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

Nod your heads, wave your arms, twist your hips. ‘Get Lucky’, the funk filled latest offering of electronic maestros Daft Punk, is crawling across Oxford, from the floors of Bridge and the discos of Braesnose Ball to the computer room of Worcester College, where I write on behalf of those of you who thought that Cherwell’s previous attack on irresistible electro was just plain wrong.

Did we expect less from our robotic rulers? Reminiscent of their more recent Around the World than the seminal Discovery, I and millions of others took to the track instantly. A choppy guitar track from Nile Rodgers, taking the best parts of 80’s funk and current production values together, belays the real quality of the opening bars, the endlessly fascinating and intricately weaved bass line. Pharrell Williams’ tones are laid back on the verses. Not, I grant, as powerful as on previous work, but living the lyrics they give to us, lyrics that really, really aren’t misogynist. Please, just stop.

How anyone can keep the rising notes that lead into that chorus and the repeated insistence of the title line out of their brains is beyond me. This stuff has been floating in my thoughts for a week already. By the 2:30 mark the electronic voice changers are out, the bass is rolling on, and I’m bouncing around these lonely computers like a kangaroo on speed. We even get a synth riff.

If this does sound like a throwback to the 90s, I miss the 90s. And if this is Daft Punk rehashing their early work, I was born 20 years too late. The mechanised Frenchmen have forged a mighty alliance with Rodgers and Williams, and have stormed a dance dominated chart with some real quality in the field.

My feet are itching for more and Random Access Memories cannot possibly come soon enough.

Lights down, the conductor walks on with a flourish to face his on-stage jazz-band-come-chamber-group and we are launched into the beginning of a jaunty overture which sets the trend for the rest of this lively, enthusiastic rendition of Guys and Dolls in the newly built Pilchette auditorium at Pembroke. Happily, Guys and Dolls is one of those musicals in which it gradually dawns on you that you know the rousing chorus for most of the songs. My particular favourites were “Sit down, you’re rocking the boat”, led by a sharp and funny Nicely Nicely, (Time Coleman), and Adelaide’s Lament, “A person can develop a cold”, sung in the strong and searing voice of Ellie Shaw, who adds a certain genuine emotion to what could otherwise have been a jolly but un-moving evening.

Callum Jackson, playing Benny Southwest, has pulled off the tricky feat of both directing and acting a lead role in a musical: his comic double-act with Nicely Nicely becomes a recurring motif throughout the play which we look forwards to with the reassurance that it will be amusing and seemingly flawless. Funny lines punctuate the musical: “I kinda like it when you forget to give me presents. It’s like we’re married” raised more than a few cynical chuckles, and the cast have resisted the ever-tempting venture of disrupting the script in order to insert too many college jokes.

The first half of this musical moves swiftly through its near hour and a half, and a technical glitch involving a staged telephone conversation and a microphone was triumphantly saved by some hasty improv, greatly appreciated by the audience. Admittedly the second half started off with a slight sense of the cast flagging at the end of a long night; but it soon picked up in a rousing rendition of “Luck be a Lady”, sung by the male half of the chorus who rendered the lack of microphones irrelevant, and a beautifully sung duet between Sarah Brown (Ros Dobson), and the delightfully aged vicar, Arvide Abernathy (Josh Barr).

This performance was filled with charming moments, one of the most memorable being an appearance of a mournful-looking  Sky Masterson (Jack Graham) in a floral apron making pancakes, as seen in the imagination of Sarah Brown. The cast sang very competently, and included some truly talented singers; the choreography was lively and well-coordinated.

Undeniably there were hitches, and at times the delicate operatic voice of Sarah Brown contrasted with the powerful rough-and-ready Adelaide in a way which didn’t quite show off either to their best advantage, but this being the first night I feel sure that the musical will only come together even more over the coming week. Go and see Guys and Dolls for the reasons you would go and see any musical; to have fun and be entertained; and the evening is sure to be a success. 

THREE STARS

Mariah Carey feat. Miguel – #Beautiful

Mariah Carey’s new effort is quite possibly the most 21^st century pop song to date (the title is a fucking hashtag).  Miguel’s production borrows from the lo-fi indie crowd for Carey’s single, perhaps owing more to Frank Ocean than Beach Fossils, but regardless it’s a charming new direction and probably the best piece of pop I’ve heard in months. Summer jam.

Rich Gang (Birdman, Nicki Minaj, Lil Wayne, Future & Mack Maine) – Tapout

Rich Gang is the new supergroup formed from Young Money’s cream of the crop, and if their line up ain’t enough for you, this video got cameos from Paris Hilton (you know), Kimora Lee Simmons (she was on America’s Next Top Model?) and Christina Milian (ok I don’t know who she is either). Alright, there might not be anything particularly ground-breaking about this, but it is a banger and Future has some stellar auto-tuning in it. I also really dig the leather skirt he wears in the video. And boasting about being “the only rap bitch on the Forbes list” (at 3:45) has to be one of Minaj’s best lines.

Is Tropical – Dancing Anymore

This isn’t exactly new, but at least the video is. And despite the lack of nudity, it is somewhat risqué, so bear that in mind before watching it in the Rad Cam. The song itself is pretty basic guitar-pop, I just sort of felt it needed inclusion on the merit of the visuals alone. Whilst not exactly reinventing the wheel, Is Tropical do what they do just fine – make moderately catchy guitar music with that comfortingly clean Kitsuné sound to it so it seems far more current than it actually is. Which I don’t think is necessarily such a bad thing. At least the three guys that still read the NME have something to listen to.

Twigs – How’s That                   

New material from Twigs, produced by DIS favourite Arca, and apparently they feel like the modern ballad needs to get in touch with polyrhythms. And I’m not sure I’m about to argue. Despite the incredibly dope production and visuals, I can’t help but feel that this is lacking in some pop sensibilities that I believe could only work in its favour. But it does sound like the future, so maybe I should just move with the times. Yeah, I’m moving with the times. This slays.

Cee Gee – Wine (Prod. Douster)         

Cee Gee’s producer Douster isn’t exactly the first cultural import for Jamaican lyricists, and he brings with him a lot of the aspects of contemporary stripped-down US hip-hop. That said, his Parisian roots are still plain to see, with the track relying on a somewhat continental synth-lead hook, but the whole ‘glitchy dancehall’ thing kinda works. I especially appreciate the way it makes the noise that speakers make by active phones, invoking dancehall salesmen themselves, Major Lazer.

Chronik – Deepest Darkest

“We will destroy your livestock. We will destroy any means you have of survival. SLEW DEM. SLEW DEM. SLEW DEM.” I don’t think David Starkey’s most xenophobic wet dream would be half as ridiculous as this. The new Chronik vid literally has him pretending to be an African dictator. Check it. It’s pretty great.