Jersey Boys

Oh what a night indeed! 

http://www.ticket.com/blog/our-ticket-com-reviewer-tells-it-like-it-is-jersey-boys-859/

for my full review of Jersey Boys! 

Petersburg, Andrei Bely

Petersburg is a novel by the lesser well-known St Petersburg based author from the turn of the twentieth century, Andrei Bely. His most notable novel, Petersburg, a tale of parricide and loyalties amid a bourgeois establishment precedes the 1905 revolution with underlying references to mutinies, riots, strikes and petitions that are engulfing a city and its surrounding provinces on the verge of descent into a dark Russian winter with biting winds, permanent snow and a frozen Neva.

Russian literature has a reputation for being lengthy and relentless with intense text so heavy it can at times feel like a full raincloud in a summer storm is encircling your head. The stories depict misery and struggle regardless of the subject whether the backstreets of Sennaya Ploschad (the inhabitants of which include Raskolnikov and his victim in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment) or the high society balls of Moscow in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. It would be false and deceptive, disrespectful to these books to deny that they are not trying reads that do not require perseverance, concentration, moral and philosophical reflection- indeed, reading them is an embodiment of the mental and physical struggles faced by the characters. Not only were there struggles in the novels but also within the world in which their authors were writing. Dostoevsky’s journey through the Neva gate and on towards Siberian austerity following his arrest for offences against the state provided the material for his novel House of the Dead. Bely’s novel whilst retaining this struggle- the main narrative which follows student Nikolai Apollonovich as he is entrusted with the task of assassinating his Senator father involves a severe examination of the merits of family loyalty and the effects of remorse on the brain and the body- attempts to balance sorrow with the Romance of the title city, St Petersburg whose bridges, canals, prospects and statues have provided solace and comfort for many individuals as well as a silent muse for artists throughout history. Reminiscent of the verse of Pushkin Petersburg is a devoted description to the city, its history as well as its potential directing the reader’s attention towards remnants of the city’s past, The Bronze Horseman and Nevsky Prospect, which have guided the inhabitants throughout the decades, the winters and the revolutions.

Petersburg does not suffer from the prejudices sometimes faced by other Russian works such as The House of the Dead, The Brothers Karamazov or even the plays of Muscovite Chekhov, the latter being the scribe of a play a friend of mine left uttering the remark ‘well now I feel awful about everything in the world ever.’ Bely’s work benefits from being less eminent although it remains a challenging read and demands no less attention particularly as much of the text is broken, disjointed, a symbol of the anguish suffered by the plights of the characters who have fallen victim as much to the hypnotic beauty of St Petersburg as to the stimulation of its politics. It is however perhaps an easier introduction than the daunting task of War and Peace… As well as this, its main character is St Petersburg, an intellectually vibrant, naturally vivacious and historically overpowering city.   

The 'Art' of Making Coffee

Coffee has become my indispensable item. Like many other 20 year old students I cannot function sensibly without my morning cup; always a medium white Americano, preferably from Taylors and consumed whilst sitting on the library steps with a good book in hand. Chain shops are just not the same for me anymore. The mass-produced and commercialised branding that must force out hundreds of cups a day does seem to take away the magic slightly. But what is the magic? - That perfect gulp, hot so it warms your insides but the right temperature so that you don’t cough and spill it all over your Dostoevsky. The taste? - No one could deny that that is a factor, milky but not a milkshake and a kick that compliments a pain au chocolat in a way not matched by any other culinary combinations. While it cannot be denied that there is a knack to a good tasting coffee, it seems to be the experience of drinking it that people savour. My ‘coffee memories’ are from sunny days surveying Somerville quad, an espresso in Kos when I hadn’t gone to bed and had multiple delays to push through and the breakfast family coffees poured from the silverware overlooking a green lake in Switzerland. They are the coffees I remember and it is not because of the taste. It is probably hard to tell much difference between chain and independent coffees, but I know with which one I would rather spend my morning.

It is unsurprising therefore that chain shops are using new tactics to demonstrate that every one of their cups is special, in order to encourage you to drink them. They implore you to believe that it is made with care, with love, with talent. In other words, it is art. This is the angle a well-known chain has recently taken with images of beans embossed with the words ‘coffee making is an art’ over them in its stores. What can they be doing other than trying to emphasise that they care about coffee, that it takes work to get it right, that it is not just mass produced, assembly lined liquid, but is considered, crafted and created.

But, what is it about coffee; the making, the final product, the experience of drinking; the ‘big R’ Romance of cafetieres and sun kissed mornings with a cigarette, croissants, berries, fresh orange juice and a newspaper. The ideal cup of coffee creates pure hedonism but at what stage does it become art? It may be during the process of creation- regardless of the taste of the outcome it takes a lot of work to make a good cup of coffee. It may be within the finished product- Oscar Wilde said that the artist was the creator of beautiful things, which does imply that it is the final product that must be examined to see whether or not it is art. But it does not necessarily follow that in order for something to be art it must be beautiful, especially not in a modern context where people’s conceptions of beauty and art have changed. Beauty is of course as much in the eye of the beholder today as it ever was and like with any other art form, people differ in their opinions. I know of many people who feel modern art to be abhorrent, an offence to the talent shown by the Pre-Raphaelites or the Impressionists, and yet Damien Hirst is a multi-millionaire. This might however suggest a greater question concerning whether the label ‘art’ has merely led to a pretentious and intellectually arrogant monopolising culture; pick something ugly and call it art and if you say it often enough, people will begin to believe it. 

