British theatre very rarely takes political drama seriously. Most of the political drama featured on our stages takes a decided bent towards the satirical and the farcical. The only real way for our dramatists to decry the corrupt and the incompetent in the British public sector, it seems, is to render them laughably ridiculous, and Great Britain, currently showing at the National Theatre, is no exception. The National Theatre is, after all, known for the development of these satirical works – over the last forty years, the bill has included works like The National Health, Pravda, and This House.

The announcement of Great Britain – written by Richard Bean, author of the National Theatre’s smash hit One Man, Two Guvnors – about two weeks ago came as a bit of a shock to both the theatre world and the public. Having been cast and rehearsed in complete secret since before Easter, the play focuses on the rise and fall of a tabloid newspaper, and decries – amongst a vast range of transgressions –Page Three, phone hacking, police corruption, and political skulduggery. Almost every sphere of public life is examined and found wanting.

The need for secrecy during production and development is clear – the announcement came as Andy Coulson’s trial for phone hacking, and by extension, the Leveson Inquiry, drew to a close. Had the play been publicised before the end of the legal process, its creators might well have been indicted for contempt of court. As it is, the timing of the play makes it so topical as to inevitably render it a box-office success. The astute references to the current cultural and political climate make it irresistibly entertaining to an audience of intelligentsia who like to consider themselves in the know. Multimedia meme-style videos of the Police Commissioner’s public apologies and attempts at redemption recall the autotuned Nick Clegg “Apology Song”. The horsey senior editor who has no idea what is actually going on in her offices is a clear stab at Rebekah Brooks, ex-editor of the now-defunct News of the World. The editor-turned media guru to the Prime Minister mirrors David Cameron’s disastrous misstep of appointing Coulson to the very same position.

These references are funny, but I can’t help but feel that the play overall is lazy. It is only too easy to cruise along on the ludicrousness of actual events, without offering any insight or solution to the ensuing chaos. Billie Piper – of Doctor Who and Secret Diary of a Call-Girl fame – is surprisingly unengaging to watch, despite being billed as the star of the show. It could just be that her character – the ruthlessly ambitious and uncompromising sub-editor who will do anything to catch a story – is so relentlessly unlikeable, but Piper herself does little to make the character multi-faceted, instead playing her on one villainous note. Perhaps my personal dislike for asides has coloured my enjoyment of the script – but it takes far more skill and is ultimately more engaging for a playwright to gradually reveal motivations and relationships through dialogue rather than mounting them as occasional explain-all monologues directed at the audience.

The design is glossy and flexible, with sliding glass partitions which reveal variously the police commissioner’s home, the newspaper offices and even the Ivy restaurant. The use of multimedia and projection is one of the play’s strongest points, and parodies of national newspapers (“The Guardener” which carries the subtitle ‘We think so you don’t have to’, and “The Mail”, which only ever features headlines about immigrants) are one of the main sources of laughter. Supporting cast members – such as Oliver Chris, as the Vice-Commissioner who compromises his own moral code so severely that he feels obliged to bring himself to a sticky end –  give excellent performances, and the overall feel of the play is high-powered and glossy.

The National Theatre’s choice to commission a play about the corruption of the press is an interesting one. Pravda, written by David Hare and Howard Brenton, focuses on a similar topic, although its specific subject matter is a thinly-veiled parody of Rupert Murdoch’s ascension to power over Fleet Street, whereas Great Britain’s Murdoch-figure has already made it in the newspaper business, and is now aiming at an approximation of the BskyB bid. Personally I think that Hare’s version is more witty and more skilfully constructed, however, whilst Pravda was hugely successful during the immediate aftermath of Murdoch’s rise, it is now largely obsolete as a political play, because times have moved on. Though Great Britain is entertaining now, its power to amuse is rooted firmly in the present.

Watch Great Britain like you might read Private Eye – as an immediately amusing construction rather than as a lasting masterpiece of writing.   

