Teechers is vintage Godber at his best, showcasing the playwright’s affable, easy humor with concentrated criticism on social injustice – in this case, it is the British education system that bears the brunt of his attack. In it, Godber draws heavily on his experience as a drama teacher at what he described as “a particularly rough comprehensive”, and in order for the play to work, one must successfully convey a certain heightened realism, remaining entirely naturalistic but at the same time, constantly engaging with the audience, for it is the audience to which this “play within a play” is performed – again, pitfalls abound given how irritating metatheatre done badly can be.

 The play requires a great deal of flexibility from the three actors, as they shift from the nervy young drama teacher to the school bully and so on.  For the most part, the three actors pulled this off, although the piece certainly requires more polish. Alex Sheppard was impressive as both surly teen and compassionate Mr. Harrison, with the interchange between various northern accents as he shifted character working well, and energy remaining high. Similarly, Sarah Illingworth’ Gail for the most part was very good, as she successfully capitalized on Godber’s humor, endearing herself to the audience. Kaiya Stone as Hobby had some nice moments, though her rather too breathy delivery made it hard to discern what she was saying, and out of the three she had the most trouble with the script, stumbling over lines. I hope she addresses these points before the performance, as her character has the potential to be very funny indeed. The northern accents for the most part worked well, and I was very glad to see that the Hull element had been retained, though some slips were inevitable. Again, it is entirely likely that such issues will be resolved by opening night.

Claire Morley has clearly done her best to bring another successful Godber rendition to Oxford, and I hope that she emulates the success of last term’s “Bouncers”. However, much of the movement seems devised, and with a little more direction the talented cast could put together something quite special. Chances are that issues with script and staging are likely to be resolved by the performance in sixth week. It’s difficult to do Godber badly – cracking writing which succeeds in being both heartfelt and humorous guarantees that the show will indeed be entertaining– but with a little more time, and a little more polish, Morley’s Teechers may well excel.

4 STARS

Jake’s Progress began well enough.  A basic set neatly arranged to look like a teenager’s bedroom; an excellent Liam Shaw fitting neatly into the role of 19 year old aspiring indie musician Jake; an opening scene with a little gentle comedy to draw us all in.  Then suddenly, abruptly, everything went horribly wrong.  Everyone started to sing.

Jake’s Progress was not advertised as a musical. Moreover, it was not advertised as an original musical: the songs are all the creations of writer Richard O’Brien and musical director Matt Kennedy. As a musical, the piece is, quite frankly, abysmal.  There is no other way to describe it.  The cast, though quite fine actors, are certainly not the best singers around.  The songs themselves are flat and indistinct.  The lyrics are nothing more than a string of clichés, barely relevant to the plot.  As I left the theatre, I couldn’t recall a single line of any song, so faint had been the impression, so shallow the emotion.  However, with credit to O’Brien, an original musical is an impressively ambitious, even foolhardy, undertaking.   There is, of course, ample opportunity to compensate in the dramatic elements of the production; even poor music can find resonance if accompanied by compelling plot.

This was, however, not the case.  It would be difficult to conceive a more facile, derivative and meaningless plot that what this production offers.  Jake is a young musician from Grimsby who goes to London in search of a musical career – he is signed to a record label, the fame goes to his head, his fall is as rapid as his rise, and (you guessed it) by the end he realises who his true friends are.   Though the plot is as old as the music industry itself, what is even more shocking than the unoriginality was the sheer laziness of exposition that sprung from it.  I can only assume that since both writer and director knew that anyone who had been exposed to western culture in the last century would be familiar with the plot of their play in its entirety, they felt no need to actually include any actual storyline.  We only see a series of disjointed scenes, with no sense of time or space between them, no coherence and no continuity.  In exchange, do we receive deeper characterisation, more complex and nuanced relationships between Jake and his ex-girlfriend, or the agent who has feelings for him? No – we get yet more dire musical numbers.

Even so, each of these meandering scenes shows a little flair.  Will Davies as the foul-mouthed, sexually aggressive record executive exhibits comic brilliance, helped by the string of cracking one-liners.  His relationship with his underlings Carenza (Maria Fleischer) and Tabitha (Marie Findlay) is especially rich comic ground; indeed, it is only the trio’s interactions with Jake that make the play watchable.   The chorus are all equally capable, and the dry satire of indie culture their scenes offer is amusing, if not especially original – but once, again it falls down once they try and put it into song.

