“Avenue Q”

at Milton Keynes Theatre, Saturday 23rd April 2011

Everyone loves a bit of convention subversion. If artists didn’t try to break tradition, we wouldn’t have been given the Guernica or A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Avenue Q is the first musical I’ve seen in a long time to break away from conventions – specifically those of humans representing characters and the themes that can and can’t be tackled in a musical – but there’s a constant longing for this boundry-breaking to go further.

Now touring the country after spending five years on the West End, Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx’ musical is set in a Sesame Street-style neighbourhood, with puppets for lodgers and television screens explaining certain concepts to us (“come-mittment” being a favourite). Princeton has just arrived on Avenue Q, trying to find a purpose in life and finding love along the way in the guise of Kate Monster. Rod has to confront his homosexuality and Trekkie Monster has his mind on only one thing. Throughout, their attention is diverted by Lucy the Slut and the Bad Idea Bears. Actors manipulate the puppets, who interact with other puppets and a few humans. It all seems to be so cuddly and sweet.

Until they open their mouths. And here’s where the genius of the show lies; listening to puppets speak atrocities and perform unspeakable acts in a musical defies all that we expect when settling down in our seats, and whimsical songs telling us “The Internet is for Porn” are far from the norm. It’s just a shame this doesn’t continue.

Because although the lyrics sung are hilarious, and Jeff Whitty’s script is downright crude, the structure of the musical does nothing to subvert expectations. The songs are written in the same sung-like-spoken fashion as many other frivolous musicals and the story ends with an upbeat anthem and chorus line. We long for some kind of tragedy to cement Avenue Q as a show which defies conventions, refusing to stick to the rule book. But it just falls short.

That said, the performances are all superb, and the actors who play the puppet characters do a sterling job of making us believe their alter egos are real. Understudying as Kate Monster, Katharine Moraz is extremely confident, showing true skill when switching to Lucy the Slut. Adam Pettigrew’s Princeton is truly loveable, and when he plays Rod there’s some real sincerity behind the words. Chris Thatcher is particularly strong as Rod’s flatmate Nicky and Trekkie Monster, being given some of the best songs in the show. Edward Judge, Matthew J Henry and Jacqueline Tate all offer solid support as the human inhabitants of Avenue Q.

Jason Moore’s polished direction shows a clear journey and some bold choices, such as Princeton’s “Propose” segment. All of Rick Lyon’s puppets have a life of their own and Anna Louizos’ set offers some exciting choices. It’s a shame more isn’t made of the ‘educational’ videos, which truly send up the genre and provide some erudite puns.

One of Avenue Q’s boldest moments is when it tells the audience that “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist”. It’s an audacious move and one that raises some important questions, but this level of thinking isn’t continued into the second half, where the plot becomes simple fairytale. Some predictable moments and repetitive music mean that Avenue Q just stops short of being an extraordinary piece of work which changes the way we view musical theatre.

Script or Spectacle?

Over the past few weeks, various productions have got me thinking about what I value more in theatre: good writing, or a good spectacle? It’s a fairly pointless question, for the two are not mutually exclusive, but hypothetically speaking, if we could only have one or the other, which would we choose?

My mind got kicked into gear after watching Danny Boyle’s production of Frankenstein at the National Theatre. Visually, it is stunning. No one would argue with that. There are also some extraordinary performances on show from Jonny Lee Miller and Benedict Cumberbatch. But Nick Dear’s script is laughable. It plods along, making absurd choices (“I’m blind you know”) which often just doesn’t feel real. In such an impressive production, however, the words come after effect. We don’t mind that emotion isn’t conveyed through language because visually and aurally we understand exactly what is happening.

And isn’t that exactly what theatre’s about? Theatre can do things that film can’t, and for this reason should be exploited. The fact that we’re watching trains rolling in and houses flying down live makes it all the more exciting, as we share the same space as this spectacle. Everyone’s talking about Frankenstein, regardless of the flabby text, because they are in awe of the show.

We know very little about Greek theatre, but one thing we do have quite a lot of information about is special effects. Artefacts show actors being winched in on cranes and bodies shuffled in on carts. Even at the dawn of theatre, then, practitioners understood the necessity of visual aids to create an impressive show.

In Shakespeare’s time, however, the emphasis was almost certainly on language. A simple stage allowed for no more than a few entrances from the gods and a reveal behind a curtain; scenes were set through dialogue and description, not set. Naturally, audiences went to see blood and guts in wars and battles, but on the whole this was a theatre of word.

