To stage an adaptation of a Terry Pratchett novel is quite a departure from form for St Hilda’s College Drama Society.  They have developed a reputation for engaging and professional productions, but primarily only with Shakespeare or one of the great American playwrights.  Director Dominic Hall takes quite a risk in this foray into the contemporary comedic realm but it is a risk which has paid strong dividends.

Firstly, he has chosen the play well.  Though it will obviously delight the die-hard Pratchett aficionados, The Truth also has much wider appeal.  With a fast-paced plot and some fantastic one-liners The Truth is engaging and funny.  It is also one of Pratchett’s most accessible works: prior knowledge of his books is a bonus rather than a prerequisite.

Secondly, he has a very strong cast.  The lead, Luke Jew, is excellent as the uncertain upper class editor.  He conveys the character’s equivocation skilfully and provides energy and momentum for the other actors to respond to.  Rosalind Gealy is equally good as a ditsy reporter, bringing real emotional depth to the role.

It is the supporting roles that stood out though; really bringing some of Pratchett’s more colourful characters to life.  Veteran actor James Phillips is hilarious as a Zombie lawyer, with an attention to the little details which make his character all the funnier.  Ricky Nathvani takes what could be a one-dimensional role as a Vampire photographer and fills it up, delighting in his cape and Transylvanian accent.  Cast as two goons straight out of Reservoir Dogs Rachel Watkeys Dowie and Peter Bradshaw form a very entertaining double act.   Victoria White shows her great range, taking a role both as the city’s savant-like ruler and as his dopey doppelganger, switching effortlessly from intelligence to ignorance.

That said, all is not perfect with this production: Hall tends to block simplistically, and some exits and entrances seem contrived.  Occasionally some of the less funny jokes are overly laboured.  However, with just under a week to go, much of this may be fixed by the production itself.  In a University filled with serious productions of serious plays, The Truth provides some excellent light relief and I highly recommend it as a pick-me-up at the beginning of 6^th week.

Four stars

‘The Truth’ will be performed in the Jacqueline du Pre Auditorium, St Hilda’s College in 6th Week – Sunday 19th Feb 2pm, Sunday 19th Feb 7pm, Tuesday 21st Feb 7.30pm. Tickets are available at http://www.hildas-drama.org.uk/reservetickets.html

Most gigs are typified by their audience. When Warpaint played at the O2 last year, virtually every single person in the room was wearing a striped black and white top and thick-rimmed glasses, while an ill-advised trip to see the Maccabees playing at the Town Hall could have very easily followed on from a (slightly sweaty) all male A Level information meeting. James Vincent McMorrow’s fans, from what I could see from my spot by the sticky bar, are a total mix. This is probably because his music is so bloody pleasant – hardly cutting-edge, but really very difficult to dislike. McMorrow’s Early in the Morning is, like Dido’s No Angel, a perfect album for listening to in the car (or the library, or most other places).

I was concerned that his ‘haunting + atmospheric’ combo mix might not necessarily translate to a successful set at the worst venue of all time, but had absolutely nothing to fear. McMorrow performed almost the entirety of the album with consistent aplomb, punctuated with humour, humility and an awful lot of guitar tuning. Though his intersong chat might be characterized as being a little bit rambly at times, overall, one is left with the impression that he is probably just a really nice person – much like his music.

There are a few minor things that made this evening such an enjoyable one: exceptional company; really sublime lighting; McMorrow’s Irish accent and slightly patchy beard; winning a (rather long-winded) pun rally with a fellow viewer – and then, some major ones, like that McMorrow is a joy to watch. The falsetto was out in full force this evening, for almost two hours. Sometimes this was almost unspeakably brilliant – a rendition of Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Games’ moved me almost to tears. It is hard to pick out other highlights, although a fresh and fairly exciting take on ‘If I Had a Boat’ makes for a pretty serious contender. The best essays usually reap the smallest amounts of praise: I can probably sum up the evening with a lone ‘Excellent work’ at the bottom of the page.

Translation is a complex task at the best of times. The act of translation carries a whole series of conundrums: how important, for starters, is fidelity to the original text? To what extent – if at all – can a translated text reproduce the unique voice of the original author? And how can the distinct rhythms and modulations of a particular language possibly be reproduced in another language? Since each and every language bears its own unique character, history, and cultural baggage, the translator’s job will certainly never be an easy one.

