I was apprehensive before watching Matthew Dunster’s adaptation of 1984 at the O’Reilly. The density of dialogue and scarcity of action renders this play a challenging production. Originally a book by George Orwell, 1984 explores a dystopian world where ‘Big Brother’ rules ‘Oceana’, a country divided into party members, and proles. The proles are not seen as human beings. The slogans ‘War is Peace’, ‘Freedom is Slavery’ and ‘Ignorance is strength’ monopolise the characters’ lives. They are in constant fear of the thought police, who monitor any possible divergence away from the party. Orwell presents a love affair between party members Julia and Winston, and how they work to undermine their party through secret rebellion. However, their efforts are futile, as they callously betray each other and disintegrate into mere shells of human beings through psychological torture.

Matthew Dunster has done well to capture this horrific and unsettling omnipresence of the party throughout the play. The large screen in the theatre frequently plays a short propaganda film chanting praise for Big Brother, which furthers the credibility of the play and heightens the play’s disturbing air. The voice-over which reads out Winston’s diary entry as he fearfully scribbles away is powerful and skilfully done. Much of the play’s success does go, in fact, to its technical aspects, which really bring Big Brother to life on stage. Those who have read the book will be pleased to hear all of the most significant quotes have been incorporated; however they could have been injected with more intensity to procure further horror. ‘If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a man’s face-forever’: 1984’s most famous quote was rather lost amidst conversation.

The acting is good, particularly from Julia, who effectively portrays the character’s slightly masculine and provoking nature, and O’Brien, who maintains an aloof and sophisticated demeanour, and a wonderfully hypnotising voice. Winston’s character is harder to act, despite being the protagonist, for his is the least memorable. He has almost no charisma, as in the book, which makes the heavy dialogue quite dull at times. Perhaps Dunster has adhered too well to the book, and the play would have benefited from cutting a few scenes and reducing dialogue. This said, effort was put into providing constant background action such as meticulously coordinated robotic party members performing tasks.

One little hitch was the bed: the only prop on stage. It began to creak and crumple early on, and gradually, painfully continued until it collapsed as Julia and Winston sat on it. However, it was a relief when it finally did, and we could relax in the knowledge that it was at last broken.

Altogether, an ambitious but successful performance. 

THREE STARS

The Goat or Who Is Sylvia? is Edward Albee’s disturbing tragedy which explores the morality of human beings when faced with issues of sexuality, pedophilia, incest, rape and most significantly, bestiality.

The play is being performed as part of Brasenose’s Arts Week which will commence in third week. It will appear alongside other plays such as Noel Coward’s Hay Fever.  I would, however, suggest that the Goat or Who Is Sylvia? willhave the most lasting effect upon audiences, due to its controversial and unsettling nature.

This play introduces us to Martin, a middle aged, world famous architect. Stevie, Martin’s wife of twenty years, is still madly in love with her husband and they both adore their teenage son, Billy. All of the characters are thoroughly content with family life. However, their world is shattered when Martin’s best friend Ross raises the question, ‘Who is Sylvia?’ at the end of Act 1. The response to this question consumes all of the characters for the rest of the play; for Sylvia is not only Martin’s lover but also a goat.

Martin’s neurotic hand movements together with the continual shaking of his leg, indicate he is unstable from the start. He is a tormented soul, trapped in a nightmare of moral oblivion, with no clear way out. Tom Dawling plays this character exceptionally well, creating a suitable balance between solitary depression and outbursts of real hysteria. Sarah Abdoo, as Stevie, cleverly portrays a mixture of anger and shock and her scathing attack on her husband is effectively manifested through her calm, yet blistering tone.

The most memorable scene of the play, for me, was that between Ross (Josh Dolphin) and Martin, where Martin reveals that his lover is a goat. Dolphin’s disgusted yet disbelieving expressions created an emotional scene, foreshadowing the breakdown of more relationships in Act 2.  With the exception of the odd slip away from the predominantly very convincing American accents, the cast have little to work on.

The play all takes place in one, initially very tidy sitting room, though by the end the set mirrors the disorder of the characters’ lives. The second half dragged on a bit, losing momentum at some points, simply because only one topic consumes every conversation; bestiality. The constant use of the word ‘fuck’ in multiple different contexts became slightly monotonous at times but in its literal sense was apt for a play overpowered by different forms of sexuality. In the final moments of the play, a further disturbing twist grabbed my attention. By the end, the audience looked physically drained- this is no play for the faint-hearted but most definitely worth a watch. 