So assuming great performances remain constant, which is more important? In the short-term, a spectacle will impress us more, appealing to our senses and creating maximum impact. In thirty years time, however, these performances will remain only in the minds of those who saw it (although as digital technology improves this could change). For the past century or so, spectacular performances can only be studied through basic photographs and descriptive accounts, but can never be appreciated in its entirety. A good script, however, is passed down through generations, unchanging and growing in greatness as more layers reveal themselves to us.

It’s my guess that Nick Dear’s script will not be studied in schools in the future. It’s quite possible, however, that Bruce Norris’ will. His beautifully crafted play would fit perfectly into a school syllabus and would be the same then as it is now. We can appreciate a good script on our own, in isolation, but a spectacle must be shared to be enjoyed.

But isn’t that what theatre’s about? It’s the shared experience that sets theatre apart from other art forms. And here is where the dichotomy lies. Intellectually, it feels like a well-written play should be given more praise. The months of painstaking work that are spent scribbling, crossing out and re-writing feel, on a cerebral level, to be more worthy of my attention. My brain tells me that it takes far more skill to create a script than to think about some images. But I know that’s not the case. Both are equally commendable and both warrant their place in theatre.

And here, perhaps, is a reason why we continue to return to the classics. The likes of Ibsen and Shakespeare offer us beautifully written, perfectly crafted plays which many audience members will know, allowing the director to take their own route and implant upon the words a more visual current (Rupert Goold’s Romeo and Juliet, for example). This way, they have the benefit of already having the words and meaning, so more focus can be given to ‘interpretation’. When a play is new, this is more difficult, for the script and director will probably have worked hand-in-hand for much of the rehearsal process.

Of course, this is a pointless debate; what many practitioners try to do is fuse all aspects of theatre, and their production will be more text-based or visual-based depending on the project. But sometimes we get an infusion of the two which blows us away. I am of course taking of shows like Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem, which still have people taking years after the event. Here we had an exquisitely written play exposed in an extraordinary production which appealed to the senses. It is no wonder it was (and remains to be) such a hit – script and spectacle melded together to create something which was nigh-on theatrical perfection. And it is in anticipation of these moments for which we go to the theatre.

“Macbeth” by William Shakespeare

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Wednesday 20th April 2011

The performance reviewed was a preview performance. Press night is Tuesday 26th April. A fire alarm stopped the performance for a short while, twenty minutes before the interval.

The Royal Shakespeare Company seem to be a little obsessed with religion at the moment. Rupert Goold’s Romeo and Juliet picked up on Christian imagery in the play, and Greg Doran’s new production of Cardenio is laden with monastic music. Michael Boyd’s visually stunning and aurally impressive production of Macbeth, the first production in the new RST, which bases most of its iconography around Christianity, has some ideas which come close to genius, but feels, conceptually, like its doing too much.

It is easy to blame the witches for the Macbeth’s actions. Boyd, however, has chosen to strip away the magic, instead focussing on the ghosts in the play, who follow their killer around. The religious imagery is most evident in the role of Seyton (Jamie Beamish), who here acts as the devil and takes the Porter’s lines, offering hints to the IRA during his opening speech. The warring factions are suggestive of opposing factions of Christianity, although the reasoning behind this is never made clear.

Jonathan Slinger’s Macbeth is a man in isolation, with only ghosts for company. His “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow” speech, delivered atop a ladder, typifies this; he is not a tyrant but a man whose actions have removed him from society. Initially weak-willed, Slinger’s actions seem to strengthen him, until he becomes unaware of his own loneliness. He is supported by Aislín McGuckin’s astonishing Lady Macbeth, who only nudges her husband along rather than forcing him to murder Duncan. Scott Handy’s Ross acts as puppeteer to Howard Charles’ uneasy Malcolm, and Steve Toussaint is truly disturbing as Banquo’s towering ghost.

Boyd’s direction, however, sometimes tries too hard to do too much. Some extraordinary moments (Ross directing Malcolm what to say) and ideas (black and white costumes) are overshadowed by the bigger concept, and we are never given time to consider them fully. It’s also clear that some actors will take time to get used to the thrust stage, and the Malcolm/Macduff scene in Act IV needs to pick up pace if it is to have any impact, but these issues will no doubt be taken care of during the preview period.

