Translation is often seen as a mechanical process. Now that it’s easy to get a rough translation of a text over the internet, many view the complex practice as little more than the substitution of a word in a foreign language for its equivalent in their own.

The fact is that it’s not nearly that simple. Some languages express certain concepts much better than others and it is the job of the translator – and particularly of the literary translator – to ensure that the true meaning of a text does not become lost between the two. There are some who would argue that because a translator works from an existing source, he or she can never reach that peak of creative inspiration achieved by the author himself. It is partly for this reason that translation has often been relegated to a lesser order of literary importance than other kinds of writing.

Dr John Rutherford, Spanish Fellow at Queen’s and translator of Don Quixote (amongst other things), sees this as unfair. ‘Culture atrophies without influence from outside and the main channel for that is translation’, he says. ‘The imaginative use of language is every bit as intense, and arguably more so. I am a writer in the sense that my translation is my own reading, put into new words by me.’

Each translator’s ‘own reading’ differs from the others; Rutherford deliberately included the intrinsic humour of the Quixote in his own translation, where others see it as a serious work. Another difficulty lies in deciding how accessible a translation should be; should it seem almost as though it was originally written in the new language, or should it retain a feeling of alienation, what Rutherford calls ‘marks of otherness’?

Rutherford views translation as more of an art than a craft. Stories, he says, are things which we create as we read. A translator uses his personal reading of a source text to create a story which will make sense to its readers in their own language, whilst at the same time keeping its feeling of the alien and remaining faithful to the author’s intentions. An adept translator will find the middle way between the two, allowing the reader a sense of the text’s origins whilst ensuring that they understand it. It is not a mechanical and unoriginal process but a complex skill, requiring subtlety and imagination: the hallmarks, in fact, of the great original writer.

Bubbling resentments, submerged back-stories, and a mysterious and violent figure returning from a character’s past to disturb his peaceful present- very much a student play. This is a new (and somewhat infuriatingly titled) piece of writing from the award- winning poet and playwright Caroline Bird, and it positively simmers with energy and wry anger.

Thomas, about to take his finals, is rudely interrupted by a verbose, aggressive figure from his past. His well-heeled friend Oscar has recently been waxing lyrical about whether or not he should drop out of uni and finally take the plunge, finally immerse himself in the real world. It is not long however before the focus of the play falls firmly on Thomas and his guest, an old, pre-Oxford friend. An old, pre-Oxford friend, moreover, who remembers Thomas in his hedonistic druggy life before Polo shirts and Latin grammars.

There is a wealth of moral dilemma, a lot of juicy material to cover. But Oscar soon drops out, and we are left without ignorant about his potentially life changing decision. What matter, the play seems to be saying, if some Classicist toff drops out or not? How could his life be anywhere nearly as valid or interesting as the sordid and druggy world introduced by the hulking and dangerous figure of Ed, Thomas’ link to his former life?

Ed, after all, fondles rent boys, does cocaine, and slits his wrists. On stage. His self- destruction is graphically demonstrated, but I was left unsure whether the playwright was really interested in Ed’s character, or whether she was half- fascinated and half- disgusted by his trauma, reveling in the spectacle, creating a sort of suffering- porn.

The play offers no answers, and it careers along with real energy, but the questions it asks seem unfocused; it takes delight it what it deems to be the gritty reality of Ed’s world, in all its pain and danger, but in its fascination it cannot hold itself back, to question, and examine.

All the characters are excellently and vividly portrayed, and the acting is wonderful, with Charlie Thomson’s Ed especially strong. But the bad guys stay bad, uncomplicated in their desire to destroy Thomas and the well- heeled world he has created for himself. His motives for escaping his past remain unexplored, and it appears that his new life, his Oxford life, is a sham.

But in becoming obsessed with the darker recesses of the human soul, the play fails to recognize the one defining connection between its characters- that the very process of living and suffering, regardless of rich and poor, smart or stupid, can bridge divides and make you a human- being.

Three stars.

Middle-class suburban life is mocked in Lauren Bensted’s new musical, which explores anew the peculiarities of this section of culture. In any such satire a wide range of contemporary reference is essential to avoid the production becoming too narrow. Bensted achieves this with ease. Everyone is satirised.

Centred around the activities of Shafthead Lawn Tennis Club, the plot moves briskly, incorporating a number of twists. Bensted has gleefully embraced the melodramatic in writing SWING! and its energy makes it a great deal of fun. Willy Straddlebottom (Adam Grant) and Francesca del Lazula (Anna Byrne), who concoct a dark plan involving ‘grape rape’, are hilarious as the scheming villains, while Anna Mrowiec is marvellous as the incredibly neurotic Coaster Constance.

The teenage characters’ comic potential is perhaps not exploited to the full, but on the whole the action is well-balanced.
Variety is the key characteristic of this musical, which has a dynamic score and is excellently choreographed, shifting from moments involving the whole company to love-duets and scheming sequences.  These changes in tone are also reflected in the playful use of language: innuendo and wit are combined effectively in the lyrics and dialogue throughout the play, and the audience is left in no doubt that this is a musical for adults.

The absence of the sickly-sweet quality often associated with the form is undoubtedly due to the satirical nature of the content. And Bensted renders the hyperbolic nature of suburban existence ‘strangely magic and charming’ is reflected in the fact that while SWING! is consistently funny, it is never aggressive in its portrayal.
   

Four stars.

This play is absurd, and the actors directors and audience are allowed to wallow happily in all that absurdity, to engage with it, and ultimately enjoy it.

Ionesco’s famous play, both ridiculous and rewarding, creates a unique mélange of the downright bizarre and the overtly intellectual; whether you are there to giggle at two smartly dressed English couples hurling nonsensical statements at one another, or to be presented with Wittgenstein’s ideas about the meaning of words and communication, this is the play for you. You can even do both if you like.

The acting is superb all the way through, Fiona McKenzi being particularly good as the noxiously saccharine Mrs. Smith, and Alex Midha puts on a wonderful display as her husband (both pictured right). The pair is balanced by Tom Coates and Arabella Milbank as the Martins. Typical English couples immersed in a pointedly atypical world, they all four capture the brutal human tendency to rationalize desperately, while, verging on panic, they acknowledge the steady crumble of reality around themselves.

An especial treat is Julia Effertz as the nurse, Mary. She cuts a sinister figure, utterly grotesque in the prim and proper parlour of the Smiths, terrifying the stereotypical English couples for whom she works. Hearing Mrs. Smith querulously tell Mary, a barely restrained force of nature, to ‘pop along now’, captures much of the combination of absurdity and humour in which this play excels.

Undercurrents of hatred and sexual violence run through the play, supporting and emphasizing the main themes. Each character is a slave not only to the social constraints in which they are enmeshed, but also to the raw, primitive needs which those constraints attempt feebly to control. This is brought to the fore most strongly when the elemental figure of Mary is on stage, breaking down the walls between the acceptable and the unacceptable.

The production manages to achieve admirable balance between these two absurdities. Indeed it is a finely balanced play throughout, the cast clearly enjoying the opportunity to dive head first into the rich material Ionesco has supplied, and which ensures a first- rate experience for the audience.

Of course, the audience is still no nearer to finding out just who the bald primadonna is, and exactly why mention of her inspires such shock in the Smiths and the Martins. But that’s all part of the sense of fun, and the threat of fear.