FOUR STARS

I don’t think there’s a collective noun for ‘luvvie’. A stageful? An affectation? A flounce? The overt theatricality of the Bliss family in Coward’s Hay Fever, performed as part of Brasenose Arts Week, begs the question. Fading actress Judith, novelist husband David and their two bored children Sorel and Simon deliberately cultivate domestic drama, indulging in each other’s intrigues and using their guests as props in the family’s extended artifices. It is a play that neatly ticks the boxes of the thirties farce – whimsical witticisms, intricately tangled relationships, long strands of pearls and the 10.15 back to London – whilst also subtly parodying them.

In the deliberate melodrama of their every action, the characters become the conscious creators of the own Cowardian farce. Unbeknownst to the others, each member of the family has invited down a guest for the weekend – for Sorel, Richard, a sober diplomat; for Simon, the aging temptress Myra; for David, gawky flapper Jackie; for Judith, Sandy, a besotted young fan. But amongst much convoluted partner swapping, their guests are not so much love interests as victims. All affection is revealed to be affectation and even the audience struggles to decipher between pretence and reality. But as the Bliss’s games are revealed to us, we too take savage delight in the ghastliness of their theatricality and Coward’s arch satire of suburban bohemia.

Gags are slick and perfectly timed, with the pauses between Coward’s sparkling lines often as excruciatingly funny as the words themselves. Emily Lassman’s matriarchal Judith is a triumph, a hilarious meeting of ‘Leading Lady’ and ‘Lady of the Manor’ and a cut-glass delivery of thespian histrionics. But acknowledgement should go to each of the impressively strong female members of the cast – Sorel (Clare Pleydell-Bouverie)’s mixture of brattishness and sophistication; the languourous cynicism of Tori Mckenna’s Myra; Phoebe Griffith’s jaded French accent as the maid. Melissa Thorne was particularly good as Jackie, the flapper invited to be ‘studied’ by David, cultivating an innane, bambi-in-the-headlights grin that perfectly establishes her character’s dazed gaucheness.

Performed in a marquee in the grounds, with a croquet pitch to one side and a Pimms vendor to the other, the outdoor situation ties in almost unnervingly well with the play’s country house setting. Since the afternoon was a gloomy one it was a pity the lighting rig wasn’t made use of, but set and costume are both pitched just right – ‘period’ enough to anchor the characters in context without becoming too elaborate for a small and relatively cramped stage.

Though the beginning of the third act struggles slightly after the intensity of the second, the farce ultimately manages to maintain its freshness and Brasenose’s production is polished, superbly funny and easily rewarding. Bliss-ful hilarity in a summery setting. 

Immediately we could tell that this play was going to be ambitious. Gathered in the round with a small, rectangular stage in the centre, we sat amongst the actors with white painted faces and already felt like we were being watched. When Joseph K. entered, he looked around at us all as though he was already on trial and it became clear that the director, Sam Ward, had done an excellent job with the staging. Throughout the play the transitions between scenes were inventive and seamless, with the actors switching character quickly and effortlessly. The scene changes were only slightly let down by the costume choice of clunky shoes for the actors, which detracted from the intense mood by stomping off and around the stage, giving the performance a messy air. This was made worse by the lack of matching costumes for the chorus figures, but other than that they were very enjoyable to watch, particularly Josie Richardson who gave a very controlled and intense performance, enticing us into Kafka’s world with her excellent physicality and fluctuation of tone.

A personal highlight was the retelling of the arrest of Joseph K., played by Alex Shavick. This particular scene was the very best of The Trial, with the abstract elements enhancing the storyline, rather than making the performance seem slightly typically student-y, as other parts appeared. It gave the audience a glimpse of what the play could be like if it was tidied up a bit, which is a quick, interpretive piece of theatre that questions normality and draws in the imagination of those who watch.