The designers clearly have a field day in their new toy box at the RST. Tom Piper’s church hall set slowly turns into an asylum in the second act, and characters enter swiftly from below and above the stage. It shows the potential this new theatre has, and its ability to represent the epic nature of Shakespeare’s plays while retaining emotion. Jean Kalman’s evocative lighting mixes old with new, and Craig Armstrong’s haunting cello music is one of the best aspects of this production.

For all its faults, this is a bold and impressive production to christen the RSC’s new home. Boyd’s accomplished direction shows Macbeth to be a play about the arbitrary nature of whose side you end up on, and creates some images which will remain etched in the memory for a long time to come. We welcome a strong ensemble who will no doubt continue to impress over the coming months, and we start to get a glimpse of what this amazing space can do. The RSC is well and truly back in business.

“Cardenio”

Shakespeare’s ‘Lost Play’ re-imagined

at the Swan Theatre, Wednesday 20th April 2011

The performance reviewed was a preview performance. Press night is Wednesday 27th April.

In a recent directing workshop, I was given one sterling piece of advice to remember when trying my hand at directing: “You’ll never be as good as Shakespeare”. What’s beautiful about Greg Doran’s so-called ‘re-imagining’ of Shakespeare’s Cardenio is that in all the publicity and in performance it never professes to be as good as anything the Bard could have written, constantly taking a tongue-in-cheek look at the classic Shakespearean comedy.

Piecing together pieces of Lewis Theobold’s Double Falsehood (which was supposedly based on a manuscript of Fletcher and Shakespeare’s Cardenio), Shelton’s translation of Don Quixote and Doran’s own ingenuity, the tone of Cardenio is never able to shake off the feeling of being a cross-centuries collaboration. Some lines feel solidly Elizabethan (“There’s not a maid whose eye with virgin gaze/ Pierces not my guilt”), but elsewhere relatively modern (“There is a woman, sir, there is a woman”). This doesn’t matter, however, for the themes of the play – those of consent and deceit, favourites of Shakespearean comedy – go hand in hand with the atonal language.

It is a perfect formula for a Shakespearean comedy; two men fighting over one woman, even though one of the men is already married. Through disguise and treachery they eventually get what they want and everyone lives happily ever after. The character of Dorotea – the second woman – is questionable, as she returns to the man who abused her in the style of Hero, but the strong speeches she is given in the second half of the play remedy that somewhat.

Doran’s joyful production revels in the references to other comedies while taking a look at the darker undertones of religion in the play. Paul Englishby’s remarkable score reverberates around the small space, taking us from brazen ritual to quiet prayer. Niki Turner’s semi-reflective set, lit by Tim Mitchell, facilitates these tonal changes, and the strip of mirror revealed at the back of the stage suggests we are only peeking momentarily into the history behind this lost play.

The four young leads all impress. Pippa Nixon as Dorotea copes well with a difficult role, gaining confidence later in the play and showing a strong resolve, even if the script doesn’t. Lucy Briggs-Owen’s Luscinda, the object of the two male leads’ desires, is charmingly innocent, being won over by Oliver Rix’ exuding charisma in his professional debut as Cardenio. Most impressive is Alex Hassell in the role of the loveable antagonist Fernando, a deeply flawed character who wins our empathy through hilarious asides and looks to the audience. Among the strong ensemble, Christopher Ettridge and Christopher Godwin both stand out as the two surprisingly liberal (for Shakespeare) fathers.

Fittingly for the RSC’s Fiftieth Birthday season, Cardenio offers a meta-theatrical look at Shakespearean comedy, straddling five centuries and being fully aware of its roots. It’s unlikely to become part of the canon anytime soon, but it’s no doubt a production which Shakespeare would be able to watch and recognise as something he had a hand in creating.

In my defence

Yesterday, I published an article by the wonderful Imogen Clare-Wood which discussed the ethics of student theatre criticism. Unsurprisingly, I disagree with a vast amount of what she says, and hope this post will set out a decent counter-argument.

Firstly, I’d like to point out that there are a few points of Imogen’s which I agree on. Most importantly is her assertion that “there is no such thing as a definite opinion”. The debate which theatre causes is one of its best assets. The immediacy of watching a live show with a thousand other people sparks something inside us which forces us to question and argue about topics raised in the respective texts. Our brain is engaged, our intellect challenged, and what we believe about that show we will fight to the hilt to be heard. And at the same time, we respect each individual reaction which our fellow playgoers have; if their opinion wasn’t different from our own, then what we believe wouldn’t be as unique.

