★★★☆☆
Three Stars

I approached Ashurbanipal with not-a-little trepidation, duly warned that it wouldn’t in any way pander to tastes for gritty realism, being a medley of Classically-inspired tragedy about the eponymous Assyrian king, dance-like movement drawing from Japanese Noh Theatre and soundtrack splicing soporific sections with blasts of heavy metal. I have to say I came from the experience rather excited, even if the puzzle of why combine these particular disparate elements hadn’t been quite resolved.

Perhaps, “why” is unimportant; the play seems to ask implicitly to suspend questioning around those buzz-words “justification” and “relevance”. At its best, the stage becomes dreamscape which engages us intuitively. During a divining sequence where actors represent astrological motions and arcane powers, under flickering lights and a murmur of music, they seem to be transformed by their fluid yet mechanical movement, going at different speeds and in different shapes. Not an area of skin showed on stage, all covered by paint or clothing, contributing to this transformative effect.

Vocal tone was similarly transformed: the king (Timothy Foot) resonant dominance, the queen (Abigail Adams) intoned emotionalism. Indeed, these two deserve particular credit for entering especially effectively into the symbolist qualities of gesture and movement. Such heavy artifice and choreography meant, however, that even the slightest line hiccup or step out of rhythm became accentuated. I was also not entirely sure about the transitions in the play; lights would suddenly make blinding changes, aggressive heavy metal shake you out of all comfort. I’m all for being shaken out of comfort, but it sometimes felt gratuitous. I hasten to add, though, that the heavy metal tended to complement what passed on stage: with the choreography, it suggested, at once, controlling divinity and dark, grotesque human nature being its own downfall.

Despite the emphasis I’ve placed on the abstract qualities, there was certainly a narrative to follow, one of Ancient Assyria, that most rare of theatrical subjects. Nevertheless, the old familiar, indeed timeless, themes crop up: fate and free will, order and chaos, trust and betrayal… In fact, these big ideas seem gendered alongside the male/female conflicts the play centres on, not perhaps in a particularly original or progressive way – it ends up being, of course, feminine wiles that attempt to destabilise male order – but I suppose it gives unity.  As script-writer, Selena Wisnom’s language ought to be praised for its lyricism and was really complemented by expressive choreography.

My suggestion: see Ashurbanipal, indeed as much for the potential it demonstrates for wider diversity in theatre. You may share my “not a little trepidation” – but is that not symptomatic of all the best drama?

‘An Inspector Calls’ is an open and vocal criticism of social values, and comment on social responsibility. You do not go to Priestley’s play expecting a laugh-along, and, quite true to form, this is not what you appear to be offered.

The play is allowed to speak for itself, as I am told, both in regards to the original idea (it still remains stalwartly focussed on human obligation), and in regards to the artistic side of the production. There is black tie a-plenty, evening dresses similarly, and a decanter full of port. 

With regard to the artistic vision, the staging is very, well, ‘staged’. I say this not in a derogatory, or even negative way, simply as a way of conveying the picutre-like arrangement of characters which greets the eye. It looks as if a smocked artist, easel in tow, has set their models ready for the canvas.

This can, of course, lead to some problems, one such being that, on occasions, the scene is almost too picture-like – which can lead to its being a bit static. This is, in part, the fault of the script, which necessarily demands much of this static-action (if I may be oxymoronic) from many of the actors. Where two of the characters are conversing, three, four or five may be on stage, and so evolves the hard task of still capturing the building pace of the play, while remaining sedentary.

For the play is incremental. I saw as much with the juxtaposition of the amiable beginning of the ‘nice little family celebration’, against the hugely confrontational later scene from Act Three. At one point I even jumped, as things got so heated.

And the acting seems to generally gauge this building and brewing nature of the play. Those (such as Raphaelle Vallet’s Shirley Birling) who seem timid or at least unthreatening under the guise of the situation before the Inspector’s exposé begins, slowly transform as you approach the zenith of the emotional tensions that lie under the surface. Eric Birling (played, with notable versatility, by Felix Lehane) for example, begins as the ‘squiffy’, almost comic, member of the family, but shifts from this persona into a centre of morality and immorality, which seems to involve impressive amounts of shouting.

