Before discussing this production of The Truth, I must make a confession.  I am a massive, unrepentant, card-carrying Terry Pratchett fan; I therefore approached St. Hilda’s Dramatic Society’s production of Stephen Briggs’ stage adaptation with certain expectations.  This goes some way towards explaining me alternating between gleeful, childish excitement as some characters materialised on stage exactly as I had always imagined, and confused disappointment as some did not.  Unfortunately, my reaction was mostly the latter.

This isn’t just because, like every fan, I have my own idea of how the story should appear.  Watching the production, I got the overwhelming impression of a good pool of talent spread too thin.  Really bringing Pratchett’s story to life requires incredibly strong characterization, something the cast just can’t pull off for every role.  The dearth of male actors shows particularly strongly; despite a heroic effort on the parts Rowena Francis and Victoria White, they never quite convince in parts that simply don’t fit.  A few of the performances, however, are truly exceptional: director Dominic Hall doubling as Commander Vimes is excellent, as is Rosalind Gealy as the wonderfully prim Sacharissa Crisplock, although James Phillips as a perfectly executed zombie lawyer Mr Slant stands head and shoulders above them all.  Many others, however, just fall flat as performances.  When the core cast is offstage, the play simply begins to drag.

Part of this is down to the script itself; Pratchett’s work doesn’t translate brilliantly to stage, and at nigh-on three hours it requires a continuous level of energy not everyone involved can achieve.  It’s made worse by the director’s failure to really address the difficulties of the script; the staging is thoroughly unoriginal, and the total lack of set (apart from the toastie machine standing in as a printing press) doesn’t help. With no real sense of dynamism or atmosphere, the more lacklustre scenes really have nothing to fall back on.

Ultimately, the whole production comes across as distinctly amateurish, though in the best possible sense of the word.  Lighting cues are missed, props are lost, but the cast holds character, rectifies the problem, and the audience laughs along with them.  Enthusiasm and a friendly crowd can only go so far though; for every laugh and every golden scene, there is a corresponding period of dull, tedious exposition.  You can almost feel the cast rushing through these scenes, so they can get to the comedy, to the bits they really enjoy.

This is quite obviously not a recipe for a professional standard of theatre.  But St. Hilda’s Drama Society almost succeeded without really trying – with all its flaws and unfinished feel,   The Truth is just about watchable, and frequently enjoyable.  It survives only on the strength being based on the work of Terry Pratchett: but if you are a Discworld fan, come with an open mind, and not too many high expectations.  If you’re not, just try to enjoy the jokes.

 3 stars

Mephisto is a play about plays, about the boundaries between art and life; about where one ends and the other begins. How can one be “just an actor” when the world outside the theatre is in political turmoil? How can one be “just an actor” in 1930s Berlin? Mephisto interrogates these questions through its depiction of The Peppermill theatre, a radical Bolshevik theatre troupe set up in 1929 with the aim of promoting Communism through the medium of theatre, depicting their rise to prominence and fall from greatness as the Nazis gain power. In this theatre, we find the play’s Faust, the young actor Hendrik Hofgen, who sells his artistic integrity for fame and fortune under the Nazi regime through his performance of Goethe’s Mephistopheles.

Not only is this play intensely concerned with the question of the meaning of art, but in its own status as a work of art. Whilst the rehearsal was in a room in Hertford, the production  team promise to turn the Playhouse’s stage into the backstage of The Peppermill’s own theatre, complete with exposed rigging, cable drums and clutter. Indeed, the play begins with the cast bowing, not to the audience for whom they will perform, to the audience for whom they have just performed, with the cast facing away from the Playhouse audience to bow to the Hamburg Theatre’s spectators. 

The first scene that we were shown, a snapshot of the Peppermill’s cabaret, a ‘rehearsal’ of a satire of Weimar bureaucracy, set in an office for social security,  was pure Brecht. Histrionic dialogue being bellowed out, waving limbs and human furniture all created a sense of dislocation that was only heightened when the skit finished and the cast turn to discussing their next scene in an entirely naturalistic fashion, before rapidly shifting between these two modes in order to explain hyperinflation to a confused cast member. Mephisto seems to be a highly strung balancing act, gaining its dramatic power through the contrast of these two modes. Another scene, set on a railway bridge, a powerful piece of dialogue about the victims of the Nazi regime was delivered by Georgia Waters without any such conceit: rather, it gained its power through her straightforward, forthright delivery of the lines.

The play’s concerns with theatricality are enmeshed not only in the script of the play, but in its production. As well as acting out scenes from the play, we were treated to an insight into the ‘mind’ of the production in the form of a rehearsal of a scene. Rather than simply acting through the scene, each actor was given a prompt, a command to fulfil. For example, Nick Howard-Brown had to play his character, Hendrik Hofgen, as though he was desperate for the toilet; Gottchalk, played by Joseph Allan, had to act stone deaf. This conceit is not just confined to the rehearsal space, but will be a part of every performance of Mephisto. Every night, each actor will be given a different prompt, and so no two performances will be the same. Each performance will reveal a different subtext, a different aspect of what is shaping up to be a fascinating production.

Four stars

If you are bored of the Burton Taylor then 6^th week has something quite unique in store: a radio play. It sounds a little bit like something your dad listens to on a Sunday afternoon but I am assured by The Awkward Silence that this could not be further from the truth. Assisted by Adam Lebovits, Max Fletcher and Liam Shaw, they promise to bring their audience at The Port Mahon, a taste of their unbelievably tense detective narrative, with ‘guns and shit’. ‘It’s the first half-hour episode in a detective-comedy series of ours called ‘Shrapnel and Fogg’. Set in East Putney in 1910, it follows Detectives Shrapnel and Fogg as they are introduced to one another and begin a partnership of solving grisly crimes. The first revolves around an evil criminal called The Salamander. He’s a bloody weirdo, and leaves dead salamanders at the scene of every crime he perpetrates. Can you imagine that? The guy needs help.’ 

For a comedy duo who usually write for the stage, I am told that working on a radio play has been ‘a lovely change’ but it has also been a deeply challenging one. ‘You haven’t got the opportunity for any visual gags, any real nods to the audience. In other ways however, it has been a more convenient change because so many of the verbal jokes work for radio but would struggle on stage. What’s interesting, but perhaps obvious, is that so far we’ve got no idea about how it will be received, as we’ve never really done radio stuff; and for half an hour of material, that uncertainty’s a bit stronger compared to just testing out a couple of new sketches’

Their tactic to make us part with our well earned cash then? ‘Cramming in as many nutters with weird voices as possible, and having lots of fun with jokes revolving around wordplay and verbal misunderstandings.’ He chuckles, ‘I’m a big fan of language so hamming up that side of things – and twisting clichés, playing with turns of phrase, etc. – is great. For this specific project it’s also been nice, and of course fairly easy, messing with the detective format. I’d say that one of the reasons we’re dipping our toes into radio is that it’s a very viable and appealing form in which to showcase comedy and develop a reputation. And there’s a lot to be said for the fact that it doesn’t involve getting the train to Camden and doing a gig to two people…not that that’s ever happened’.

‘The Awkward Silence’ will be performing at The Port Mahon on Friday 24th Feb, followed by stand up from Paul Fung, George Chopping, Rory and Time and Liam Shaw. Tickets are £5.00 (or £4.50 if you whisper the code ‘There’s some salmon in my knickers…’)