This play, with a cast of two, has three characters. The junior teacher, the senior teacher, and the schoolboys in their charge. The audience, unwittingly taking the part of the latter, is effectively drawn into the action of the piece as a result of skilful direction of Fiamma Mazzocchi Alemanni. Wanting the audience to feel put ‘on the spot’, she asked me to take a seat in what would have been the front row of a classroom. Addressed soon afterwards as ‘Cartwright’, and pointedly asked what I was ‘smirking at’ by the principal actor, I felt suitably uncomfortable and very much put ‘on the spot’.

The press preview of Latin! or Tobacco and Boys, a play written by Stephen Fry in 1979, marked a promising beginning to the life of this production. The setting of a preparatory school provides the perfect location for this witty, yet dark, drama. Here, the stifling atmosphere of scholastic innocence nurtures the illicit sexual practices of Dominic Clarke (Barnabas Iley-Williamson), the younger schoolmaster, for whom ‘pleasure, […], lies between the thighs of a young boy, under 15, blonde, and willing.’ His additional scheme of one day owning the school projects his desire into the future.

The authority which emanates from Clarke’s every word in the first classroom scene continues to define his character throughout the subsequent dialogue, in which Brookshaw, the senior teacher (Louis Fletcher), hints at his knowledge of Clarke’s sexual escapades with the above-mentioned Cartwright, a pupil at the school. This scene reveals Clarke’s complex character, expertly conveyed to the audience by Iley-Williamson. The physical and emotional bullying undergone by Clarke as a youngster himself, fuels his desire: ‘I never forgave them for fracturing my spirit’, he declares.

Fletcher, portraying Brookshaw, and in contrast to a very convincing performance by Iley-Williamson, could have inhabited his role slightly more. Both actors, however, delivered their lines faultlessly. The tempo was a little slow in places (most notably throughout the dialogue), but the whole play was carried along well by the brilliant script.  Mazzochi Alemanni’s direction made certain that there was no lack of attention to detail. Clarke’s most explicit suggestion to his sexual preferences, for example, is pronounced with his back to the audience. Despite his frank lack of shame, he remains essentially uneasy about his behaviour.

At times, the light-hearted script makes this play easily digestible. At others, it points to murkier themes outside the limits of respectability. A preview of the piece was enough to ascertain that this production had truly done justice to Fry’s piece.

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Started in the summer of 2006 by an assorted jumble of Mumford and Sons’ mates and hanger-ons, Communion’s Oxford franchise is more or less exactly what you’d expect. Having moved above ground from the Cellar to the Jericho Tavern, the set is largely banjo and acoustic guitar driven, for a crowd who are largely ex-Etonian (or hoping to marry one). A night for fans of Nick Drake, James McMorrow and the Arcade Fire.

This isn’t necessarily such a losing combination, though. Sunday’s evening featured a mixed (though consistently very pleasant) set of Josh Flowers, Amber States and Oxford-local Will Maule, with cherry-on-the-top headliner King Charles. The set risks being a little samey, but this is testament to the fact that all of the above are just quite good at what they do. It feels painfully ‘indie’ at times – I almost wondered whether novelty knitwear was an entry requirement. The atmosphere is gentle, though, with ample volume control for polite conversation, and the location a well chosen one. Think squishy sofas, no limit for cards at the bar, and lots of cool kids looking smiley.

While I enjoyed the line-up (particularly Mr. Maule, who played a solid and enthusiastic set to only a few of us needy early arrivers), like almost everyone else, I’d come for King Charles. The Tavern is small enough that he spent most of the hours leading up to his performance loitering by the bar with feline grace. At quarter to eleven, he made for the stage, and played a charming half-hour acoustic set. An especial highlight was ‘Love Lust’, which unsurprisingly turned into a bit of a sing-along. Solid vocals; pleasant guitar work; whimsical lyrics (something about someone being the prickliest pear): plenty to like here. Though length evidently isn’t everything, I do wish he’d hung around, playing more lovely music for just a little bit longer.

