“NEITHER RAIN NOR SNOW NOR GLOM OF NIT CAN STAY THESE MESENGERS ABOT THEIR DUTY.” It is this (somewhat incomplete) motto of the Post Office setting that captures in a sentence the irreverent humour of this charming version of Going Postal, this year’s Oriel Garden Play.
Going Postal is a novel written by Terry Pratchett in his fantasy Discworld universe, with this performance using a pre-existing adaptation for the stage by Stephen Briggs. It follows the story of conman turned postman extraordinaire Moist von Lipwig (Maggie Kerson), whose criminal alter ego, Albert Spangler, is hanged at the beginning of the play, before miraculously surviving. It is Danann Kilburn’s cold, imposing Lord Vetinari who ensures Moist survives in order to offer him a choice: work for him to rebuild the Post Office, or die. He is taken by his parole officer, the robotic but endearing Golem Mr Pump (Lydia Armstrong), to his new job, and events rapidly escalate from there.
Cast performances were a standout aspect of the play. Maggie Kerson’s portrayal of Moist von Lipwig was replete with self-assured, effortless charm. This did morph into a more emotionally genuine portrayal, following Moist’s character arc of becoming more than just a “totally untrustworthy” individual. Kerson was able to project effectively even in the noisier environment of a garden play, sustaining frenzied mannerisms as Moist’s plans to one-up competitors, such as the Great Trunk Company, become ever more hare-brained and desperate. Kilburn’s humourless Vetinari also casts a looming shadow over the play, the “tyrant” who gets things done whatever the cost. Another highlight was Paul Becsi as Reacher Gilt, a Disney-esque villain with the unctuous affect of a suave American executive, equipped with a gem-encrusted cane and eye-patch to boot. He and the board members of the Great Trunk Company proved entertaining antagonists, comic but still carrying an edge of peril, all empty smiles and hinted threat.
The ensemble maintained an equally high standard of quality. From Samuel Forrest’s loveable, pin and stamp-obsessed Stanley, crotchety old “junior post-master” Groat (Chris Morson), and Lara Machado as the bemused and deadpan Dearheart, Pratchett’s colourful cast of characters were brought to life with aplomb. The sprawling nature of Pratchett’s plot required considerable multi-roling, but the costumes and portrayals were varied enough between characters that distinguishing who was who was relatively easy.
Perhaps the most electrifying moment of the play came in the climax, with nearly the entire cast arranged in factions onstage. Alone, the costumes were impressive. But together as one, it was a slice of Discworld manifest before you. Clothing of especial note included Lipwig’s gold outfit later in the play, with golden trainers (adorned with little wings) and a similarly coloured winged hat that certified his role as a Hermesian messenger.
The quality of costume also extended to props. The easel placed downstage left produced some amusing physical comedy, with characters replacing it alternately with a black square, a photograph portrait of Reacher Gilt, and the bastardised motto of the Post Office, among others. Every change brought more frustration, thus becoming an effective recurring gag. The newspapers, too, were printed to be readable from a distance, giving the world a touch more materiality.
I was left more ambivalent by the staging, however. At times, I could not help feeling that the set would have benefited from some of the intimacy of a traditional studio. The actors did much to fill the space, as it were, but the stage’s sparseness became most apparent during transitions. The minimal set design (usually one table and chair planted centrally downstage), while creatively used, contributed to this sense. The greatest potential issue came in the sense that the logistics of the garden play setting were slowing down a show reliant on its flow and continuous action to stop its three-hour span (while always eventful) from dragging.
Some scenes, though, did benefit from the greater scale offered by the garden play. Director Teddy Farrand noted how the production could “use all of [the quad] for the frontage of the post office – we could have Moist crossing the whole quad rather than just a small studio theatre. I was really excited about that just because I think Discworld’s a bit random, it’s antiquated.” Indeed, one of the funniest moments came when Moist did just that, hurling himself offstage and pelting across Oriel Quad to close off the first half of the show.
What was nonetheless most impressive about the staging was its avoidance of that notorious trap of black-box theatre – a feeling of disconnect from the wider world of the play. Going Postal evades this not only by having its characters interact regularly with the college setting outside the stage, but by also feeling like the stage is simply a fragment of a wider world. What Farrand succeeds in is the sense that Discworld is a living, breathing entity, something that would be just waiting for you if you were simply to peek backstage or in the wings.
This play was generally accessible to those without knowledge of Pratchett’s Discworld series. Admittedly, Farrand acknowledged “being a little bit untraditional”, having “taken a few leniencies” with the original source material both in terms of necessary cuts and in staging the beautiful madness that is Pratchett’s world. Bar some ambiguities over just exactly what the “clacks” of the Great Trunk Company are, for the most part an audience member can follow along with no knowledge of Discworld and have as much fun as the most committed fan – for whom I am told there are still knowing jokes to be caught.
What Going Postal manages to tantalisingly capture as it gets into its stride, much like the character of Lipwig himself, is the underlying magic and bizarre, chaotic wonder that fuels Pratchett’s Discworld. Farrand’s passion for the franchise is always evident throughout the show, and such passion and enthusiasm go a long way in theatrical terms. “The mail must be delivered!”, Lipwig cries at one point – and so too does Going Postal, in the end, deliver.