Surely therefore, if art is viewed in the context of the creation and embodiment of an idea, an artist can create ugly things. It is arguably still art even if it is visually, orally, or sensually repulsive. A large umbrella term for art is what keeps it inclusive and applicable, evolving with the movement of society who after all are those that determine cultural ‘fevers.’ A shark in a tank 200 years ago would have raised many eyebrows and yet now, thousands will flock to see it. Maybe they don’t know what they’re looking at, but do they even have to know? A friend and I recently contemplated the consequences of art galleries charging extortionate entrance fees. The impact in his view would be that only those with sufficient intellectual appreciation and interest will go and not those who just want to say that they have seen that exhibition, that painting. That would to me, distort the entire concept of art and the enrichment that it can provide people with. It is organic, how many things can now be considered ‘art’ or part of the ‘arts’ than previously; food, drink, fashion, comedy; they can all involve the creation of beautiful things if our conception of beauty is inclusive and flexible enough. But, even if in our opinion that dress is hideous, that joke isn’t funny, that coffee doesn’t taste right, we can still look at the process; the talent, the creativity, the idea behind it can justify it as art as much as the merits of the finished product. I appreciate a Leonardo as much for the intricate work and effort that went into producing it as the final piece. Art should encompass everything- the inception, the creation, the experience. I do not think it is a bad thing to make the definition this broad; it allows for all tastes, interests and talents to have a chance at leaping into the new heights of culture regardless of what is the ‘right thing to be interested in.’ We are no longer so restricted by censorship, social norms or thoughts and can embrace all aspects of creativity if merely for the daisy sized spark of an idea that came into the artist’s head, regardless of whether it ever fully bloomed. Modern art antagonists often cite Rothko- ‘IT’S JUST A BLOODY RED SQUARE, I COULD DO THAT’. But you didn’t, did you? Regardless of whether you think a big red square is nowhere near as impressive as the roof of the Sistine chapel, Rothko has made it art through the employment of creativity. To some people at least he is an artist and that is all that matters.

To bring this back to coffee, that shop is right. There can be an art to coffee- in the making, the finished cup and the experience of drinking it. It is creativity that defines art and even if that creativity manifests itself as a crazy splash of paint, an eighty page long poem or the moonwalk, it can still be called art. Everyone has the potential to be an artist if they just cultivate their creativity, painters, authors, dancers and baristas included.  

Oxford Shakespeare Festival

The Oxford Shakespeare Festival or more fashionably termed the Oxford Bard Fest, began in earnest with a launch picnic in university parks, exploiting the glorious weather and providing the platform for what promised to be a two-week indulgence of the playwright. Determined to avoid a purely thespian dominated fortnight, the festival played host to music, talks and events as well as some new productions of classic plays, Love’s Labours Lost, Titus Andronicus, Twelfth Night and an ambitious 24 hour production by English finalists of The Comedy of Errors, the third years already requiring a Bard injection less than two weeks after completing their exams, which aptly included an entire paper dedicated to the Elizabethan playwright, the only compulsory author for English undergraduates to study so I am told.

The festival’s events began with a musical performance in Brasenose chapel- The Montagues and the Capulets- a compilation of songs that have taken their inspiration from the now renowned love story. Despite the undoubtedly talented female singer forgetting the words of Taylor Swift’s Love Story, other performances of modern pop by Dire Straits and the love theme from Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 modernised film, provided excellent contrast to Prokofiev’s masterpiece, which was performed by a wind quintet. This was an astonishing performance and only a shame that such music has now been usurped by The Apprentice for use as background to Alan Sugar’s sinister presence. The short concert closed with a jazz trio improvising tunes from West Side Story, the pianist’s imagination and talent were immense and many of the audience left open-mouthed at the unexpected composition. Serendipitously I was seated next to the festival’s producer. She insisted, on overhearing our discussion of the upcoming events, on the desire of the organisers to appeal to as many students as possible, regardless of their reasons for admiring Shakespeare whether they are his social, historical, musical or theatrical influence. This wish was definitely clear by the opening night performance. Other musical events throughout the week included ‘Lend Me Your Ears’ at the Ashmolean museum, a concert of Shakespeare inspired music by a capella groups such as The Oxford Gargoyles and Out of the Blue, as well as late night evensongs and candlelit concerts.

Not wishing to stray too far away from the dramatic path, the Bard Fest did put on a collection of plays; Titus Andronicus, Twelfth Night, Love’s Labour’s Lost and The Comedy of Errors. Love’s Labours Lost, staged in Christchurch Cathedral garden, accelerated the play’s situation forward in time to a Brideshead-esque era of scholarship- the men wore gowns, the women flapper dresses with the bitchy Rosaline perpetually clutching a cigarette in her claw like fingers. Aptly set outside, the play brought out some brilliant comedy moments particularly by Berowne, whose movement and facial expressions maintained an animated role and complemented the static poise of the female characters absolutely.