★★★★★
Five Stars

When Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist was first staged in 1610 in a small room of an indoor playhouse in Blackfriars, London was something of a ghost town. Plague had hit the city, driving out everyone with money enough to afford the journey. Much of the play’s plot relies on this fact, and an atmosphere of debauchery coupled with a ‘cat’s away’ attitude are integral to the play’s success.

It was a similar atmosphere which filled an Oxford now almost bereft of students as I made my way to Freud’s to watch this OUDS production at the start of what I shall never refer to as 12^th week. Oxford University Drama Society has big plans for The Alchemist – Edinburgh Fringe-shaped plans – and this three-night run in Oxford was the perfect chance for them truly to test their mettle.

The play’s programme promises to fuse Jonson’s script “with music and dance”, in “a vibrantly physical and shamelessly fun production” and sure enough, the music is prominent from the start and creates a tense and lively atmosphere throughout, keeping the action moving along swiftly.

Physicality, too, is quickly evident. Leo Suter’s Subtle is stark naked as the play opens, hidden only by a shower curtain as Georgia Bruce’s Face threatens to throw his clothes out of the window – “Believe’t, I will!”

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10044%%[/mm-hide-text] 

It is this air of fun and enjoyment which pervades the entire performance, to the benefit of the play. It is clear throughout that each and every one of the cast is having a great time, and this rubs off considerably on the audience, which laughs its way through every farcical scene and humorous aside.

Face is a butler who has been left alone in his master’s house, and has gathered his allies in crime, Subtle and Dol Common, to con the city’s fools out of their money. This results in numerous changes of identity for all three main characters, which they handle expertly. Bruce is magnificent as Face, always remaining calm and in control, while never letting her disguise slip.

Suter is almost as good as Subtle, who pretends to be the titular alchemist, putting on many different voices for each of his targets, each more ridiculous than the last.

OUDS has clearly had a lot of fun with casting as well. Numerous characters have their genders changed from the original script, while some characters are just played by actors of different gender. Howard Coase is wonderfully deceptive as the prostitute Dol. All this confusion of identity, increased by a misleading presentation of the cast list in the programme (which suggests that the cast may shuffle around in future performances), contributes to the atmosphere of deception and trickery.

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10046%%[/mm-hide-text] 

Each member of the cast delivers a stellar performance, and as such it seems cruel to pick any out, but special mention must go to Connie Greenfield’s Mammon. Sir Epicure Mammon wants Subtle to make the philosopher’s stone for him, and believes he has tricked the doctor into thinking that he’ll use it for good, charitable works. Greenfield portrays the character’s malicious naÑ—vety brilliantly, excelling further as Mammon’s lecherous side emerges.

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10045%%[/mm-hide-text] 

It might have been nice to receive some of the dance we were promised, as a few of the scene changes feel a little sluggish in comparison with the rest of the fast-paced action, but as the production becomes more polished, this is surely a problem which will soon be rectified.

In all, this is a very solid production, filled with brilliantly delivered one-liners, metatheatrical hilarity and the very best in physical comedy. You have not lived until you’ve seen Ed Barr-Sim as Abel Drugger pursuing another character across stage while doing an impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Doctor Who is back next month. True, it returns in the wake of a string of media scandals, including the unfortunate accidental release of five scripts on a public server, as well as leaked footage of the new cast in action… but this is hardly surprising. The widespread demand for scraps of what is to come only serves to demonstrate the sheer popularity of this exciting, fast-paced family show that, since its relaunch in 2005, has timelessly captured the hearts of millions; adults and children alike. Even amidst the ever-changing format of the show, the sheer importance of the Doctor and his companion remains constant.