I must also agree that the phrase with which I signed off my first review (which I shan’t repeat here for fear of further embarrassment, but which you can find elsewhere on my blog) was somewhat misguided and sounded ridiculous. In my defence, I was trying to find something pithy to round off my first review of the festival, but in the end it came out as pure comedy. It’s also worth acknowledging that Imogen’s description of me (“a Pater Pan-esque figure (complete with enormous grim and hair with a life of its own) – disarmingly boyish and with a belly laugh to put a hyena to shame”) is fairly accurate, and one which I am rather proud of. This, however, is where our agreement ends.

Many people at this year’s NSDF took issue with what they felt to be “overly nit-picky criticism”, with audiences looking “for a reason to fault rather than praise the productions they see”. Now, I would never condone being nit-picky and critical just for the sake of it, but as I mentioned in a previous post, there is beauty to be found in detail. A production could have the most extraordinary overall vision and huge production values, but if the details are not taken care of then no one will believe in the world created on stage. All we are is a vast collection of minutiae, built up to create a cohesive whole. Getting these details right in performance is the difference between a good and a superb production.

It’s untrue that audiences at NSDF go into a theatre looking to fault a production. I, for one, hope every time I enter a theatre that what I’m about to see will blow me away and change my life. Perhaps that’s why it’s easy to be critical; high expectations mean we are undoubtedly going to be disappointed, but by looking at what’s right with a production rather than what’s wrong with it, we are actually doing practitioners a disservice. Being praise-loving, attention-seeking theatre people, we hang on to every bit of praise like a baby to a rattle, and can become blinkered to what’s at fault with our work. I’m not trying to take the moral high ground here, but highlighting these issues means directors will constantly strive to improve their work. As the next generation, we cannot afford to become complacent.

Lack of clarity is one of the worst sins in theatre. Now, that’s not to say that a production can’t be absurd or confusing (our world is, after all), but it should always be clear what the director’s intention is. A clear cohesive vision should be palpable, and an audience should be utterly convinced that what they are seeing is the product of hours of thought and that every choice made has been decided for a reason. There were many directors at Scarborough last week who weren’t able to justify their choices in discussions, merely implying that it “looked good” or “felt right”. Criticism will force these productions and their creative teams to consider the reasoning behind their methods, hopefully improving their technique (I know this isn’t the role of criticism – that’s another topic altogether – but at a student theatre festival, where we all learn from each other, it seems to be a fair point to make).

Imogen continues “there seems to be a tendency to take things too seriously [at Noises Off] and writers representing themselves as too professional”, taking issue with the fact I refuse to use terms such as “in my opinion” and “personally” in my reviews. But if the cast and crew of the shows at the Festival are allowed to act professionally, then why aren’t the critics? Yes, NSDF is a celebration of student theatre, but at the same time it is a place to learn and to try our hand at being in a ‘professional’ setting for a week. If we fail to give an impression of professionalism, and go around giving each other hugs, beaming and lying “I loved it dah-ling”, then we run the risk of being termed as ‘luvvies’ and the arts will continue to be seen as a soft target. Pretending to be professional is not a bad thing; it forces us to think seriously about something. If we only ever stuck to our job descriptions, we wouldn’t put up shelves or cook for a dinner party – we try to do these things to the best of our ability whilst acknowledging a lack of experience and the fact we’re not professionals. Everyone at the Festival knows that the critics writing for NOFF are students and are merely offering up their opinion. Phrases like “in my opinion” are utterly unnecessary when the writer’s name is printed at the top of the page. Using these words can make a review fluffy and less readable, and anyone who isn’t able to understand that the words written are not bonafide truth but the opinion of the writer should perhaps reconsider their ability to create art. I would never pretend I’m a “theatrical deity”, but if a review is stated as personal opinion, it moves out of the realm of journalism and instead becomes a diary entry. I am always willing to talk to practitioners about their work and my opinion, and in fact did so a lot throughout the week.