Succeeding in forcing into the fortnight as much divergence within Shakespeare as possible, the Bard Fest also provided a forum for new writing in the form of Unsex Me Here, a presentation of the female monologues contextualised in the scenario of a belligerent director, herself attempting to stage a production. Staged in the Norrington room of Blackwells book shop, the play’s originality, wit and imagination provided an excellent if short distraction, facilitating a whole new Shakespearean perspective, something that many productions have in my opinion tried and failed to accomplish. The audience were presented with an insightful and honest portrayal of Shakespearean characters. There was some excellent acting from each of the cast members and noticeable differences between the speeches when the fictional director asked for the words to be read as a witch, a lecturer, a housewife, with controlled anger and amusedly ‘drag queen sexy,’ the latter being part of the attempt to present a woman playing a woman being played by a man. Not only this, but Unsex Me Here was a witty exploration into the role of women in modern society, particularly the relationships between women. It also gave a completely believable presentation of the world of ‘backstage’ with frequent references to bickering actresses, diva-like behaviour and obscure theatrical techniques, with the actress at one point being told to go outside and spin around three times before spitting, to improve her voice.

Faced with a stream of monologues of Shakespearean females, the play had the potential to become overtly feminist, the all female cast prompted concerns for this, but any feminist references were subtle and therefore thought provoking and powerful. Including different interpretations of the role that Shakespeare gave his women, whether even the powerful women were truly powerful, Cleopatra or Emilia providing good discussion points, or even why Shakespeare never wrote about a tragic heroine or how the speeches would have been different if Shakespeare had been a woman, were all thoroughly interesting questions that I left the Norrington room pondering. The play encapsulated critical and analytical deconstructions of Shakespearean works, how to present the women, as well as references to attempts to ‘redo’ Shakespeare in modern days, the suggestion that there had been a version in which the characters were ‘acrobats, suspended from silk ropes over an aquarium’ inducing giggles from many an audience member reflecting on that really weird Shakespeare interpretation they had recently seen, the director desperately trying to make their production memorable. Writer and director Mary Flanigan should be commended for managing to convey such a breadth of literary issues in such a short space of time, with refined dialogue and inter-textual references, including Virginia Woolf, poetry and actor interviews. When the monologues were spoken, they were conveyed with conviction and emotion. The cynical critic delivered earnest speeches and provided the springboard for much of the literary controversies that Shakespeare has provoked while the director was just the right amount of cutting, edging on malicious to produce her character’s stereotypical indifference and a great platform for chemistry with the other characters. Her relationship with her assistant director in particular provided an amusing insight into the private sparks of a back stage crew. This relationship allowed a context for the monologues demonstrating that many of the issues of women during the time of Shakespeare are just as relevant today, the claim that ‘there is no sisterhood in Shakespeare’ being followed by a comical catfight between these two actors.

The Shakespeare festival also provided constructive information with a variety of talks by lecturers and outside speakers. I attended Fiona Moorhead, the artistic co-ordinator of the Globe theatre. Fiona spoke about her role as well as the current season at the Globe, and then answered questions, prompting a discussion on Shakespeare’s place in modern society and paths into the industry. Her enthusiasm for an occupation at the place that is ‘home’ if one is a Shakespearean scholar accompanied by experience and skills determined her place within the organisation. In response to questions about the future of Shakespeare, how to sustain interest and ensure an audience, Fiona’s opinion of the far-reaching appeal of Shakespeare, how people can ‘find themselves’ in his work regardless of gender, race or class and the mere ‘beauty of the language’ was touching, and hopefully true. Concerning funding, Fiona emphasised that it is the narrative and relationship between actor and audience that is important- this is why the Globe works so well, and why regardless of budget, a faithful yet creative production can be staged. Finally, Fiona focussed on the success of the recent international festival where 37 plays in 37 different languages were performed. Suggesting that there is a gap in the market for an international theatrical venue in London, Fiona’s pride at the success of the festival was noticeable, as well as the obvious success of the festival itself in reaching out to new audience members and involving them in Shakespearean culture.

Hosting such a wide range of events- others included baking Shakespeare themed cakes, a Shakespeare themed performance by the Oxford Imps and a film evening and competition- there is no doubt that the organisers of the festival worked incredibly hard to ensure that there really was something for everyone and not just English undergraduates. The festival highlighted the extent to which Shakespeare has seeped into other forms of culture, how great his influence was within the arts as a whole and of course his phenomenal talent. All of these attributes certify Shakespeare’s place within society- his impact is inescapable- and the Drama Society was correct to celebrate the Bard. Calls of his irrelevancy or his being ‘over done’ should be vehemently ignored, as it is clear that those criticisms are definitely not the case. 