There was almost a touch of Bond about Christopher Eccleston, who reintroduced the role of the Doctor to the British viewing public for the first time in 15 years. Though undoubtedly there was a reputation to maintain, the main priority for the pilot episode was to translate the Doctor into a modern, 21st Century setting; with a touch of leather and significant technical upgrades, Eccleston fulfilled this perfectly. His role was hugely complimented by having the young, working-class shop assistant Rose Tyler (Billie Piper) by his side. Straight out of a London council estate, this loveable, raw character, along with her mother Jackie and boyfriend Mickey, truly manifested the idea that adventures can come to anyone, anywhere. Between them, these characters made the show instantly accessible to its audience (Daleks and aliens aside).

It seemed, however, that perhaps the pressure on the production team to do justice to the show’s tremendous legacy became a little too much behind closed doors. Eccleston resigned after just one series, declaring that he resented the on-set “politics” and shameful behaviour of senior staff members towards those they managed. The first appearance of the Tenth Doctor, David Tennant, was underpinned by a host of very different pressures. The show was already hugely successful; with a BAFTA under its belt, it had singlehandedly redefined “family-orientated Saturday night drama”. Now the pressure was to do justice to the character Eccleston had created.

There were sceptics; not only was Tennant’s “look” and styling a very drastic change, but his performance of the role was perhaps a little more light-hearted and humorous in comparison to Eccleston’s. Within months, however, any cynicism had dissipated. Tennant not only managed to retain – if not amplify – the public’s love of the Doctor, but managed to do so whilst completely reshaping and tailoring the role to suit his own strengths and quirks. He evolved the Ninth Doctor’s relationship with Rose, which in turn drew out previously unseen colours in her character, keeping the role fresh. The series emphasised, for the most part, stand-alone episodes rather than a broader narrative-arc over the entire run (with the exception of the final few episodes); this made the show unpredictable, rich and multi-faceted, enticing new viewers throughout. The viewing public were sad to see Rose go, but, undoubtedly, the nice thing about both Martha Jones (Freema Agyeman) and Donna Noble (Catherine Tate) was that, once again, they were strong, accessible characters, the likes of which one could meet every day. Donna also reintroduced an age variable to the companions that had been recently lacking.

When Tennant announced his departure from the show in 2008, he was quoted as saying, “If I don’t take a deep breath and move on now I never will, and you’ll be wheeling me out of the Tardis in my bath chair.” Widespread mourning ensued. At the time, the bookies seemed to anticipate big changes to the role, with Paterson Joseph, David Morrissey and John Simm amongst those most backed by Paddy Power.

And this is where, I believe, things started to go wrong.

As Matt Smith was unveiled as the Eleventh Doctor, executive producer Steven Moffat asserted that the casting directors were “[blown] away with [his] bold and brand new take on the Time Lord”. Eyebrows were raised; whereas the disparity between Eccleston and Tennant had incited scepticism before, the uncanny similarity between the latter and Smith was inciting it now. It seemed that even the BBC was not ready to let Tennant go.

The acting wasn’t hugely dissimilar either. Though Smith’s youth was emphasised as being something new, it seemed as though straws were being grasped at, and many would argue that this therefore became a little overplayed. Undoubtedly Smith is a wonderful actor and would have been a fantastic contender against Tennant for the second series, but having them appear consecutively began to draw out a touch of monotony. The screenwriting didn’t help. Since Russell T. Davies left the show, it’s as though it has been seized by screenwriters who know too muchabout Doctor Who; the internet fan-fiction type that analyses the science of every episode down into micro detail. The episodes no longer stand alone; the subplots knitting them tenuously together have become confusing even to adult viewers. As the end credits roll, only a fraction of us are left in awe; the rest of us are left frantically trying to clarify exactly what just happened.

As for companions, Amy and Rory were great. We hadn’t had a male companion around since Mickey in the first series, and the three characters complimented each other well. But Clara Oswald? She is no Rose, Martha or Donna; she is not identifiable, and even those who made it to the end of the last series remain confused as to where exactly she came from, or fits in. The fact that she is presented as entirely flawless does not help. At times it’s hard to see her as anything more than a token love-interest thrown in for the Doctor.