Jake’s Progress is clearly a play by a very talented writer; yet somehow, it misses the mark in every possible way.  The design, the acting and the production standards are all perfectly serviceable: there is just a total lack of any substance, or character or direction to give the play life.  It becomes nothing more than a mishmash of lacklustre music and insincere dialogue: it is, in short, irredeemable.

2 stars

To stage an adaptation of a Terry Pratchett novel is quite a departure from form for St Hilda’s College Drama Society.  They have developed a reputation for engaging and professional productions, but primarily only with Shakespeare or one of the great American playwrights.  Director Dominic Hall takes quite a risk in this foray into the contemporary comedic realm but it is a risk which has paid strong dividends.

Firstly, he has chosen the play well.  Though it will obviously delight the die-hard Pratchett aficionados, The Truth also has much wider appeal.  With a fast-paced plot and some fantastic one-liners The Truth is engaging and funny.  It is also one of Pratchett’s most accessible works: prior knowledge of his books is a bonus rather than a prerequisite.

Secondly, he has a very strong cast.  The lead, Luke Jew, is excellent as the uncertain upper class editor.  He conveys the character’s equivocation skilfully and provides energy and momentum for the other actors to respond to.  Rosalind Gealy is equally good as a ditsy reporter, bringing real emotional depth to the role.

It is the supporting roles that stood out though; really bringing some of Pratchett’s more colourful characters to life.  Veteran actor James Phillips is hilarious as a Zombie lawyer, with an attention to the little details which make his character all the funnier.  Ricky Nathvani takes what could be a one-dimensional role as a Vampire photographer and fills it up, delighting in his cape and Transylvanian accent.  Cast as two goons straight out of Reservoir Dogs Rachel Watkeys Dowie and Peter Bradshaw form a very entertaining double act.   Victoria White shows her great range, taking a role both as the city’s savant-like ruler and as his dopey doppelganger, switching effortlessly from intelligence to ignorance.

That said, all is not perfect with this production: Hall tends to block simplistically, and some exits and entrances seem contrived.  Occasionally some of the less funny jokes are overly laboured.  However, with just under a week to go, much of this may be fixed by the production itself.  In a University filled with serious productions of serious plays, The Truth provides some excellent light relief and I highly recommend it as a pick-me-up at the beginning of 6^th week.

Four stars

‘The Truth’ will be performed in the Jacqueline du Pre Auditorium, St Hilda’s College in 6th Week – Sunday 19th Feb 2pm, Sunday 19th Feb 7pm, Tuesday 21st Feb 7.30pm. Tickets are available at http://www.hildas-drama.org.uk/reservetickets.html

Most gigs are typified by their audience. When Warpaint played at the O2 last year, virtually every single person in the room was wearing a striped black and white top and thick-rimmed glasses, while an ill-advised trip to see the Maccabees playing at the Town Hall could have very easily followed on from a (slightly sweaty) all male A Level information meeting. James Vincent McMorrow’s fans, from what I could see from my spot by the sticky bar, are a total mix. This is probably because his music is so bloody pleasant – hardly cutting-edge, but really very difficult to dislike. McMorrow’s Early in the Morning is, like Dido’s No Angel, a perfect album for listening to in the car (or the library, or most other places).

I was concerned that his ‘haunting + atmospheric’ combo mix might not necessarily translate to a successful set at the worst venue of all time, but had absolutely nothing to fear. McMorrow performed almost the entirety of the album with consistent aplomb, punctuated with humour, humility and an awful lot of guitar tuning. Though his intersong chat might be characterized as being a little bit rambly at times, overall, one is left with the impression that he is probably just a really nice person – much like his music.

There are a few minor things that made this evening such an enjoyable one: exceptional company; really sublime lighting; McMorrow’s Irish accent and slightly patchy beard; winning a (rather long-winded) pun rally with a fellow viewer – and then, some major ones, like that McMorrow is a joy to watch. The falsetto was out in full force this evening, for almost two hours. Sometimes this was almost unspeakably brilliant – a rendition of Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Games’ moved me almost to tears. It is hard to pick out other highlights, although a fresh and fairly exciting take on ‘If I Had a Boat’ makes for a pretty serious contender. The best essays usually reap the smallest amounts of praise: I can probably sum up the evening with a lone ‘Excellent work’ at the bottom of the page.