The Diary of Anne Frank

Staging a theatre production of a diary can sometimes be difficult, as the cast and crew are faced with a need to sustain interesting action, as well as managing to convey the inner emotions and feelings of the author, without resorting to a mere series of voiceovers. The Diary of Anne Frank began with a voiceover from the start of the diary, describing the journey to and beginning of the ‘adventure’ of the secret annexe. Being originally faced with this, I was concerned that this would be what the entire play would consist of. However, despite occasional excerpts from important stages in the diary, the majority of the play was performed in a set, mimicking the claustrophobic setting demonstrating the intense, sometimes antagonistic relationships between the inhabitants, and there was a good balance between Anne’s personal reflections, and scenes described in the diary.

The script and general production were okay, with a good balance between sentimentality and humour, particularly offered by the relationship between Mr and Mrs van Daan (Steven Pinder and Sarah Ingram), whose volatile marriage provided a backdrop for some comic relief amongst the tragedy of the story. The set also was good, minimal props and furniture simulating the closeness of the environment, the actors never actually leaving the stage but merely sitting at the side at times when they were supposed to be out of the main room and the consistent presence of a German soldier poised slightly out of the way, created a persistent underlying threat of discovery. A bicycle and swing suspended from the ceiling, posters of Hollywood movie stars and the bookcase also served to highlight the outside world and the isolation of the characters. These set pieces were however a little obvious, the bicycle seeming an odd addition as opposed to a subtle metaphor for freedom and lost innocence, as did the descent of hundreds of pieces of paper at the end signifying the end of the diary.

The script was honest without being too intense, facilitating simple scenes from the period of the annexe such as Hannukah and Anne’s inquisition into the history of Mrs van Daan’s fur coat and her previous lovers. It is a shame therefore that the script was overshadowed by some rather mediocre acting, particularly from Amy Dawson’s Anne herself, whose teenage immaturity, vivacity and playfulness was far too over the top to the point of irritating leading the audience to a dislike of the protagonist. I even overheard a neighbour describing her at the interval as ‘insufferable,’ which unfortunately detracted from much of the potential for an intense, honest yet poignant illustration of adolescence and humanity. Even the blossoming of Anne and Peter van Daan’s (Robert Galas) relationship was blighted by the insincerity of the performance. Whether the aim was to convey the awkwardness of such a situation or not was unclear, but it did make for rather uncomfortable viewing. Saying this, the relationship between Anne Frank and her father Otto (Christopher Timothy) was portrayed well, though I believe this was due to Timothy’s performance as Otto being the most earnest of the entire production. Victoria Ross’s Margot was unfortunately wet, dreary and uninteresting; the result of these lacklustre performances being that the audience struggled to empathise with the characters, and the penultimate scene of their discovery was weakened by the lack of real emotion showed throughout the play, in spite of the tragedy of the circumstances.

Overall, The Diary of Anne Frank was an adequate adaptation. The set and script provided a satisfactory outlet for just the right mix of tragedy, humour, claustrophobia and adolescent hostility and awakening. It was a shame therefore that quite an average and at times grating cast undermined these aspects, resulting in an underwhelming mediocrity in the wake of such an important work.

Oxfordshire Art Weeks

Oxfordshire Art Weeks is an annual festival in the county of Oxfordshire, with hundreds of local artists and crafters opening their houses to showcase their work, and many local businesses such as restaurants, book shops, galleries, university departments and even the castle holding exhibitions. Not only holding over 500 free exhibitions over the course of three weeks in May, the festival also organises tours, workshops, speakers and forums, their focal event this year being a panel discussion of ‘What is Art?’

Oxfordshire ArtWeeks facilitates an immense variety of techniques and media. Not only are there the more traditional painters and photographers, but also jewellers, ceramicists, sculptors and woodturners. The festival is divided up into thirds, with each week being the focus of a different section of the county, the north, south and the city of Oxford. Jericho itself provided a large range of opportunities for mid-afternoon artistic browsing and during my excursions to some of the venues I encountered some really interesting artists and was exposed to many different types of art. The Oxford Ceramics Gallery, which is located on Walton Street, exhibited a selection of porcelain pieces from various local ceramicists. Helen Beard’s pottery in particular was charming. Helen drew her inspiration from ‘quirky, individual and curious’ places, which she would then hand paint on to Limoges porcelain and group the pieces together in sets to create a story.

http://www.oxfordceramics.com/

http://www.helenbeard.com/index.html

The Albion Beatnik, is a wonderful bookshop and café that often hosts events and readings, as well as intimate gigs and even bookbinding courses. In their basement for Oxfordshire Art Weeks, Stella Shakerchi exhibited. Stella’s work is based on her academic past where she studied amongst other disciplines medieval mythology. In her own words, Stella wants her art ‘to reflect the fun in life hidden behind what looks serious.’ The pieces were made from a huge range of materials such as iridescent powder, mirrors, holographic card, sequins, coloured glass and there was also a UV light to see in the dark parts of the art hidden song lyrics and poem stanzas. Stella’s work shows an acute attention to detail, the colours are rich, vibrant and the collages provide a forum for texture and emotion. Unlike chain stores, the Albion Beatnik’s ethos is personal and intimate, a perfect place for an art exhibition.