But finally, we are about to meet a Doctor who can perhaps bring out a side of her we haven’t seen. Peter Capaldi is certainly unlike any Doctor we have seen in the show since the relaunch. He is closer to the original vision of the character; older and wiser, more of a power figure. Finally, after the chaos of the last few series, it looks like BBC have taken to the drawing board and cast a retrospective look back at Doctor Who as it used to be when it first aired in 1963. Hopefully, it’s not too late.

Doctor Who returns to BBC One on Saturday 23rd August.

‘Brutality of the highest order’ is promised of Lucy Bailey’s Titus Andronicus, and it does not disappoint. From the opening speeches the action is relentlessly disturbing and challenges all preconceptions of Shakespearean theatre.

This 2006 revival remains bold and energetic, dragging its audience along ruthlessly through the scenes of rape, murder and mutilation. And that’s just the first half. Shakespeare’s revenge tragedy appears to begin with an ending: the celebrated general Titus Andronicus returns victorious after a decade of war, with his prisoners in tow, and only four of twenty-five sons remaining.

To avenge their deaths he kills the first-born son of his prisoner Tamora, Queen of the Goths, and thus sets in motion the cycle of murder and revenge that leaves no character unbloodied.

Titus, played by William Houston, is a grizzled war hero grieving for his dead children and wearied by the decade of fighting for the glory and honour of Rome. He is triumphant in his first entrance – carried in by procession with confetti falling and incense burning – but this initial embodiment of power is not sustained as Houston quickly shows Titus to be an exhausted man, unwilling to shoulder the power and responsibility that the Roman rabble demand from him.

Houston’s performance is certainly memorable, partly on account of the unusual delivery of his lines. At best, his cracked and rasping voice strikes notes of pain and suffering; at worst, it comes across a bit like Bane’s in The Dark Knight Rises, albeit considerably more audible. Houston’s performance comes together from the third act onwards however; what before amounted to an oddity becomes a masterstroke.

Houston is exceptional as Titus plummets deeper into despair and apparent insanity. His performance is increasingly unnerving as he doggedly seeks his revenge, playing a gruesome game of deception with Tamora. The climax comes in the final scene; Titus enters as a fantastically deranged chef, and serves Tamora a specially-baked pie, watching gleefully as she unwittingly cannibalises her two sons.

Prepare yourself for a spectacular understatement: this production is not for the faint-hearted. Those familiar with the play will expect a certain amount of gore, but perhaps not with such unsettling relish. There are some unexpected and wickedly funny moments – a character muses, stroking his chin with a severed hand, at one point – but these darkly humorous instances only make the bloody action more grotesque.

Indeed, the blood is shed so copiously at points that some patrons standing close to the stage (the ‘groundlings’ in the pit) are splattered with it. Some are visibly delighted to be so immersed in the action, others, less so. During the matinee I watched, the body count off-stage surpassed the body count on-stage, most fainting when Lavinia (Flora Spencer-Longhurst) makes her mutilated entrance at the end of Act II.

She has been violently raped, her tongue cut out and both hands removed to prevent her from naming the culprits who have committed such brutality. She trembles and jerks continuously in her agony and shame: it is uncomfortably both agonising and captivating to watch.

That feeling recurs throughout this production; the audience suffers with the play’s victims as well as shares in the power and pleasure of inflicting pain. Obi Abili as Aaron the Moor brings an infectious relish to his character’s murderous mischief.

Abili gives a performance that is both horrifying and hilarious. He swaggers bare-footed across the stage, he seduces the audience with his sly smile and charisma, and brutally murders in a nonchalant fashion; he steals the show.

Titus Andronicus is outstanding perhaps because of, rather than in spite of, its graphic slaughter. Its urgency of action and unshrinking delight in violence and revenge makes this production an unforgettable, if disconcerting, experience.