There was a lot of discussion this week about the “competitive” attitude many people at the festival felt. This cannot be ascribed to Noises Off and its contributors. It is the result of having a bag of awards to hand out at the end of the week. I don’t deny that these shows and performances deserve recognition, but forcing shows to pit their wills against each other does seem at times to be counter-productive. At one point, a friend of mine overheard company members coming out of a show sneering “we’ve got this in the bag”; if people are coming to the festival with the sole aim of winning awards, then they are there for the wrong reasons (I think we can all agree on that). It’s also worth noting that most of the people who write for Noises Off are not involved with shows at the festival, but are merely there to soak up the atmosphere and enjoy the theatre on show. For this reason, they aren’t concerned about awards and are able to represent views which aren’t concerned with making certain shows look good. That said, however, company members should not be deterred from writing for the magazine simply because they have vested interest – if anything, that makes their opinion more valid. The only reason someone shouldn’t write for Noises Off is if they don’t believe what they write or if they’re not willing to put their name to it.

I am fully aware that in the past 1000+ words I’ve given an impression of me as an opinionated, obnoxious, argumentative prick who can’t just let something be. And you’d be right. But these debates are important. The theatrical world is ever changing and always alive; without difference in opinion it becomes stale and elitist. I know I’m repeating myself, but we must not become complacent. As the next generation of theatre practitioners, we should constantly challenge each other’s work, open our eyes to new ways of doing things and talk about how we do that. The arts are an important and vital part of society, but if we celebrate everything, good or bad, it will seem like we’re becoming self-congratulatory and damn right incestuous (an apt word to use in a discussion about NSDF). If everyone involved at NSDF went home thinking they’d done the best they could and were brilliant, we’d be leading ourselves into a sorry state of affairs. Let’s enjoy each other’s work, yes, but being positive just for the sake of it is perhaps more damaging than the supposed mindless negativity Imogen’s article rallies against.

“Frankenstein” by Nick Dear

based on the novel by Mary Shelley

at the Olivier Theatre, Sunday 17th April 2011

In a world where more and more becomes scientifically possible, we must ask questions about the ethics behind further discoveries. This is the main message in Danny Boyle’s spectacular production of Frankenstein, even though a lot of press attention and criticism has focussed on the dual personalities of Frankenstein and his monster. 2011 is the perfect time to be asking questions about scientific discoveries, and even though Nick Dear’s script is little more than flaccid throughout, Boyle does a sterling job of realising a vivid world in which science can do anything.

The basic story of Shelley’s novel is known to pretty much everyone; a scientist creates a living, thinking creature which proceeds to perform atrocities, forcing said doctor to question himself and his methods. The intricacies of plot, however, are unknown to many, perhaps because Shelley’s writing style leaves much to be desired and many people put the book down after the first few pages. Even with this bad starting point, however, Nick Dear’s script is poor. Riddled with cliché one minute (“I’m blind you know”) and moving to great exposé the next (the creature’s final speech), Dear only just manages to take us through the plot without losing an audience completely to bad writing. But then perhaps this is useful to the production; a poor script allows Boyle’s direction to shine through all the more.

Everything about this production offers spectacle. The first ten minutes see a lone creature finding his feet, and come to a blistering close as a mechanical engine hurls its way across the stage. This opening epitomises the next hundred minutes or so, giving the audience a showcase of what the Olivier theatre can do as Boyle switches between careful emotional direction and all-out, unashamed special effects.

Mark Tildesley’s set is nothing short of stunning. Entire rooms and houses appear from below or above the stage, and an air of a primitive cave is evoked right out into the auditorium, suggesting the beginnings of life before civilisation. The clean, ethereal nature of the scenes set in Geneva contrasts harshly with the dark, earthy feel of Scotland. Bruno Poet’s lighting is nothing short of superb, especially his central array of bulbs which flicker and buzz above the audience’s heads. Underworld’s music is also extraordinary, supporting the emotion portrayed on stage while adding an extra, more otherworldly layer to events.

A strong ensemble do a good job with Dear’s script, managing to inject at least a little motivation and nuance into the words. Naomie Harris is touching as Elizabeth (Frankentein’s fiancée), offering a counterpoint to the inquisitive nature of the creature as she asks her husband-to-be to explain his work. Benedict Cumberbatch lends himself perfectly to the role of Frankenstein, showing a man slowly coming to terms with his terrible act but always remaining human. Jonny Lee Miller’s creature is captivating, starting life as a brute, but through brutish acts becoming more knowledgable about the moral world. At one particular point, just after the creature rapes and kills Elizabeth, we see the roles switch; Cumberbatch becomes the monster as Miller is the only one who understands the situation fully.