Other bits were less neat, though, with Shavick having too many long monologues, since he was not particularly convincing as Kafka’s character, anyway, with there being a distinct lack of emotion. In parts, too, it did seem like the story of an arrested man who is extremely attractive to women, and the way he seemed to constantly be being seduced by women did get repetitive, as did some of the abstract techniques that were employed – especially everyone shouting at once to highlight claustrophobia. 

Yet Ward must be applauded for this new and exciting interpretation of what is, in some ways, a complicated play. The general intrigue about Joseph K and what he can have been arrested for was not lost, and as Shavick stumbled around the stage, we could relate to how he felt. The enclosed space around him gave the impression that he was constantly on trial, giving the piece a sinister edge that worked very well.

Kafka’s The Trial was always going to be difficult to perform at the BT with a cast of only six. Usually the play demands a much larger cast, and is therefore easier for us, the audience, to understand. Despite challenges faced, The Trial was a good attempt, and had many good ideas; it was just a little messy.

THREE STARS

Midnight at the Rue Morgue is of that theatrical ilk whereby you will be thoroughly confused within the first five minutes, and whether this confusion is resolved by the time you leave is almost entirely dependent on how prepared you are as an audience member to receive what the cast attempts to offer. They do not deliver a plot, not in the conventional sense; rather they allow a potential plot to crystallise out of a series of explorations of illness and madness. The audience remains standing throughout, free to move throughout the space, and the more you allow yourself to do so (perhaps not a show for the easily self-conscious) the more rewarding your stay at the ‘Rueful Morgana’ will be.

The ‘Rueful Morgana’ comprises four tables in four corners of the BT studio – four clear zones for each of the protagonists. The overall space is commanded by the in-house mesmerist (Alice Young). Young’s ability to physically manipulate and interact with the audience is excellent – crucially, she is able both to focus the audience’s attention onto certain characters and to draw focus to herself as necessary, without resorting to overwrought gestures or noises.

My main criticism of the piece is, however, the frequency with which three of the four characters were guilty of such things – in particular the tarot card reader (Alex Wilson) whose portrayal of madness was simply overcooked, flinging his cards all over the floor at regular intervals and whirling dervish-like around the room for no discernible reason. Although there is usually one character intended as the main focus, there is constant action in all corners – at its best, this creates the thrill of having an individual experience (witnessing, for example, the ‘suicide’ of the ventriloquist (Filip Ferdinand Falk Hartelius) with a joke pistol whilst most of the audience watched the Burlesque routine) but at its worst is simply a distraction when characters with little to do resort to miscellaneous ‘mad’ behaviour with little clear intent.

By far the most intriguing character in the room is Dr. Egaeus Fowler, portrayed by Rosie Polyn. Such is the nature of the piece that Polyn’s quietly spoken Doctor risks becoming lost amidst the frenetic action of the rest of the cast, but of course as an audience member you are totally at liberty to ignore their more wantonly theatrical antics and spend time instead watching the Doctor at work. Polyn’s skill at interaction was such that there was no sense of boundary between actor and audience – at one point she offered me a model of a jaw and tiny magnifying glass, and her quasi-religious fervour as she explained it was ‘not a thing to admire, but to analyse’ was chillingly believable.

Whereas looking into the eyes of some actors occasionally revealed nervousness at close proximity or the self-consciousness of interaction, hers were always alive and bright with the story of her character. Hers was a doctor dedicated to the work, darkly thrilled by the impulse to explore and discover, eager to share and yet disgusted by the compulsion. Despite the sobbing and wailing in which many of the other characters engaged, hers was perhaps the most believably ‘mad’.

In order to make the most of all that Midnight at the Rue Morgue has to offer, you have to go in prepared to actively engage with it – to explore the space, interact with the characters and their props, to attempt to discover what’s going on. If you simply watch the action as an observer, you will almost certainly leave the theatre clueless as to the show’s aims, main themes, even its basic plot. For many I imagine this could be perceived as a great flaw, but once you realise that you are totally at liberty to trawl through the tarot cards, shuffle through the doctor’s notes and help him dust his skeleton it can become a thoroughly immersive and fascinating experience. Grab the proverbial bull by its horns (or the raven by its wings, more appropriately) and you begin to see the method behind the madness. Judging by the reception of the piece by large parties and individuals, I actually strongly recommend you sneak off to this one on your own, all the better to lose yourself and be transported. Go on, I dare you.

3.5 STARS