At this late stage in rehearsals, perhaps with a few moments of slightly jarring inertness, the show runs pleasantly along these bubbling undercurrents of tension, boiling over at the right points and simmering with equal aptness.

Ten years ago this Christmas, The Office came to an end with a two-part special after two full series. The sitcom, penned by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, has since become the most successful British comedy of all time. I spoke to five of the actors, ten years on, about their experiences of the show.

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Ralph Ineson, who played Chris Finch

Hi Ralph. How did you come to the part of Chris Finch?

When I was first sent the sample scenes, Finchy came over as a spivvy, cockney, white-boy-geezer type, but it was more interesting to have him as a Yorkshireman and to give him a bullying twist.  

I look back on it very fondly, and I’m reminded of it every day of my life. It was a nervous time for me – I’d never done comedy before, as I’d mainly been in drama, so it was quite nerve-wracking.  

It was quite cathartic to act as Finchy, but it was also exhausting. To say his lines to people’s faces, it erodes your soul a little bit! I did want a shower when I came home from work to wash the character off.

Did you have any feeling that it was going to become a huge hit, despite the underground start it had?

I don’t think you could ever predict the success it’s had. It would be very strange if you could spot those shows.

When filming series one I talked to Ash [Atalla, the producer] and asked him what he hoped for the show. He said he’d like it to be the new Royle Family – which got nine million viewers on BBC1 and was a cultural phenomenon. Everyone knew it was ridiculous for a little show about people working in an office to achieve success on that scale, and I remember smirking to myself at the suggestion. 

Everyone liked the Royle Family because everyone watches TV with family and so it works universally – but families aren’t in offices, so I couldn’t understand how it would be successful on that scale. 

How do you look back on the project?

On one level, Ricky and Stephen were doing something very different, as that style of comedy [mockumentary] wasn’t prevalent. It was the first show to do that style. It tooks lots of rehearsal and long takes. It was a very exciting, creative set to be on. Brent’s a fool but he’s a harmless fool who’s misled. They brought Finchy in to show Brent’s not actually a bad guy, compared to Chris Finch. 

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David Schaal, who played Taffy (Glynn)

Hi David. When you looked at the script did you think it could go far?

No, not at all, I thought it was a load of shit. I was actually annoyed because I auditioned for the part of Finchy. As an actor, one day you’re on top of the universe and the next day you feel like you want to quit – when you’re young there’s not much in between. It’s very black and white.

To me this was another piece of shit job, the daily fee wasn’t great, and it just reminded me that I was a shitty actor and my career was going nowhere. But I was an idiot back then because I didn’t realise how lucky I was.

I was devastated that I got what I considered to be the consolation prize: the warehouse manager, when all I could think about was that I wanted to play Finchy. In the end they just wanted a Northerner for that part.

What was it like working under two unknown writers and directors [Ricky and Steve]?

When he did the warehouse scene – the ‘my dog shagging his dog’ bit – Ricky gave one of my lines to an extra, which pissed me off. The scene had no energy in it, it was boring, so I just laughed all the way through and Ricky was really pleased with that. But my initial reaction was that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or what he wants. 

Then I saw the first episode on TV and I realised – this is actually pretty good. I had a similar feeling with The Inbetweeners [where David played Jay’s Dad, Terry]. I thought: these kids can’t act. But when I watched it back, I realised it was really good.

How did you feel about the comedy of the show?

Ricky’s comedy is one of brutality. The comedy of so many characters – Anne, Taffy – is very brutal, same as in his other shows like An Idiot Abroad. I think he’s a little bit of a misanthrope. Picking on pregnant women [Anne], for instance! There’s something a bit hateful about it; reducing the beautiful act of childbirth to someone ‘blowing his beans up your muff’ (Christmas Special pt.2). That’s quite dark. 

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Me and Ewen MacIntosh, who played Keith

Did you audition for Keith at the time?

There wasn’t originally a part for Keith, I was just one of the supporting cast. They wanted faces that hadn’t been on TV before, so it was like a documentary.

I was doing a market research job at the time and only doing comedy on the side, so it was a good chance to get away for six weeks, be involved in something that was vaguely creative. 

I was working in a call centre and management worked on a different floor, so unfortunately I never came across a real David Brent character in my real working life. 

Did anyone have an inkling it was going to be so successful?