http://www.oxstudio.co.uk/

Hidden in the depths of Jericho, St Barnabas Church housed a wide variety of work encompassing an assortment of materials and pursuits. There were The Ten Potters, ceramicists that included Alison Jones, whose wall vases and unusual designs that worked with shape and movement were fascinating. The careful leaf print designs of Liz Teall were also beautiful, and the process of printing the leaves onto the pottery ensures crafted and refined designs. I also loved the graphic digital art prints of David Harris, the completely contrasting embroidery of Jane Bale and the still lifes of Clova Stuart- Hamilton.

http://www.alisonjonesceramics.co.uk/index.htm

http://www.lizteallpottery.com//

http://www.whitewall.com/davidharris

Venturing further afield and along the Woodstock Road, I visited the exhibition of Katherine and Richard Shock, a painter and wood turner respectively. Exhibiting here as well were the silversmith John Huddleston and the jewellery designer Guen Palmer. John creates delicate jewellery as well as candlestick holders and brooches, including some really unusual cat brooches, using a drawing of Katherine’s.

http://www.jhsilver.co.uk/index.html

http://www.guenpalmer.com/index.htm

Art Weeks allowed the ‘outside Jericho’ adventure and subsequent discovery of new venues most notably The Old Boot Factory in Cowley, unsurprisingly, an old boot factory that has been converted into an arts venue and exhibition space, utilised during Art Weeks by Sarah Mayhew and her installation ‘The Natural Course of Things.’ Having originally studied international relations, Sarah’s art demonstrates the potential for art as a medium for socio-political messages and reform. Her work is ultimately concerned with the ‘psychology of space,’ how people view one another as well as the wider world around them. This particular installation draws from experience of the impact of weather, the environment and nature and how these impact on decisions and behaviour, and luckily I was able to view the exhibition in daylight as well as in the dark, when it looks a lot different. On the final night of the installation, Shelter held a charity gig in the venue where the bands The Half Rabbits and The Scholars as well as the soloists Richard Walters and Phil McMinn performed amongst the art. As well as Sarah, lighting designer Jon Barker’s installation ‘Journey’ was staged behind a black curtain, where walkers became part of the installation themselves, as whenever a Twitter post with the word ‘journey’ in it appeared, the message was projected onto the individual behind the curtain. Finally, in the Old Boot Factory, Joseph Fairweather-Hole’s ‘Chimney’ commanded attention as a dominant concrete structure surrounded by moving lights.

Just off the Cowley Road is The Garden Café, the main office of mental health charity Restore, which works with people who have experienced severe mental health problems and aims to rehabilitate them using skills such as woodwork, gardening, construction, cookery and art. As part of Oxford ArtWeeks, Restore’s Straw Bale Gallery housed some work from the Oxford Complex Needs Service, including poetry as well as paintings, sculpture and mosaic. 

http://www.restore.org.uk/

There was also a sculpture by Tessa Campbell Fraser outside the Museum of Natural History...

Killing Hitler

The opening night performance of Killing Hitler began as technically and visually impressive as it was to continue. Taking our seats after walking through the set, the audience was faced with the still image of the characters in their default positions, with a woman shuffling scores at a piano, a man in a suit pondering the newspaper in an armchair, and someone standing on a table, transfixed on a wall. The set had a refined authenticity, complete with candles and a 1930s rocking horse. The effort put into the sounds and lighting was noticeable but despite these technical accomplishments, the writing could have explored human fallibility, the choice between ‘commission and omission’ in a more effective and sensitive manner, with much of the impressive set seeming a shield for rather underwhelming and at times static writing.

Based on the July Plot to assassinate Hitler, the play used scenes from alternating time periods to illustrate the different aspects of the relationships of the individuals involved in the plot, such as Adam von Trott, his secretary Missie, Adam and Claus von Stauffenberg, Anthony Eden and the Bishop of Chichester. While giving an honest performance as Adam, Christopher Williams failed to achieve the sincere and sympathetic performance required from a protagonist whose encounters with others involved in the plot constituted the focus of the narrative. The best performances were by those who made shorter appearances. David Shields gave an imposing yet moving stint as von Stauffenberg and Miles Lawrence’s Bishop of Chichester conveyed an urgent innocence in a confrontation with Anthony Eden, despite being only briefly on stage. Self-confessed on the programme, the only invented character was Hans Lohmann, a prison officer, who whilst providing a good presentation of a retrospective look at the July Plot, was an unnecessary creation and merely distracted from the other characters with clichéd considerations and confessions of guilt at not being as brave as those executed.

While the premise of the story, as well as impressive sets and ambitious lighting meant Killing Hitler had some strong potential, the show did not deliver quite in the same way that its historical background and production could have done. There were far too many sound effects – at times they were also too loud – with dialogue in the opening scene being drowned out by background chatter simulating a court room. For some reason as well, whenever the cast needed to facilitate a door opening or closing, there was an action by the cast member accompanied by a sound effect, which added nothing to the story or setting, and instead was a false, almost slapstick approach to changing scenes. Saying this, Andrew Sachs's voiceover as Hitler, and some piano music providing a sweet contrast to the graphic torture scene of von Trott were a good use of sound as an instrumental addition to the story.