Yet translating theatre brings a whole extra set of thorny issues to the table. For on top of the unending panoply of difficulties faced by translators of all kinds – from translators of the literary greats, to those faced with the apparently simple task of translating IKEA furniture instructions or restaurant menus – the theatre translator has an extra factor to worry about: performability. A theatrical script does not only need to flow. It needs to quite literally breathe with performability. To quote the Italian dramatist Luigi Pirandello, ‘in order for the characters to jump alive and moving off the written page, the playwright must find that word that is spoken action, the living word that moves, the immediate expression, natural to the action, the unique expression that cannot be but that one.’

The language of theatre is designed to be spoken, not studied. And a script that is rigorously faithful to the original – however commendable such an effort might be – is therefore unlikely to do the job.

And it is in this respect that Julia Hartley’s new translation of Alfred de Musset’s Il ne faut jurer de rien (1836) truly shines: It is hugely, unquestionably performable.

Never Say Never follows the story of young playboy Valentin who – convinced that all married women are unfaithful to their husbands – sets out to do everything in his power to avoid any such a fate. Yet when his uncle entreats him to consider marrying the charming young Mademoiselle de Mante, Valentin proposes a wager that is intended to trick the Mademoiselle and prove his conviction right. But Cécile looks set to have the upper hand…

So, why Musset? And why this play? Asked about the reasoning behind her choice, Hartley explains that, of all Musset’s works, this is ‘by far his snappiest work’. And if we are able to enjoy this snappiness in full in Never Say Never (and we certainly are), this is thanks not only to the merits of the original but to Hartley’s methods of adaptation and translation. The original has undergone considerable shavings and additions before reaching its final form. Hartley explains that ‘by translating the play myself I have taken advantage of the process to cut the jokes that sound too long, and emphasise the traits which I have found more suited to a modern audience.’ Take her translation of the title, for example, which is far snappier than the relatively weak ‘You Can’t Be Sure of Anything’ plumped for by previous translators of the play. Punchy and to the point, Never Say Never captures the full spirit of the original in a way that ‘You Can’t Be Sure of Anything’ just doesn’t quite manage.

But how about the humour? Can the wordplay, playful innuendos, and caricatures that characterise 19^th century French theatre really get a modern-day English audience going? The answer is a resounding yes. And this is thanks to three key achievements: a successful translation, innovative adaptation choices, and masterful acting on the part of the cast.

Humour is absolutely fundamental to the success of this play, and it is perhaps here that Hartley’s translation deserves greatest praise. For comedy often sits ill at ease outside its own native territory. And matched perhaps only by the challenge of translating puns and linguistic nuances, it represents one of the greatest trials for the translator. Hartley explains that in this reproduction, while ‘there are some classic moments where the comedy comes from the situation which will always work’, most of the humour derives from the direction: ‘It’s to do with the timing, the physicality, the tone of the delivery. A funny script, if it’s done in a dull way, loses all its potential’. Yet equally important to the successful deliverance of humour is Hartley’s appreciation of the importance of succinctness in English. For if Romance languages are characterised by their long, meandering phrases and elaborate phraseology, English is a language of concision.  Hartley recalls herself ‘laughing out loud when reading a Wodehouse dialogue which consisted mainly of “No.” No, no, no.” “Rather.” “Yes.”’ Favouring succinctness over long-windedness, Never Say Never captures the spirit of the original’s humour while delivering a powerful punch designed to please an English audience.

The decision to transpose a 19^th century French play to a 1920s Wodehousian setting is certainly a brave one. Yet in cleverly refashioning the style and language of the original into a distinctly modern form which is faithful to the spirit if not the letter of the original, Hartley manages to get the balance between fidelity and modernity just right. A refreshing take on a little-known 19^th century classic that is not to be missed!

There are lots of exciting things happening on Turl Street at the moment. Quite apart from the sudden appearance over the last two years of such establishments as the Missing Bean (now doing hot drinks in the EFL) and the Turl Street Kitchen (free wifi, yes please) transforming it into a kind of gastronomic ghetto, Lincoln, Jesus and Exeter have, once again, joined forces for the Turl Street Arts Festival. I’m still having difficulty ascertaining quite how long the festival has been going on for – the Jesus website informs me that it is, ‘as ever, taking place in fifth week,’ suggesting that it might just be written into the college statutes. No matter: what is important is that this year’s offering looks to be the best one in an age.

The Turl Street colleges are all old, small and honey-coloured. They are also rather insular institutions, without a big name commemoration ball or very cheap drinks one night of the week inciting people to break in (although, for the record, Lincoln bar is absolutely lovely). Joining together, then, is a very sensible idea, and allows them to showcase a vast catalogue of talents, skills and artsy things. There really is something for everyone here: Wednesday night shows them reaching out a hand to the art history Edgar Wind Society, for an evening talk at Lincoln by the Sculptor in Ordinary to the Queen in Scotland, while in Exeter chapel, Oxford Baroque are exploring some seventeenth and eighteenth century hits.