The Russian State Ballet of Siberia’s production of traditional favourite Giselle at Oxford’s New Theatre was beautifully executed.

The ballet is very much one of two halves. In the first, a disguised count woos the peasant girl, she finds he is already betrothed and drops dead, conveniently just before the interval. In the second, Giselle returns as a ghost to protect her lover from the vengeful Wilis (spirits of girls who have died before their wedding days).

The shift in tone between the two acts is a major one and, while both were engaging, the lighter mood of the opening was probably more successfully achieved. Anna Aulle (Giselle)’s dancing was extremely accomplished, yet it was her expressiveness facially and in mime movements which delighted — something that was more obvious in the animation of her  character in the first half. The initial courtship with Count Albrecht (Dmitry Sobolevsky) showcased both dancers’ technical and acting ability from the start.

The colourful spectacle of the large group scenes — complete with huntsmen, village girls and courtiers — was also a highlight. Costuming (by Elena Rodionova) was beautiful throughout but it was here that the production had the greatest visual impact. In the second half, a few shoddy props, including a cartoonish gravestone and dodgy bush, detracted from the effectiveness of the forest setting, but lighting helped create a suitably sinister atmosphere.

The dances of the Wilis were slower in pace than those of the girls in Act One but the synchronised movements and changes in stage position were visually arresting. Ekaterina Bulgatova, as Queen of the Wilis, deserves special mention for her incredible stage presence and poise, which drew audience attention even during periods of relative stillness. The production is worth attending for the music alone. Adolphe Adam’s score was performed well, and was a perfect counterpart to the dancers, with Alexander Yudasin conducting.

Overall, this Giselle is largely traditional, beautifully danced, accessible and engaging and will be enjoyed by ballet-buffs and newcomers alike.

4 stars

The Russian State Ballet of Siberia will be performing Giselle at New Theatre, Oxford on 17^th Jan, and Sleeping Beauty on 18^th Jan. The tour then moves to Darlington Civic Auditorium, where the company will be performing Swan Lake and The Nutcracker.

Student productions of Pinter plays are like embarrassing covers of Radiohead tracks by that obnoxious religious family down your road. Heavy-handed and accidentally over-sexualised. The only dramatists who suffer similar butcherings at the hands of undergraduates are Shakespeare (three hours of versed droning, offset only by the prospect of a good snog or a nice bit of mutilation) and Chekhov. At least with Shakespeare there’s the well-trod route of the experimental revamp. “Let’s set it in the 50s!” they say, “I just love the clothes from that era! That atmosphere of repression and austerity lends itself so well to Measure for Measure/ Romeo and Juliet/ The Merry Wives of Windsor”. It’s frequently asinine, but it usually involves cutting some of the play, which is always welcome.

The main problem students have with Pinter is that he comes with a complex of clichés. Chief among these are the (snore) Pinter-pauses. Everyone asks about these, because everyone’s heard about them. This is irritating because the plays themselves make unobtrusive, if frequent, use of pauses. I mean, pauses aren’t that unusual in drama. Or in life. It’s just a cessation of dialogue, after all. People in every art form, and in reality, do momentarily stop talking. But no, they say, no – Pinter turned the pause into an art-form, a mode of expression in itself. Thump, thump, thump, snap. Students are particularly poorly equipped to deal with issues like this because, across the humanities and sciences, we’re pushed towards analysis, not synthesis. We’re trained to talk about the patterns underlying the play, its causes rather than its effects. This is death to theatre, whose focus is always on effects, on the character which springs from the raw material of the text. Analysis can trick you into acting badly while Doing Everything Right. You know how a certain line should be said, know how to contort your face at a certain moment, know when to shout and when to whimper. Big whoop. The Ox Stu says it’s “the finest student show we’ve seen in years”. You’ve got the play right in the palm of your intellect, and you’ve squeezed it until the pips squeaked. You know, deep down, that you’ve killed it, that what you’re doing is fake, a sham, an insult to the text. But hey, what does it matter? You can go and have a natter with your friends in the pub while you try to ignore that whirring sound at the back of your head, where the play is spinning in its shallow, sandy grave.