Killing Hitler was a good production, and presented a different aspect of the war with an examination of human relationships with scenes from before and after the execution of the plot. If the writing and the performers had lived up to the promise offered by the set, Killing Hitler would have been great, but unfortunately the performance was essentially underwhelming.

The Rain Starts A-Fallin'

When I recently asked my 11 year old brother if he knew what he wanted to do with his life he replied that all he could say was that he would like to do something memorable. As he said this I remembered that at his age, and even right up until A-Levels when you are still clinging on to the last remnants of childhood, my friends and I wanted this as well. Despite not knowing in what direction, everyone wanted their lives to take them somewhere, and for the majority, university was where they would discover that. Almost two years through, with still no idea where your life is going yet no childhood excuse to fall back on is a sentiment embraced by many a second year student, and encapsulated in The Rain Starts A-Fallin, a story of a group of people at a school reunion, with flashbacks to their schooldays and demonstrating how far they had come since their classroom musings of ‘what is good, if it is not to change the world?’

Despite using the rather predictable setting of a school reunion to channel the retrospective feelings of a group of graduates having left school, the play was a relevant look at the issues that face many young people today. It was a very relatable play, with many references to the dreaded UCAS applications, internship recruitment posters and the mysterious realm of management consultancy, but I can’t see that it would have had as much impact on someone who had not been faced with those decisions. It is a play that will be very much of its time, but in spite of this was a witty and honest representation of student life.

It was a great strength of the play to use Bob Dylan and his work as a consistent metaphor throughout of defiance, rebellion and a desire for change. ‘The Wall’ at the back of the set, which had at its centre a large photograph of Dylan, as well as fliers from other indie bands, demonstrated the ideas and concepts that when at school, people want to talk about and which to inspired them to change the world, and its removal by the time of the school reunion ten years later was an effective manifestation of the destruction of hope and aspiration. As well as this, a passionate speech about ‘what happened in 1965’ by resident rebel Quinn, played well by Thomas Oliver and some classic Dylan tracks in-between scenes brought the play in line with an edging on polemic look at choice, conviction and irony.

The three main characters Ellis, Anna and Colin, (played by Andy Butler, Emily Stewart and Jack Levy respectively) had good chemistry, although the best performance was Ben Currie as Miles, who despite only fleeting appearances, had an instrumental stage presence that managed to convey much of the sentiment, without the need for any dialogue, which at times from other characters felt a little long-winded and contrived. On the whole, it was a good production, the music and sets providing an appropriate background for the characters. There were some amusing one-liners, but much of the comedy and appeal was situational and I think would have only been interesting if like me, you could pick up on all of the cynical comments for example about A-Level education, my personal favourite being the suggestion that in an essay on Wilfred Owen, Colin just write that there was an ‘underlying current of homosexuality.’

The Rain Starts A-Fallin’ was the attitude and emotions of current students incarnate, and writer Rory Platt’s observant writing is commendable. As a second year undergraduate, you will enjoy this play, if only for the assurance that someone else is experiencing the same doubts and pressures as well. 

The Garden Show

Amongst the punting, the croquet and the Pimms on freshly shaven lawns, the garden show is one of those phenomenon that represents an Oxfordian summer. Classically intellectual and brimming with ‘thesps’ the audience absorbing the play whilst enclosed in cloisters, columns and clematis are immersed in a time warp; all one need do is imagine yourself in a white cotton dress or some tweed with a parasol or a pipe and as the sun sets behind the stage and the fireflies dart between the spotlights, your fingers reach for the hired blanket shortly after the interval. Any play in Oxford takes part of its triumph from the space it works with and the experience it leaves the theatre-goer remembering; a play after all is much more than words and costumes, and setting a Shakespearean tragedy or Edwardian comedy in a garden does add a touch of class. After three weeks of consistent rain to begin my exam-free (and thus supposedly glorious) Trinity, it did seem appropriate that the first garden show of the year was The Tempest, the blustering trees of Magdalen and the whistles of the wind almost drowning out the speech in the opening scene, conveniently set during a storm. It was almost as if the weather knew that what it was faced with was a group of undergraduates, desperate for some redeeming features of a Trinity that has so far been rather miserable. An average of three year long degrees without any sweltering quad reading or leaping into the Cherwell would leave many middle aged Oxford graduates desperately wishing that they had spent that one day of sunshine outside rather than underground amongst the dust or for modern times, the constant brain bashing alterations of Nexus… Luckily however, despite having to move the opening night into an auditorium, the rain held off for the Thursday night performance by The Magdalen Players of The Tempest and if we weren’t mistaken, there was even a dash of blue sky; get the swimming togs out everyone!