We were all vaguely aware that the BBC weren’t that hopeful of it. They had undergone a regime change and it was notorious that the new controller of BBC2 [Jane Root] didn’t rate it, or really understand it. The ratings were losing out to Women’s Bowls, it was such a low key project.

The good thing about it was that the BBC pushed Ricky and Steve out to the studios in Teddington, so they didn’t have to deal with the bigwigs and could get on with the project on their own.

Was there a good atmosphere in the studio?

When Patrick [Baladi, who plays Neil Godwin] came in, it was great because he’s such a strange person. He brought a real energy to it; he’s so different to how you’d expect watching Neil. He was always mucking about. 

The show had a great atmosphere, there were no egos, and everyone had lunch together so there was no segregation between cast and crew. I definitely look back on it with fond memories. 

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Stirling Gallacher, who played Jennifer Taylor-Clark

Hi Stirling. What were your first instincts about the show?

When I first read the scripts I didn’t get it, so I gave it to my husband and he thought it was genius. When we started working it was great fun and I laughed a lot. But I remember thinking it would either come across as very funny, or as one of those sixth form revue projects where you think it’s hilarious but no-one else does. 

After episode two of series one, Jane Root, the BBC2 Controller, was on the verge of pulling it, but then the ratings quadrupled after episodes three and four. 

How do you think they managed to make it such a timeless project?

Ricky and Stephen were very smart about not overdoing it – they weren’t at all keen on doing the Christmas specials. The BBC wanted another series and everyone felt so strongly about Dawn and Tim, but they were hugely reluctant to give them a happy ending. 

The specials were their compromise. But they didn’t get caught up in the hype, and given it was their first big hit, it was a really brave, smart move to limit the show. 

Did you feel any affinity to Jennifer Taylor-Clark?

I didn’t believe Jennifer would tolerate Brent as much as she did – I wanted to play her much harder. It seemed she had known Brent for a long time and she knew he was a prat, but on the other hand part of her thought he had a good heart…though I couldn’t see it!

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Robin Hooper, who played Malcolm

Hi Robin. Presumably the show felt just like any other normal job at the time?

Yes, for me it was just about going in there to do your job. You don’t ever think you’re in a hit series. I had such a small role that I spent a lot of time eating biscuits in a small room waiting for my scenes!

After the success of the show ballooned, I was getting invited to all these glamorous parties. ‘Why on earth am I getting invited to them?’ I thought. I hadn’t watched most of the show myself and now people were stopping to talk to me. 

Did Ricky and Stephen, two unknowns back then, come across as very professional?

It was clearly a terribly important project to Ricky and Stephen. They spent so much time writing the script, but the BBC didn’t care much for the first series. There were also two other series based on an office environment which got cancelled at the same time.

Ricky was in his early forties and hadn’t really got anywhere, and Martin Freeman hadn’t yet come out of drama school – no-one really knew what to do with him. People thought he was quite weird really. 

Was it hard working with Ricky in a serious capacity?

It was so difficult not to react to Ricky ad-libbing his part. One scene was twenty-two takes of non-stop laughing. The whole scotch egg bit [with Keith] took a long, long time. 

The reason why the show works is because David Brent is completely human. He’s an absolute prat, but he’s human. We all know somebody like him, whether it’s our father, our boss or our lecturer. 

★★★★☆
Four Stars

Lead Feathers has massive boots to fill. Hilary’s Bluebeard, also written by Howard Coase and Douglas Grant, was practically perfect. Lead Feathers should be judged on its own merits but its staging – comfy chairs, cups of tea, a darkened BT studio – is reminiscent of Bluebeard and so the two  inevitably invite comparison from the moment you sit down.

Instead of a care home, the armchairs belong to a family home in Kent in 1919; the mood is tentatively hopeful and very British, as characters busy themselves with funerals and the return to normality. A lone white feather decorates a screen to the right of the stage, which is covered in chicken wire and sown with poppies. The war is over and we find likeable Charles (James Colenutt), complete with medals and a knee injury, home at last with his wife Jane (Emily Troup) and daughter Elsie (Maddy Herbert).