Pinter’s plays make this phenomenon particularly difficult to repress. He plays with ambiguity, with verbal idiosyncrasy. Idioms which flow so freely in casual conversation catch in his character’s mouths.  Everything is more meaningful, more laden with Thought, than it is in more naturalistic drama. I know how to do this line, you think, I’ll lower my voice and sexily growl. That’ll be funny. It makes sense of it, you think. And you go on making sense, and making sense, and the character wanders off, and it’s not supposed to matter because the Oxford Times said that you had a “demonic charisma”. Thump, thump, thump, snap.

So why bother? If you’re attempting to properly act, to act with truth and imaginative courage, fully embodying someone you aren’t but might have been, then why not go for an easier playwright? Like Dennis Kelly. Or Simon Stephens. There’s less room to fake it with them – people frequently say precisely what they mean. You might just get some Proper Acting done. Well, because Pinter is the master. It’s challenge impossible for the arrogant to resist. Arrogant because you know you can do it better, do it properly, overcome the insuperable odds. That’s what we’re trying to do. I’ll be blogging for the next three weeks to let you know how we’re getting along.

Matt Gavan is starring as Root in The Hothouse, by Harold Pinter, Oxford Playhouse from 1^st-4^th February.

America Give Up combines the history and influences of indie rock in one high-energy, cocky little package to be consumed easily. The lazy comparison is with an early Strokes and the raspy voice and leather jacket of Howler’s frontman and figurehead, Jordan Gatesmith, certainly bear a certain debt to Julian Casablancas. However, Howler are more than just a Strokes, Jesus and Mary Chain or Ramones tribute act. The influence of these bands (and many more, going right back to the 60s and before) can certainly be felt throughout the album, but Howler have come up with some frankly fantastic tunes for a debut album.

The classic themes of teenage angst, the elusive girl and, naturally, driving a car into a river come effotlessly to the young band and sound all the more sincere for it. When Gatesmith asks, ‘Where will you be in 2023? In someone else’s arms?’ he’s using the tried and tested, time-honoured formula of singing about love and sticking a decent riff behind it. This formula is particularly evident on those songs that are used on the album from their earlier EP – namely ‘This One’s Different’, ‘Wailing (Making Out)’ and ‘Told You Once’ – which are on the album in a scratchier, more raw version than those familiar with the EP will remember.

Howler get away with sticking to the formula by producing excellent songs from it – the riffs are catchy and punky and the lyrics honest. It’s unusual to come across a debut so full of energy where every song is of high quality, even if the songs offer little originality. A possible exception is the track ‘Pythagorean Fearem’ which, among the distorted vocals and sounds, is reminiscent of early music from The Horrors, who moved on to produce expansive pieces of music on their two previous albums.

The rest of the album is a thrashy, hand-clappy, growly voiced collection of songs that show a lot of promise. Much like the Maccabees, The Horrors or Primal Scream, this band deserve the time to develop. Howler are a band that offer much for both sides of the ‘guitar music is dead’ debate – they give little that’s new, but equally they’re very good at what they do. This isn’t an album that’s going to change anyone’s minds. Fans of The Vaccines or The Strokes are going to love this album – it builds on everything that’s great about indie music. Those that are muttering that nobody sings about politics anymore aren’t going to have their minds changed. From the standard of songwriting, Howler are definitely a band that are worth giving the time to truly find their feet. Every song is worthy of being a single. For now they’re a band that have all the looks, all the hype, and are going to live up to it with this album for indie fans. Come summer, we’ll all be standing in an overflowing tent singing ‘I’m so tired of making out’ back at Gatesmith and grinning. Because if they can write songs like this at nineteen, they’re a band with huge potential.

4 STARS