This production pulls no punches, revelling in its own theatricality and being proud to pull of such an unabashed spectacle. By the end of the play the faults in Dear’s script are eclipsed by the sheer audacity of Boyle’s staging, which draws us in with brave performances and a vivacious design. This is a production which appeals to the eyes and ears on a basic, visceral level, rather than an intellectual one. And in doing so, Boyle perhaps is making a clever point; we are most ourselves when in touch with our roots and our instincts. Everything else is simply filler.

Put in my place

This article was printed in the last issue of Noises Off, the daily magazine of the National Student Drama Festival. It was written by Imogen Clare-Wood, a very good friend of mine, and I will post a riposte in due course. Imogen would like me to point out, however, that she had been drinking before writing this and meant it in an entirely jovial matter. I thought you should all have the pleasure of reading it.

Reviewing is a tricky business, and one that I haven’t lent myself to before today (mainly for fear of revengeful company members). But today marks a change in my critical ethos, partly due to the sudden influx of alcohol, and partly due to the increasing belief that reviewers should pay for their crimes (bit harsh, but there you go). The subject I choose for this is Daniel Hutton.

Dan has marked himself out to be at the forefront of NSDF reviewers. He has unfailingly (apart from the ‘accidental’ loss of his writing by the NOFF staff in yesterday’s issue) delivered his point of view on every piece of theatre at this festival. Sadly it has often been not kind. When thinking of Dan as a reviewer, imagine a Peter Pan-esque figure (complete with enormous grin and hair with a life of its own) – disarmingly boyish and with a belly laugh to put a hyena to shame. But unbeknownst to the companies of the plays he views, he is secretly carrying a massive fuck-off axe behind his back – he is without doubt utterly and totally cutthroat. This perhaps is what makes him in my professional opinion a decent writer – he is totally honest and unapologetic about his views. But from a personal standpoint I hate him and everything he stands for (this is probably a good time to point out that I know Dan, so I’m not just aimlessly attacking a poor defenceless aspiring theatre critic. And he can definitely take it). To quote a few of his recent NSDF opinions, there have been “weak and unoriginal plots”, shows with “too much going on”, performances “underplayed”, and plotlines incomprehensible (that one’s a paraphrase, but it’s too painful reading the actual review. Plus I can’t find the right copy of NOFF).

I think this Festival, brilliant as it is, has encouraged a trend in overly nit-picky criticism, and audiences look for a reason to fault rather than praise the productions they see. And I think Dan Hutton and his ilk are greatly responsible for this. NOFF is brilliant, and a fantastic opportunity for those wanting to write about theatre, but there seems to be a tendency to take things too seriously and writers representing themselves as too professional. When Dan writes he does not ever use the term “in my opinion” or “personally”, which in a genuinely professional setting is acceptable, but in a situation where (to quote our slightly bizarre opening speech) “we’re all in this together” seems out of place and inconsiderate.

Perhaps this is bitter resentment, perhaps this is too much white wine, but ultimately I think there has been too much criticism and not enough praise for the frankly brilliant and extraordinary theatre at this Festival, and Dan should take a step back and remember that he is not writing for his ridiculously popular blog but for a publication allowing anyone and everyone to represent an opinion. In this situation he needs to take more responsiblity for his writing, and represent himself less as an all-knowing, all-seeing theatrical deity, and more of a singular audience member.

Theatre at this Festival prompts debate, and there is no such thing as a definite opinion. No matter how high your Twitter following is. And if nothing else, I hope this article serves to remind him and others (naming no names but calling yourself a reviewer and then falling asleep in a show, Henry Ellis, is unforgivable) to be less wanky - you are not professionals yet. Which is summed up by the fact that any professional reviewer would never be able to say “Is NSDF this year perhaps going to be the boldest yet? Why yes, of course,” because no one is allowed to be publically that much of a pillock.

NSDF 2011

Although the shows selected for the National Student Drama Festival are picked based on “excellence” alone, and not through quota-filling or thematic cohesiveness, a narrative of argument seems to seep into debates concerning the festival year after year. This year, as 700 directors, actors, producers, designers and critics of the future descended on Scarborough to watch 13 student productions between Saturday 9th and Friday 15th April, two topics seemed to find themselves as the focus of many discussions; naturalism and the ethics of criticism.

Both questions became evident during the discussion of the first production of the festival, Nottingham University’s production of Dennis Kelly’s Orphans. A fiercely dark and beautifully written script was realised in a hyper-real set with hyper-real performances, and in a discussion the following day two points stood out. Many commented on the chosen naturalism of the production, suggesting the performance style was akin to that used on television, while another focussed on the director’s lack of attention to detail.