Charles has an easy manner and he contrasts instantly with the family’s thin-lipped, slightly creepy neighbour Robert (Jack Wightman). Robert and his wife Cynthia (Tori McKenna) provide the stiff counterpart to Charles and Jane’s loving, gently teasing marriage: both couples are constantly referring to their shared past, but also to the long time they have spent apart. Suspense builds: we do not understand Elsie’s obvious animosity towards Robert; we cannot understand why Cynthia is not happy to be reunited with her husband.

Conscientious objection has been hinted at by the play’s title, marketing and staging but the topic is only breached by Robert around twenty minutes in. He was supposed to object with Charles, but in the end Charles fought in France and came home a hero. Robert, by contrast, spent three years being ostracised and imprisoned in Britan. The play picks up at the two couples’ reunion and offers a careful examination of the relative morality of objecting, fighting and deserting; it offers no didactic message, but plays heavily on the gulf between rhetoric (‘defending one’s country’) and the grim reality of living in a ditch for years on end.

The history of the thing can feel heavy-handed. We are reminded of the Freikorps, of posttraumatic stress disorder, of Amiens, of ‘conchies’, of the suffragists and the suffragettes. The opening felt at points like a rewriting of my GCSE source paper: beautifully translated to stage, but trying to cover every wartime and post-war social phenomenon at once.

Robert’s long-awaited mention of ‘objecting’ finally explained the tensions between the characters. This was the climax of the first of two long bouts of suspense drawn out by the script: I will not spoil the other, but I found myself frustrated by unanswered questions for at least two thirds of the play. Suspense was brilliantly built and broken, but suspense and speeches about the ‘horrors of war’ detracted from smaller-scale human details which embroider the script.

The best of these were the oral sketches of the world around the protagonists: at one point Jane describes how earlier she saw a man with a moustache on a train whose face was immobile. She later realised that he was wearing a mask which had been moulded to his features in order to conceal his facial injuries. Another brief section saw Elsie collecting up teacups and reading books to music while she waited for her parents to return from the theatre. This was a simple yet charming interlude which demonstrated mature direction: the audience were allowed to immerse themselves in another era and digest what they had already seen.

The script is not as strong as Bluebeard’s in terms of resonance and characterisation, but its cast is bigger and its scope far more broad. McKenna’s performance is consistently strong, while Colenutt and Troup’s marriage – culminating in a wrought final scene – is entirely believable and faultlessly executed. Lead Feathers is an ambitious but assured production and a credit to new writing. 

The description of this play as ‘a series of crude, clownish retellings of different tales from scripture’ could not be more apt. That is what Comic Mysteries is. It is a jumble of Biblical stories hacked together. 

The main problem with the play was that it seemed like it was trying to make a religious or political point, but it just didn’t. The corruption of the pope was an obvious theme in one of the sketches, and yet was never referred to again. The humanity of a soldier, who was then beaten and murdered for it, faded with his last breath. As I left the BT, I felt like I was supposed to have got something from Comic Mysteries that simply wasn’t there – were they criticizing Christianity? Were they criticising the Church? Were they just making fun of Jesus? I’m not really sure.

But then again, maybe the performance shouldn’t be taken so seriously. The script was fairly amusing, and it was interesting to see the stories of the Bible told in such a different way – a particular highlight was Michael Comba retelling the story of Jesus turning water into wine from the perspective of a sceptical drunkard.

The staging was very experimental and kept the audience involved in the piece. We stood in a group in the middle of the stage, being ushered about by the actors when they needed us to move. Though it did reach the point where one just wanted to sit down and watch the actors rather than constantly worrying about being in their way, this wasn’t a big problem, and it made the play more engaging and exciting. In that way we were lucky that there were a mere seven audience members as it meant we got more personal attention from the actors who spoke to us.

There were stand out performances from Laura Whitehouse and Alex Tyndall, who made us both laugh at and sympathise with the characters on stage. Tyndall’s depiction of Pope Boniface was hilarious and Whitehouse is clearly a very talented actress. Switching roles from a grieving mother who is losing her mind, to a cripple hoping not to be saved by Jesus, to a female depiction of Jesus being nailed to the crucifix, meant her abilities were certainly tested, but she gave an effortless performance.

We were led into the BT studio expecting to be disappointed. I was not disappointed; Comic Mysteries was funny, and the actors were good, but it was overall unclear what they were trying to achieve with the performance. It was not, as the OxStu predicted it would be, ‘divine’.