The show decided to convey Prospero as a ring-master, in command of his Island circus, Caliban almost a dancing bear and Ariel the fairy a magician, hopping around the stage and causing mischief at Prospero’s command. There were also the clowns, the comic characters of Stephano the drunk and his friend Trinculo were evocative of court jesters transported from the Globe itself. The costumes and props were the main medium of communicating the circus theme however with bright diamond baggy trousers, waistcoats, bowties and even leather trousers for Prospero and there was a lot of work with umbrellas, appropriate for the circumstances and inventively used by Trinculo mainly to illustrate his confusion at just having been shipwrecked and discovering the beast Caliban. There was definitely something trippy about the whole performance, but it worked. If that show was anything to perform, it was a lot of fun. The whole performance had an energy and a vibe; it was zany, quirky, at times a little weird… the morph suits and water pistols were an interesting interpretation, but at times it did all feel a little immature. Miranda’s constantly pitch changing voice and much of the mockery made some of the dialogue feel unnatural, the characters forcing the meter and the sounds, reciting Shakespeare rather than taking on the persona of their character. Contrasted with the RSC’s globe tour production of Henry V at the Playhouse, The Tempest was noticeably a student production. The actors of Henry V on the other hand, were outstanding. King Henry was domineering, noble and at times chilling, Princess Catherine weak, innocent and impressionable and the comical Pistol, Nym and Bardolph were a brilliant supporting cast. The production, despite being confined within the walls of the Playhouse, created a mesmerisingly realistic Elizabethan atmosphere with lyres and drums playing inbetween scenes, and the actors walking amongst the aisles and marching back on to stage for the battle scenes. I left desperate for more, overwhelmed by the entire performance. Mere phenomenal acting, traditional sets and costumes and passionate speech meant there was no need for eccentricity or unusual interpretations, something that many modern adaptations of Shakespeare plays feel the need to include, in order to make their performance original.  

There is definitely something about open air performances that suits Shakespeare and particularly a play such as The Tempest gained a lot from being performed outside. It is set on an island and its focal point is the storm, a natural wonder and even if it was only a light breeze, fluttering leaves did enhance the magic. The garden show format does not however work for everything. Players should not make the mistake of thinking that just because it is set outside, it will automatically convey an enchanting atmosphere. Like The Burton Taylor studio, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Pygmalion, my first year garden show experience and also set in Magdalen did well to transform the stony walls of the President’s garden into a stuffy Edwardian living room and a dusty Covent Garden pavement, with the clusters of trees providing an effective offstage area, as did Arcadia, the surrealist Tom Stoppard piece performed in Frewin Court, with a live tortoise on a oak table providing the main prop.

In spite of our excursion to The Tempest requiring a remedy of a mug of hot chocolate or brandy to warm our insides, outdoor theatre is a wonderful experience. Under the sun or the stars, the performance feels natural and hopeful, even if that hope is for that suspicious looking cloud to drift away towards Cowley… Henry V demonstrated that Shakespeare works best when in open air, when the cast can move around the audience as opposed to appearing statically on a stage. It was due to the quality of the performance that allowed the audience to feel like they were in The Globe in the early 1600s, despite being inside on what turned out to be the first sunny afternoon in Oxford this term. The experience of theatre is far more important than just the script. Henry V was exciting, energetic, witty, tragic, compassionate and dignified; the walls of the playhouse proved no barrier to conveying that; a play is much more than just words and costumes after all, but I will not deny the satisfaction felt at seeing a Shakespeare play under the stars. 

Court

The Burton Taylor studio was the ideal location for this ingenious and imaginative expose of the meaning of the phrase ‘court room drama.’ Written by a second year undergraduate, Court is set in a courtroom minutes before the commencement of a trial, the characters compiling of the defendant, the defence barrister, the prosecutor and two others, the latter’s involvement in the lives of the lawyers becoming apparent through the hilarious narration of the is he or isn’t he a mad murderer, Suleyman Jones.

The psychological analysis of the relationships that was created by the excellent comic timing and use of meta-theatre, or ‘mental theatre’ as described by Jones, as played by Tim Schneider whose impeccable wit and delivery was apt for the role, was intensified by the intimate environment and direct audience interaction. This began immediately with Suleyman taking the role of a stand-up comedian, introducing the audience to his story and its unravelling, unveiling by the end the bare bones of human morality and the burden of striving for justice.

Cliched metaphors and analogies between the legal system and other phenomena revolving around waste, toilets and cleanliness were removed by the ideal casting of Ibrahim Khan as the sinister defence lawyer, whose relationship with Suleyman provides some of the best on stage chemistry seen on an Oxford stage, the pair creating an amusing yet chilling rapport, which swells as the back story is revealed, straining the relationship of the defended and the defender. Also wonderful was Gabriel Nicklin’s stint as an aggrieved prisoner, who managed to entice sympathy from the audience whilst communicating the darkly humorous farce of the legal system.

What carried this production was the comedy, which managed to convey the message of the play without ruining its sincerity. Schneider was perfectly cast and performed his role with sensitivity and intelligence. If anything, he was almost too good, as any other scenes where he was reduced to a mere bystander as the confrontations between the other characters occurred, fell slightly flat in comparison to his previous monologues and banter with the audience. This was highlighted further by the fumbling of words by the other characters at important moments in the play, which altered the flow of the narrative slightly, but should be put down to opening night nerves and not the lack of ability or potential in the cast.

