Not being an expert in minor playwrights of 17th Century England, I had never heard of Philip Massinger nor his comedy The City Madam. So it was with the giddy excitement of a theatre nerd seeing a rare production, mixed with a touch of apprehension, that I entered the Swan theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon. Had I done my research, I would have found that Massinger was a master satirist and social critic with a keen sense for the fun that can be had on the stage when exploring the English social system.

The City Madam follows the fortunes of the inappropriately-named Frugal family. Luke Frugal, destitute and penitent, has frittered away the family fortune, been imprisoned for his debts, and imposed himself on the charity of his brother and his family. Despite the title, Frugal is the enigmatic heart of this play and much of the production’s tension stems from the audience’s awareness that we are never quite sure what he will do next – a fact that Jo Stone-Fewings performance deliciously foregrounds, shifting mercurially under a restrained surface of Christian benevolence. Sir John Frugal, his brother, is the play’s moral compass and he devises a ruse to both unmask his brother and reform his extravagant wife, the City Madam of the title, and his daughters. In this play even the women are camp caricatures and Lady Frugal and her daughters do a wonderful job of maintaining the audience’s sympathies for three rather ugly characters. Meanwhile Christopher Godwin’s performance adds a dignity and intelligence to the play. The stillness that he brings to Sir John reminds us that there is a moral purpose to the action that whirls around him.

Massinger’s play is part-parable, part-pantomime. If you’re expecting the high-flown verse and delicacy of composition that you might find in Shakespeare, look elsewhere. Massinger’s style is robust, witty and satirical and Dominic Hill’s direction conjures a heady vivacity from the text. Indeed, the whole play has a riotous carnival feel to it. Suffused with exoticism, magic and – of all things – puppetry, which surprisingly delivers one of the most touching spectacles of the entire production, the play has a surrealism and immediacy that is vividly brought to life by the Royal Shakespeare Company.

The costuming is flawless as you would expect from the RSC – I particularly enjoyed the incongruous purple satin bows on Mr. Plenty’s attire, a lapse in taste that only a self-made man could make. Hill described The City Madam as participating in the same heightened reality as a Hogarth cartoon or a Dickens novel and it is a sentiment I can strongly agree with, all three delighting in the absurdity and extremity of human life. Yet the play’s thematic interest in the parvenu, old money and materialism adds a depth and intellectual resonance to the present day that manages to stimulate thinking whilst not spoiling the fun.

And with the free RSC Key scheme making it possible for students to see RSC productions for only £5, this is fun that won’t break the bank – and if Massinger is preaching anything it is surely that pleasure in moderation is the best pleasure of all.

When Wild Beasts gave us Limbo, Panto in 2008, its earnest theatricality immediately set the Kendal quartet apart from their indie rock contemporaries. Deploying the contrast of two vocalists (Hayden Thorpe’s coarse falsetto and Tom Fleming’s more standard register) and drawing from the vaudeville and the picaresque, Limbo, Panto described life (and sex) in the North-West with characteristically flamboyant panache. Thorpe crooned in ‘Woebegone Wanderers’: ‘Unstable stands a-flush with fans, pilfered piles and pints in wobbly hands,’ while whispering on ‘She Purred, while I Grrred’ that ‘her fruit was ripe, I bit, I’m nothing more than a humble mongrel, whipped cast, rash and unabashed.’ Follow-up Two Dancers upheld this lyrical ingenuity, but toned down the melodramatic excesses of its predecessor to great critical accolade, including a Mercury Prize nomination. But in so doing – to this reviewer at least – it showed signs of losing the singular aesthetic of the debut.

Smother, I fear, continues this trend. Wild Beasts’ fascinating exploration of fragile masculinity is still present, but the lyricism is far more conventional – no more depictions of the bar fights as ‘bovver boot ballets’. The record features cleaner production, and sparser instrumentation, but ultimately this allows for a far more atmospheric record, and leaves greater room for Thorpe’s still striking vocal ability. Smother is the product of a greater maturity, and the grooves, though darker, are often just as undeniable.

‘Lion’s Share’ couples Thorpe’s haunting voice with a sinister piano backing, while the masterful ‘Bed of Nails’ conveys a sense of unfulfilled lust with stalking bass and shuffling drums. In ‘Burning’, Fleming’s shaky, despairing vocals gradually sink into the mix until they are enveloped by a growing wall of sound. Whether or not one applauds the jettisoning of youthful extravagance for greater sobriety, Smother must be commended as another excellent release from the ever-impressive Wild Beasts.

British cinema is a peculiar and unhealthy species of film that is considered by many to be lacking its own identity when it is not either an adaptation of 18th century literature or starring Hugh Grant as, well, himself. Ken Loach however goes against all of this: his films depict a vision that is not based on any romanticized notion of Britishness (Loach is one of the truly honoured few to have shunned the offer of an OBE out of distaste) but a realistic and working class vision that trailblazed the gritty kitchen sink drama. His most influential work is undoubtedly his made-for-TV film Cathy Come Home in 1966.

The film tells the harrowing story of Cathy, a mother in the 1960s who through the inflexibility of the embryonic British welfare system finds her family homeless after her husband’s redundancy. The complete dismantling of her family in the final scenes cuts through viewers like very few films can, leaving only the steeliest of Thatcherites dry-eyed.

Watched by one quarter of the British population at the time, the film highlighted the plight of the homeless in a way that had never been done before and led to the widespread establishment of the charity Shelter.

Formerly a law undergrad from St. Peters, Loach moved on to direct his first feature film, the critically acclaimed Kes (1969), which provides an equally bleak but insightful outlook on British working class life from the perspective of a young boy, challenging the audience not to look away.

