep’.

What does ‘post-dubstep’ actually mean? Nobody’s really sure; in fact the only thing that people can agree on is what it isn’t. It’s not dubstep, grime or house, although these all have influences in the scene.  The music is about 130 bpm and also goes by the name of ‘future garage’.

If nobody knows what it is, can it actually be a scene? While it may not be a specific genre there is close interaction between the artists and a free-flow of ideas.  Its components are nothing new: R&B-esque samples, dubstep bass, cut up vocals and a flavour of house but together they make something both new and, most important, incredibly listenable, mixing nostalgia with innovation.

This sounds confusing, just where am I meant to listen to this? Post-dubstep really does range. Artists like James Blake and Mount Kimbie can soundtrack a late-night essay crisis or intensive library revision while Joy Orbison or Pariah wouldn’t feel out of place being played at one of BabyLove’s edgier nights.

For a brief introduction to the genre, that attempts at least to encapsulate the wide range of what it offers, click here.

Dark Sky – Leave

Carnival – Carnival

Fantastic Mr. Fox – Sketches

Gil Scott-Heron & Jamie xx – NY Is Killing Me

Joy Orbison – Sicko Cell

Mount Kimbie – Maybes

Pariah – Detroit Falls

Phaeleh – Afterglow (feat. Soundmouse)

SBTRKT – Hold On

James Blake – CMYK

Who now?

The quintessential establishment man, who wrote a series of plays criticising the very thing he   was  perceived as being a part of. He  was more or less forgotten until the early noughties, when everyone realised that his plays are actually really, really good.

Goodness gracious. Of what lineage?

As you might expect, Terry was an Oxford man. An alumnus of Trinity College, his Oxford dramatic career began poorly when OUDS rejected his first play as ‘crass’.  He then played a walk-on part in Romeo and Juliet, where he managed to fluff his line every night of the performance. Not the most auspicious start to a career.

Cripes. Where to from there?

The dizzying heights of Cherwell. Rattigan went on to hold the august honour of being  Cherwell Stage  Editor, where he was legendary for the scathing, bitter reviews which failed playwrights specialise in (this isn’t meta, honest).

How do I bring him up at parties?

Depends how uncomfortable the gathering is. Rattigan does a great line in repressed emotions and domestic oppression, while struggling with his own homosexuality.

Catch your interest? Rat these out:

After the Dance

The Deep Blue Sea 

The Winslow Boy

The American accents are patchy,  the singing is occasionally downright excruciating, and there’s an extended sequence that is almost certainly racist. This is not a perfect production.

That said, it’s probably the most fun you’re likely to have in Oxford this weekend (without going to Camera, or taking off all your clothes). If you’re the kind of humourless git who sees men in sailor suits wiggling their hips as ‘a bit out of the box’, this is unlikely to be your cup of tea. However, if you’re even remotely open to being won over by a charming (if somewhat shambolic) rendition of a highly implausible 1930s-themed musical, then prepare to be impressed.  And it’s set on a boat!

Staggering as this may appear to the uninitiated, Oxford theatre types have a slight tendency to take themselves rather seriously: the Pembroke musical ‘gang’ have unusually high levels of self-awareness, lending itself well to a production that is consciously ridiculous, almost outrageously camp, and one of the most fun things I’ve seen in absolutely ages.

Anything Goes would not work half as well were it not for the fact that the cast are, on balance, really rather good. Special mention is necessary for Elizabeth Biddle’s powerful set of lungs, impressive synchronisation from the sailors, and Nick Hilton, who makes a wonderfully convincing inebriate.

Everyone is to be commended for giving this their absolute all. They sing, they dance, they act – it’s a riot. Choreography is strong, singing has gusto where it lacks natural talent, the captain is good-looking – there’s almost nothing not to like. Go, definitely. 

FIVE STARS

The plays of Rattigan, each one of them a masterpiece in social drama, are woefully underperformed, and this production of After the Dance means to correct that.  The play suits the cast perfectly: it is a story of hedonistic ‘bright young things’, who have failed to grow up in the world  they  live  in.    The impressive cast has little trouble pulling that off – their portrayals of the various upper-class idlers turn them into some of the most odious, dislikeable people imaginable: think something like the cast of Made in Chelsea in 1939. Such exaggerated performances do come at the small cost of a reduced sense of naturalism for some of the cast, and a few supporting performances seem more like the caricature of an archetype.