Translation is a complex task at the best of times. The act of translation carries a whole series of conundrums: how important, for starters, is fidelity to the original text? To what extent – if at all – can a translated text reproduce the unique voice of the original author? And how can the distinct rhythms and modulations of a particular language possibly be reproduced in another language? Since each and every language bears its own unique character, history, and cultural baggage, the translator’s job will certainly never be an easy one.

Yet translating theatre brings a whole extra set of thorny issues to the table. For on top of the unending panoply of difficulties faced by translators of all kinds – from translators of the literary greats, to those faced with the apparently simple task of translating IKEA furniture instructions or restaurant menus – the theatre translator has an extra factor to worry about: performability. A theatrical script does not only need to flow. It needs to quite literally breathe with performability. To quote the Italian dramatist Luigi Pirandello, ‘in order for the characters to jump alive and moving off the written page, the playwright must find that word that is spoken action, the living word that moves, the immediate expression, natural to the action, the unique expression that cannot be but that one.’

The language of theatre is designed to be spoken, not studied. And a script that is rigorously faithful to the original – however commendable such an effort might be – is therefore unlikely to do the job.

And it is in this respect that Julia Hartley’s new translation of Alfred de Musset’s Il ne faut jurer de rien (1836) truly shines: It is hugely, unquestionably performable.

Never Say Never follows the story of young playboy Valentin who – convinced that all married women are unfaithful to their husbands – sets out to do everything in his power to avoid any such a fate. Yet when his uncle entreats him to consider marrying the charming young Mademoiselle de Mante, Valentin proposes a wager that is intended to trick the Mademoiselle and prove his conviction right. But Cécile looks set to have the upper hand…

So, why Musset? And why this play? Asked about the reasoning behind her choice, Hartley explains that, of all Musset’s works, this is ‘by far his snappiest work’. And if we are able to enjoy this snappiness in full in Never Say Never (and we certainly are), this is thanks not only to the merits of the original but to Hartley’s methods of adaptation and translation. The original has undergone considerable shavings and additions before reaching its final form. Hartley explains that ‘by translating the play myself I have taken advantage of the process to cut the jokes that sound too long, and emphasise the traits which I have found more suited to a modern audience.’ Take her translation of the title, for example, which is far snappier than the relatively weak ‘You Can’t Be Sure of Anything’ plumped for by previous translators of the play. Punchy and to the point, Never Say Never captures the full spirit of the original in a way that ‘You Can’t Be Sure of Anything’ just doesn’t quite manage.

But how about the humour? Can the wordplay, playful innuendos, and caricatures that characterise 19^th century French theatre really get a modern-day English audience going? The answer is a resounding yes. And this is thanks to three key achievements: a successful translation, innovative adaptation choices, and masterful acting on the part of the cast.

Humour is absolutely fundamental to the success of this play, and it is perhaps here that Hartley’s translation deserves greatest praise. For comedy often sits ill at ease outside its own native territory. And matched perhaps only by the challenge of translating puns and linguistic nuances, it represents one of the greatest trials for the translator. Hartley explains that in this reproduction, while ‘there are some classic moments where the comedy comes from the situation which will always work’, most of the humour derives from the direction: ‘It’s to do with the timing, the physicality, the tone of the delivery. A funny script, if it’s done in a dull way, loses all its potential’. Yet equally important to the successful deliverance of humour is Hartley’s appreciation of the importance of succinctness in English. For if Romance languages are characterised by their long, meandering phrases and elaborate phraseology, English is a language of concision.  Hartley recalls herself ‘laughing out loud when reading a Wodehouse dialogue which consisted mainly of “No.” No, no, no.” “Rather.” “Yes.”’ Favouring succinctness over long-windedness, Never Say Never captures the spirit of the original’s humour while delivering a powerful punch designed to please an English audience.

The decision to transpose a 19^th century French play to a 1920s Wodehousian setting is certainly a brave one. Yet in cleverly refashioning the style and language of the original into a distinctly modern form which is faithful to the spirit if not the letter of the original, Hartley manages to get the balance between fidelity and modernity just right. A refreshing take on a little-known 19^th century classic that is not to be missed!