TSAF have tackled not only ‘things to watch and listen to’ but also a few which boast real life interaction. Two African Drumming Workshops are being held on Thursday afternoon at three and at four in the Oakschott Room at Lincoln, while Oxford Junto Society are also joining in, with an open discussion group on Art and its role in modern society being held in Lincoln’s chapel on Friday afternoon. Almost everything in the festival is free, providing a unique opportunity to hear some of Oxford’s best and brightest playing everything from Brahms to Joni Mitchell. There are, however, three ticketed events: a promising performance of West Side Story, the finale concert on Saturday night, and some new writing from Jesus College. The Turl Street Festival Orchestra joins forces with the Chorus to perform Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 and Mass in C Minor. This is lovely, dramatic music, played and performed by some of Oxford’s best.

Matthew Parvin’s The Players is a shambolic, and rather mad, take on a group of Elizabethan actors plagiarizing Hamlet, to very comic effect. This really is a must-see. Featuring actors from across the university, it is an amusing and well-written piece with the odd lucid – and occasionally very touching – observation on Life, Art and everything in between. Fitting for a festival that tackles all three so successfully.

Freshwoman is a new play written by Tom Skelton and Dylan Townley which, set in the 1920s, tells the story of Mathilde du Belle’s first term at Oxford University, having been somewhat willingly forced to attend in order that she find a rich husband who will be able to alleviate her family’s financial problems in the wake of the Wall Street Crash. After being disappointed by last week’s Messiah Man, this production showed the Oxford drama scene what doing comedy is all about.

For a start it is funny, often hysterically so, which is great. What it lacks in depth and character development it makes up for in genuinely original material. The story can get a little lost in amongst all the frivolity, and perhaps we could have lost the compulsion many within the cast feel to shout their lines all of the time in order to fuel the farce. But we’ll forgive them because otherwise it’s highly entertaining.  It is short, snappy and to the point, and it doesn’t labour its critique of Oxford life, displaying just the right amount without being preachy.

For a show that’s absolutely barking mad, it has been directed well, and there aren’t any clumsy scene changes. More than anything it proves that mad-cap humour can be well rehearsed and still be successful. The comical voice over is a nice touch, as is the audience participation, which doesn’t always work, but has the potential do so as the cast grow in confidence over the run. Undoubtedly the highlight of the show however is the ending, improvised from audience suggestion (this perhaps should come as no surprise considering that the cast contains a fair few Imps). Comedy anywhere can be hilarious on the night, but forgettable come the morning. But not Freshwoman; I will remember the final section for quite some time.

Freshwoman is thus a thoroughly accomplished performance and very much deserves the hoards of people who turned out to watch. Quite frankly I hope that it sells out for its entire run because it certainly cheered me up a treat.

 4 stars

I think we might have something really rather special here. I say might because with under a week to go the cast strikes me as a little bit underprepared. For their sake I hope there is still enough time because The Barefaced Night is shaping up to be a very intriguing production. 

Previews are underwhelming at the best of times, but I felt especially cheated here. The Barefaced Night tells the story of a princess who finds love with a man cursed to be a bear by day and human by night, but ehen the princess’ desire to see the bear drives him away, she begins an epic journey to win him back. This epic love story encapsulating what seems to be every style of dance from ballroom to ballet, hip hop to martial arts, and including spoken word, improvised music and live recording, is going to be something of spectacle, something that the low ceilinged Buttery at Wolfson College doesn’t really do justice.

Despite this, there was much that shined through. Importantly this a strong ensemble cast of dancers, committed, bursting with energy and also great fun. The wide range of choreography oozed creativity and was expertly handled. It is often, and surprisingly, very witty, but I wont give these wonderful moments away. Tanner Efinger as Valemon the bear is outstanding. By far as good (who knows, if not better) as any you performance you will see in a straight play at the Burton Taylor, he is intense, moving, versatile and most of all, incredibly charming. Praise must also go to the onstage band who play a whole host of original music, again of a wide range of different styles and on an equally wide range of instrument (some of which I don’t even recognise).

My only concern is that this is a dramatisation of a Scandinavian folktale. With so much jammed into one production, the finished product has the potential to feel a little confused on stage. The spoken word too for me feels a little bit pretentious–not the words themselves but in their delivery. Currently delivered in a calm, wispy, reflective solemnity, they need the passion and flare of dancing to be truly moving.

Nevertheless I cannot wait to see how it all ties together. If it works, and it most certainly has the potential to do so, The Barefaced Night will be among the best productions this term. Fingers crossed.

4 stars