Some of the cast, however, execute their parts perfectly – Jordan Waller, playing David, is an excellent example.  The division between the lethargic older generation and the proper, younger one manifests itself as a division of class rather than of age, but still comes across well, and on occasion can be quite funny.  The production, therefore, looks on the whole to be an overwhelmingly competent one – a set of truly excellent performances which together bring a greatly emotional play to life. 

There is, however, one small aspect which struck me as a glaring flaw.  The part of Helen (Jessica Norman)is the only role for which detailed characterisation is not provided by the author – as a result, the director Becca Kinder has chosen to leave her ‘ambiguous’.  As interesting a concept as this is, on stage it never quite works.  She seems like a petulant child one moment, a caring fiancée the next, a prim housewife the moment after.  None of this is the fault of Miss Norman, who comes across as a superb actress – she just doesn’t quite seem to know what she’s meant to be doing.  As noble as such a dramatic experiment is, the play would gain volumes from one of its central female characters having a little more direction. I saw only the first of four acts, and it is quite possible that later scenes will vindicate Kinder’s choice. 

Nevertheless, this flaw isn’t quite enough to put me off wanting to see the rest of the play – at its best it will entertain spectacularly.

FOUR STARS

Though some may call me a philistine, I feel compelled to say that this play was inappropriate for the occasion, and not because it is set at Christmas time; Brasenose Arts’ Festival, a May evening (granted the elements were in opposition, for which I thoroughly laud the actors) and an outside performance, for me, do not conjure a suitable setting for an Ibsen.  An intimate theatre with proscenium arches, red velvet stalls and wall lamps, in my opinion, are the features needed to recreate the stifling, cooped-up atmosphere presented in his plays.  Whether it was an attempt at self-aggrandisement or an unawareness of what the audience wants (an absolute must when choosing a play), I don’t think it was a wise choice and further frustration was met with a lengthy third act that was nearly as long as the first two.    

But, that is not to say that I did not enjoy it.  On the contrary, I was immediately struck by the set which offered a realistic impression of a middle-class household; little details such as a pocket-watch, a hand-mirror and other such items you might come across in Priestley’s ‘An English Journey’ coloured the space for both actors and audience alike.  (I wonder how many pedants are going to attack that sentence).  Though I normally would have omitted a reference to disasters on set considering them trivial, the falling of the Christmas tree was handled superbly and very convincingly, showing a command of the stage and theatrical competence not often seen in student theatre.

Nora (Heliotis) was strong from the outset, managing her psychological changes throughout marvellously; the lost, cold stare when the anagnorisis has just hit, thoroughly haunting, was in brilliant juxtaposition to the ‘childish’ incompetence, made apparent by her patronising husband.  Whatever she was feeling, ‘wurry’ or joy, it was accentuated masterly and the tense dynamic with her husband was evident from the beginning.  I must admit, however, that I am on the fence about Torvald (Huhne); I cannot decide whether it was a superb portrayal of a mindless, retrograde traditionalist, or indeed actually a shaky, inconsistent one, drifting in and out of the action.  I got the impression of a psychopath, unable to see why he is a ‘bad’ man himself, but the occasional smile at moments clearly inappropriate to smiling (or were they, I ask myself, for they kind of worked) and emotions incongruous to the words he was saying left me baffled. 

I liked Krogstad (Cvetkovic); his costume, the embodiment of his so-called sinister mind, was almost terrifying – you got the sense that he was the bad guy and his entrances always cast a shadow on the mood.  The problem with his portrayal is an overriding one of the play; there was a general flatness to the characters, which limited the possibilities to explore the human condition.  There were plenty of emotional ups and downs, yet failure to capitalise on them resulted in an almost monotone performance from all.  Linde (Tandy) could have been stronger and more engaging with the events around her; her eyes were not concentrating and engaging, however she had stage presence and command.  Whether it was due to the cold or nerves, Rank’s (Gillow) movements were rigid, staccato and un-fluid, and often I got the impression he did not know how to stand on stage.  But he had theatrical discipline and measured timings which will only blossom with time.  Finally, the maid (Alpcan), who definitely needs to look older to fit in with the other realist elements of the play, was nonetheless a thorough picture. 

On the whole, despite directorial discontinuities (the entrance to the stage seemed to move as time went on) and the inherent difficulty of lighting in a marquee, I enjoyed the performance (that of the actors), though I would want to see more depth in their portrayals. 

THREE AND A HALF STARS