It became clear throughout the week that this particular acting style was synonymous to all four of Nottingham’s productions (Orphans, This Wide Night, Bluebird and After the End), and when company members were questioned about this the reply suggested that Nottingham’s lack of theatre course meant no one had any form of toolbox to refer to except TV and film. While this seems like a feeble excuse, however, and it sounds like Nottingham is becoming the brunt of my criticism, it must be acknowledged that theirs were not the only companies unwilling to take risks.

Jonathan Carr’s production of Line did not much more than present an energetic and enthusiastic take on a script which has a multitude of possibilities in performance, and Edinburgh University’s Amadeus felt, during static moments, to be merely going through the motions. All of the aforementioned productions presented some extraordinary performances and clear creative visions, but none pushed the boat out by doing something completely new with their chosen text.

The remaining seven productions all did something new, and although none were perfect, each did something to warrant the suggestion that they took ‘risks’. Stop, Look, Listen, a student written piece penned by Elizabeth Gaubert, told the story of a road accident through monologues and clever use of positioning on stage to represent different characters, and What Do You Want From Me? used physical theatre to show an incredibly honest portrayal of the realities of relationships. Leeds University proved that naturalistic acting and surrealism could be intertwined in Dealer’s Choice, while Nikki Moss’ take on the versatile Pornography made some impressive decisions in staging, even if it didn’t in how it chose to structure Stephens’ play. Neither of Warwick University Drama Society’s productions were perfect, but Five Kinds of Silence was brave in its physical staging of a radio play and The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui did things to Brecht’s text which I never thought possible. The most exciting production of the festival, Jason and Medea, brought together elements of theatre, music and dance in an ingenious take on an old myth which got the heart racing.

I’m not saying it’s absolutely necessary to take risks to create good theatre – indeed, the first six productions mentioned were probably the most professional on show during the week – but pointing out that at a student drama festival it is more refreshing to see companies pushing boundaries rather than playing it safe. NSDF is a relatively safe environment, which provides structured feedback and heated discussion, and is perhaps one of the last places young practitioners are genuinely free to do what they wish and try new things before the demands of the industry force them to make compromises. The fact that the riskier productions weren’t necessarily enjoyed by all is commendable. If theatre isn’t able to inspire debate, then what is it for? We must be progressive in our mission to provoke responses from audiences. Naturalism alone isn’t enough any more.

The other strand of argument, that of the way in which students review and assess other students, was hinted at throughout the week but brought up on explicitly in the final discussion. One fest-goer argued that the comments about clocks, windows and ladders were in danger of “nit-picking”, and that people were looking to find faults with a production rather than strengths. It is a debate which was being had throughout the week in smaller circles but which didn’t come to light until the final day. Richard Beecham, however, hit the nail on the head by bringing up Blake’s “holiness of minute particulars” and arguing that directors must consider details if they are to have any chance of representing a singular vision. It is in the details that a production fails or succeeds. Had Mark Rylance’s performance in Jerusalem not been so perfectly nuanced and had Bunny Christie not been so thorough in her creation of set for The White Guard, neither production would have received the praise they did. In order to create a fully believable or comprehensible world, a play must acknowledge and understand the importance smaller aspects have in the creation of a bigger picture. They are some of the easiest problems to solve yet have the biggest repercussions.

It is not wrong to nit-pick and be critical. At the National Student Drama Festival, the fest-going population sees every show, meaning individual shows don’t have to rely on ticket sales and a dialogue is created with audiences. It is one of the few arenas in which this will happen, and creative teams must learn from the criticism they are given in order to progress. As a student body, we cannot sit complaining about people being too critical; the theatre industry is in danger of being negated, and the next generation must be willing to fight its corner. It is possible to both celebrate the healthy state of student theatre while being honest with one another about what does and doesn’t work. What NSDF ’11 taught us, however, is that taking risks must be encouraged and supported, even if those ideas may not always come to fruition.

“After the End” by Dennis Kelly

at the National Student Drama Festival, Thursday 14th April 2011

To begin and end an NSDF which has had such an emphasis on naturalism with a Dennis Kelly play produced by Nottingham’s New Theatre seems apt. Where Orphans fails, however, After the End succeeds. In a production thoroughly aware of its own theatricality, Gus Miller presents a grim play which at times feels like an optimistic hymn about humanity’s ability to survive.