Court was one of the funniest and most creative plays I have seen at the Burton Taylor. The production’s experimentation with lighting and form, which incorporated a weird yet brilliant parody on modern religious conversion for example, was inspired and the writing, by Hanzla MacDonald should be commended as one of the most intuitive and perceptive commentaries on the human psyche and the role of law, and particularly its moral impact on the lives of people embroiled in its consequences. Overall, for a short student production, Court was brilliant. It induced a lot of laughter through satire and parody, but sustained an intensely sincere explanation of human relationships through original and artistic production and acting, and is thoroughly worth a visit. 

SAW; Somerville Art Society

The final event of Somerville Arts Week was the launch of Somerville Art Society, created last term for the purpose of enabling students to spend a couple of hours each week relaxing in the bar participating in various creative pursuits. For the launch, we had some mono-printing and the creation of a Somerville Doodle, which people dropped in to the bar and contributed to and which will be displayed around college as a memento of Arts Week and a celebration of student creativity. 

As well as this, the Art Society welcomed Richard Shock, a local woodturner, and his wife Katherine, also an artist. The talk explained the technique and variations of woodturning, as well as handing around some bowls and plates that had been made. The second half of the talk was about sculpture around Oxford, explaining pieces from the Ashmolean, churches and various college buildings. We also found out about the Turrill Sculpture Garden, which is located in Summertown and was begun by Katherine to improve the space behind the Summertown library. The work of Richard and Katherine, as well as hundreds of other artists will be exhibited around the county during Oxfordshire ArtWeeks, which began on the 5th May and will run for 3 weeks, and including many different visual arts and crafts. 

http://www.turrillsculpturegarden.org.uk/

http://www.artweeks.org/

SAW; Musical Variety

Friday’s event for Somerville Arts Week was a Musical Variety Concert, organised in association with Somerville Music Society, who hold lunchtime recitals every Friday in the chapel, as well as a whole host of other events such as choir concerts and open mic nights. The concert included a huge range of performers including opera, piano, a bassoon duet, jazz, organ and local band, ‘The Oh So Many.’

http://www.somervillemusicsociety.com/

SAW; Cocktails & Costumes

One of the most eagerly anticipated events of Somerville Arts Week was the historical costume show, a presentation of the history of the college using photographs from the archives and a huge variety of outfits ranging from Victorian and Edwardian costumes from the National Theatre, used originally in productions of The Cherry Orchard or The White Guard, to some beautiful 90s treasures, including some vintage Versace for the introduction of boys in 1994.

The evening began with a demonstration from Angels cocktail bar, where the attendees learned how to make classics such as martinis, cosmopolitans and mojitos, as well as some new creations like the ‘Maid in Chelsea’, a mixture of gin, lemon juice and elderflower cordial! Next, we moved over to the chapel for some harp music, a presentation and the show itself, accompanied by some great period accessories and music. 

With thanks to the National Theatre, OUDS & Angels Cocktail Bar.

http://www.angelsbar.co.uk/

SAW; Gillian Cross

As mentioned previously, Somerville has produced a huge amount of notable alumni that have become authors. Amongst the Sayers, the Holtbys and the Brittains, the college has also some more modern authors to its name, including that of Gillian Cross. Gillian is a children’s author whose works include ‘The Demon Headmaster’ and ‘Where I Belong,’ and these were the books that she chose to focus on when she came and spoke during Arts Week on Wednesday 2^nd May. I asked Gillian to talk about her experience as a writer, the story of a book from its inception to its publication, her anecdotes along the way and her attitude to reading and writing.

Echoing the sentiments expressed by PD James during the Oxford Literary Festival, it was clear that for Gillian, ‘the books choose you’ and her falling into particularly children’s writing was as much a serendipitous occurrence as the accomplishment of an enjoyable past time.  The Demon Headmaster began as a suggestion from her young daughter that Gillian write about a wicked headmaster, and the rest fell into place. After considering the idea, the hypnotism element was introduced as a way for the headmaster to get away with his agenda, an idea that ‘connected with children’ without being too sinister. Despite it being a novel for young people, Cross had to rewrite a great deal of the book in order to get it right and eventually realised what was wrong with the first draft after sensing subconsciously that there was something not quite right with the story. The book is incredibly important to Gillian; it has always been her most popular book, even before the BBC approached her in the early 1990s to turn it into a series, and her determination to include the scene in the snow where the prefects punish SPLAT for throwing the forbidden snowball by forcing them to roll all of the snow on the field into snowballs, without their hats, coats or gloves despite the BBC arguing that it was too expensive, demonstrates the importance of the book's integrity, despite its young audience.

Gillian’s attitude to the role of an author was also interesting; in terms of research, she suggested that researching hypnotism would have been a barrier, as making it too technical would have removed some of the fun from the book. On the other hand, for Where I Belong, her novel based on a visit to a Leicester school about Somalia required a great deal of research as writing about someone else’s culture involves ‘a moral duty to get it right.’ The talk included a huge variety of material and discussion and it was a pleasure to welcome Gillian back to Somerville.

http://www.gillian-cross.co.uk/