Throughout his career, Loach has continued to depict the struggles of those who often do not have a voice, directing such recent hits as Sweet Sixteen (2002) and A Fond Kiss (2004). Loach himself has attracted controversy through his vocally anti-Israeli stance, his advocation of the Chechen Republic and his support of Julian Assange (founder of WikiLeaks) throughout his incarceration.

His new film Route Irish is being shown in the Ultimate Picture Palace in Cowley this month and looks at the lies told with regard to the Iraq War and the impact on the soldiers who fought there. Although not deviating from his formula of challenging unvoiced criticisms of the government and society through fictional accounts, the high octane action involved in this recent release has been criticised by many as a reflection of an unwanted big budget influence on his films.

Loach’s film has, however, proved to be a hit with critics and audiences alike, with the strength of his movies not being based in their budget (be it large or small) but in the way that Loach unflinchingly tackles controversial political topics. With Loach secured as one of Britain’s greatest directors of all time, the focus now turns to his son Jim, who makes his directorial film debut this year. His film Oranges and Sunshine deals with the covered up issue of British children in care that were sent permanently to Australia. Between 1947 and 1967 over 10,000 children were sent to live a life overseas of hard labour and abuse, with many of their parents being told that the children had been adopted into new families in the United Kingdom and the children being told that they were orphans. The influence of his father is strikingly clear – Oranges and Sunshine would comfortably fit as another addition to Ken’s long filmography.  

Jim denies he is just following his father into a career laid out for him; in his defence, Jim has worked his way up, even directing episodes of Coronation Street. There is a pattern however: Ken’s other child, Emma, makes frank and unflinching documentaries. With Jim’s new film receiving excellent reviews thus far and in late 2009 (once Oranges and Sunshine was already in production) both the British and Australian government apologised to the child migrants for the first time – the film is creating ripples for all the right reasons and firmly in its own right. Although I’m sure all of the Loaches would be repulsed at the idea of their name buying them a career – can the British film fan really complain?

Now in his seventies, who knows how many more films Ken is actually interested in directing. If his children have inherited his talent for film making (which all accounts suggest they have) then it is a fantastic opportunity that the legacy of this terrific filmmaker will continue to challenge our views and change our politics long into the future.

The Rover is set in the grandiose setting of New College gardens. As you enter the park you will instantly be surrounded by a carnival of beautiful roses, wisterias and daffodils – all there to welcome you to the world of The Rover. The play was written by author Aphra Behn, a dramatist born in 1640, famous for being the first professional female writer in England.  Virginia Woolf said of her: ‘All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the grave of Aphra Behn… for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds.’

And her reputation is well-founded as the audience hears one of the actresses expounding on the subject of women’s rights within the play. The Rover follows the adventures of a group of English cavaliers; Belvile, Wilmore, Frederick and their female counterparts, sisters Florinda and Hellena. The plot centres on Florinda and Hellena’s decision to escape their brother’s wedding plans and come to Naples to experience real love.

Jack Powell, who plays Willmore the titular rover, is convincing as the dandy in the pursuit of pleasure. He has a great foil in Hellena, played by Eleanor Hardy, who deserves a mention for bringing such great energy to the stage. Of course, playing in an open stage entails some difficulties, the actors’ voices might not be heard equally well in the back rows, and the wonderful open space could arguably be used for more action. Nonetheless, the orchestra delights the audience with some well-chosen music and the large group of actors brings energy and thrust to what is quite a lengthy play.

So if you love all the ingredients that make a story entertaining; love, miss matches, sword fights, weddings – The Rover is your kind of play. And what better way to spend a quiet summer evening then witnessing the unravelling of love and desire? Just make sure you bring a scarf with you: the beauties of a Neapolitan carnival won’t protect you from the chills of an English evening.

‘Edgy’ is the adjective upon the audience’s lips as they enter the Burton Taylor Studio. And as much as this can be a pejorative term, Milja Fenger’s original play She Was Yellow is edgy – but in the best sense of the world. Experimental, unsettling and provoking She Was Yellow is some of the best new writing I’ve seen whilst at Oxford.

There is such sweetness and pleasure in the opening scenes of the play, and humour too, that I could easily have watched Alashiya Gordes as Aurelie and Sarah Perry as Ilona for a few acts as they move from hesitant friendship to established passion, such is the ease and joy they communicate. But unfortunately, the business of the play must continue and we zip dizzyingly through their courtship until Aurelie must deal with the implications of two diagnoses; pregnancy and a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer. From here on out, the play delves into a much darker and sadder place; gone is the pleasing accompaniment of bouncy Jack-Johnson style guitar, and a particularly evocative strain of Gershwin-esque saxophone haunts the latter half of the production.

The set is minimal with Gordes and Perry creating the backdrop as the play progresses. The final image they create bringing together the themes of reproduction and perpetuation in a very satisfying climax and I applaud this innovative directorial touch. Most of all however, I enjoy the way in which the play is able to sustain an emotional intensity – I hear more than one person speak of trying not to cry as we leave the theatre – and I think this has a lot to do with Sarah Perry’s endearing portrayal of emotional strength.    

Milja Fenger’s script does something rather special: educating and celebrating scientific knowledge without conspicuously forcing facts down our throats. At its core is a celebration of both story-telling and science, something Aurelie knows and which it takes Ilona and us the rest of the play to find out. A play constructed around intimate dialogues rather than dramatic action it is often very funny. If it has a tendency to sound portentous then it is because the material calls for the characters to talk seriously and honestly to each other. She Was Yellow could perhaps do with a little more polish – there are a couple of moments when lines jar or timing is slightly off, but this did not hamper my enjoyment.

Experimental theatre may not fill the stalls but Fenger’s play deserves to. If you can get a ticket for the last couple of performances at the Burton Taylor I’d urge you to go, if not look out for what Fenger does next – I predict a colourful future.