A grim and disturbing play, After the End is ostensibly set in a post-apocalyptic world. Mark has carried Louise down into a nuclear fallout shelter, and they must spend a week in one another’s company.  As the play progresses, however, it becomes clear that the situation is not as clear as first seems. Kelly considers the power struggles observed in a claustrophobic setting, but throughout all the conflict no one dies and the survival instinct always kicks in. It sounds peculiar to call such a depressing play ‘optimistic’, but there really does seem to be a strand of assurance that although we are selfish, humanity will always prevail.

The design for this production sets it apart from the New Theatre’s other productions, choosing instead to suggest a space rather than
setting it out clearly. Designed by Miller with Phil Geller, it evokes a confining setting within a black space. It is lit with confidence by Matt Leventhall and Aneria Pugh, who flash strobes between each scene change, injecting excitement into the play. Angus MacRae’s pounding music supports these changes with aplomb. A thrilling moment towards the end of the play sees a scene change completed in silence.

Chris Walters and Flo Hapgood as Mark and Louise are competent, but there is a lack of clarity throughout. It is difficult, for example, to believe that Walters’ Mark would be strong enough to stop Louise from stealing rations, and in the final scene Hapgood looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Both give a good interpretation of their characters, but sometimes their naturalism seems a little forced.

Like all of Nottingham New Theatre’s productions, it is the script that shines through the performances and not vice versa. All involved in these plays have given great performances, but are helped greatly by the skill of the writing. In After the End,
strong performances are outshone by a stunning play, and capable direction is never really able to put its own stamp on the play.

“Amadeus” by Peter Shaffer

at the National Student Drama Festival, Wednesday 13th April 2011

“Mediocrity is everywhere” pronounces Peter Shaffer in the final moments of Amadeus. In George Ransley and Alice Bonifacio’s production, this is certainly evident; the play falls in and out of consciousness, showing moments of inspiration but falling flat on its face at others. Some extraordinary performances and striking images are let down by shoddy ensemble work and a lack of sincerity in the first half, making what could be an epic performance into something which seems to be not much better than a school play.

Shaffer’s script is a stinging look at the nature of genius and how famous artists are viewed in the eyes of the public. Salieri, a bitter
composer, tries to usurp and destroy Mozart’s career, unable to live with such a genius living in his midst. Ironically, however, he is the only living person to understand his peer’s ability, and vows to kill him. The play begins fairly slowly towards the beginning, but some heightened writing in the second act creates some beautiful moments of theatre.

Ransley and Bonifacio’s direction, however, doesn’t seem to take many risks, preferring to make obvious choices and failing to inject dynamism. The descent into madness of both Mozart and Salieri is supported by a change in tone of music, but these moments are few and far between. Too many static scenes where people stand around means we feel like direction in these areas has been skirted over. This is particularly evident in the final moments of the production, which sees ensemble members aimlessly wandering around the space, stopping and vocalising pointless lines. It feels like we’re watching a drama game.

Although performances given by the supporting cast are generally weak, the three central characters are played with maturity, showing a clear journey and improving greatly in act two. Elizabeth Borne in the role of Mozart’s wife, Constanze, offers a perfectly nuanced performance, delivering her lines with clarity. In the central roles of Mozart and Salieri, Simon Ginty and Ed Sheridan begin with no substance, but their journeys allow them to explore their roles better in the second act. When they take off their wigs, they are allowed to be human, and we only wish Ginty was able to show this extraordinary acting ability from an earlier stage. All three deserve every award they win.

A simple set, designed by Elspeth Helfer, allows for focus on character and plot, but scene changes facilitated by supporting actors have no pace. Every piece of music is beautifully played; when opera singers appear from behind the audience, it sends shivers down our collective spine, making us wish the live orchestra was used more throughout. Underscoring would have been useful, for the moments building up to Requiem, for example, are some of the most powerful.

This Amadeus has so much potential in its three central characters, but never utilises their full talent and fails to support them with a strong cast. Ensemble members never seem to know what they are supposed to be doing and lack clear direction, creating a lack of coherency in any scene which involves larger quantities of people. The first half lacks any sort of vision, as the actors overact, but as they gain confidence in the second act their talent shines through among some clear directorial decisions. If this clarity had been delivered throughout, Amadeus would be a stunning piece of theatre throughout rather than the glimpses of genius we get at the moment.