One of the finest traditions of Oxford drama is the summer garden play. Freeing the frenetic energy of the dramatic societies from the limited rehearsal spaces and platforms of Michaelmas and Hillary, Trinity sees the many green spaces of Oxford overcome by hectic preparations for garden plays, as directors experiment with the challenges of performing in an unusual space. With such a proliferation of performances, it also presents the chance for enterprising directors and productions to venture beyond their regular fare and explore less well-known, but potentially no less entertaining, stories.

This year’s Hertford-Mansfield Garden Play was a production of Shakespeare’s The Two Noble Kinsmen, co-written with John Fletcher which was the Bard’s last work before his death in 1616, though it did not appear in print until 1634. It wasreasonably well-known in its time, but has since faded into relative obscurity, only performed rarely and less well-known than its source work, The Knight’s Tale in Geoffery Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. For the sake of the reader, I’ll briefly explain the plot: Theseus, of minotaur slaying fame, is begged by three widowed Queens to intercede against the king of neighbouring Thebes. Theseus concedes, and goes to war, in the process capturing the King of Thebes’ nephews, Arcite and Palamon. All their brave talk of fraternal unity in the face of prison vanishes when they see Hippolyta’s sister, Emilia, and both immediately compete for her affection.

Eventually, all is resolved in a rather tragicomic fashion, but it is rather unlike most Shakespeare in that even in those plays that do tread the line between tragedy and comedy, few slip between the two as frequently as Two Noble Kinsmen. Its opening scene appears to set the play up as a tragedy, whilst its middle section better resembles a comedy; in a Lynchian fashion, after the play’s tragic ending, Morris dancers (who appear earlier in the play) return and do a merry jig. The comedy fits the Mansfield gardens, where the play was performed next to the hulking shadow of the Vere Hamsworth, well. Likewise, the challenging lighting situation, with the gentle afternoon sun of the opening fading into dark sky by the end, lent itself to the tragic development of the play, with the stark white lights used producing stark, dramatic shadows against the bare stone.

This production itself is the work of director Annabelle Higgins and producer Richard Morris, with two choral pieces composed specially for the play courtesy of Owen Robinson. The music does make the play, from its earlier Midsummer Night’s Dream-like feel of fancy to the low, ethereal and deeply unsettling humming from behind the audience as the play reaches its devastating conclusion. Select performances also deserve special mention, amidst the general success of the cast and crew; the eponymous kinsmen, Arcite and Palamon, are played with great flair and distinction. Palamon captures, as Emilia describes, a love-struck morbidity and obsession, whilst Archite’s focus on victory is clearly communicated through clipped tones and a contemplative countenance. Emilia is also exceptionally wellplayed, with several monologues that carefully balance expressing emotion whilst not forgoing the audience’s need to hear what’s being performed.

A few minor flubs occurred, actors missing a few lines and a malfunctioning light set just behind my shoulder. However, with the brevity of time afforded to garden play actors, this shouldn’t be held against them – it is a well performed play given its limited budget, space and time. Performing a lesser-known Shakespeare work was a bold directorial choice, and one that paid off. Equally impressive is the sizable, late run time, with actors performing from 7:30pm until almost 10pm for three days in a row, including a matinee performance on Saturday 9th May.

CW: Rape

What’s stuffier than a perfume shop and more packed than a Lego Store on opening day? It’s the Burton Taylor Studio, and no less so than during the sold out run of Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party (5th-9th May). In this debut show by Postbox Productions, we are transported to a rundown boarding house where marital dispute, mental torture, and birthday games come together to create a disturbing yet humorous play.

Pinter’s play poses quite the challenge, and directors Marnie Frankel and Lois Avery are scrupulous in every detail (I should know, one of them sat next to me and filled what seemed like half a book with notes on the opening night). The audience is constantly teased with contradictory information. Is it a birthday party? Who is Stanley (Rufus Shutter)? And how Cockney can Goldberg (Will Hamp) go? And, though quite conservative in terms of design, the acting truly brings out the gifts of this play.

The opening brings a convincingly dishevelled Meg (Cait Kremenstein), whose voice and mannerisms are a consistent highlight of the night, fussing over breakfast for her rather resigned husband Petey (Charlie Heath) and Stanley, the sole boarder. Kremenstein, Heath, and Shutter have a lovely dynamic on stage, with subtle changes of tone and character. Humour litters the play, from the hilarious reveal of the trapdoor-cupboard at the start to Meg’s flirty attitude towards Stanley, and the cast allow the energy of these moments to lift up the darker undertones of the play.

Yet things change for Stanley when Goldberg and McCann (Seb Foster) turn up to stay and join Meg in organising his birthday party – but is it actually his birthday? Hamp and Foster offer a wonderful good cop, bad cop duo that is hilarious to watch on stage and blends the serious with the absurd (“All the same, give me a blow!”). Their torrent of lines as they intimidate Stanley serves a good number of gags and their timing is (for the most part) slick. Watching their complete change in manner, demeanour, and accent when dealing with Meg compared to Stanley gives a much-needed release of tension during the play’s darker moments. The pounding of the drum as they circle Stanley like vultures and the quiet intimidation of Petey had me on edge. Trapped inside the tight arms of the BT, you couldn’t escape the tension (or the noise!), but the directors ensure a good balance throughout.

The most well-produced moment of the show was the birthday party itself, where the cast play a thrilling game of Blind Man’s Buff. Lulu (Amelie Rosner), a neighbour of the boarding house, is allowed to shine in this section with her loveably clueless character mirroring the confused state of the audience. The quietness of this scene, as in turn each of the characters is forced to stumble around the stage, was punctured by Lulu’s scream at the end as Stanley attempts to rape her on the table. A harrowing and deeply disturbing moment, the cast handle it exceptionally well.

Nearing the end of the show, and practically sweltering in my jumper (did I mention the heat!?), we watch as Petey gives up a short-lived fight as Stanley is carried away. Quite why and how is for the audience to guess, as is the nature of every character in the play. The reserved character of Petey, the stoney-faced Stanley, the relentlessly positive Meg: all the characters in The Birthday Party are fascinating to watch and analyse, stuck in their sad story. Pinter’s play makes no attempt to glamourise this life, nor provide anyone to sympathise with, rather, one must simply enjoy the absurdity of the play.

One final conversation between Meg and Petey, who now live in a house with no borders, offers a bleak prospect at the end of the play, now devoid of humour. Heath’s impassive Petey contrasts with Kremenstein’s sentimental and unloved Meg at this moment, and it is with Meg’s wistful “I know I was” that we end the show, wishing that we knew anything as certainly as Meg.

Though it messed with my sense of reality, it was a very well assembled production, and the cast offered a promising selection of new Oxford talent. All in all, I am sure this is not the last we have heard of Postbox Productions.

The arrival of SNL to the UK has been met with a mixed reception. While the episodes themselves have experienced some success in viewership, its introduction to UK screens has been regarded as yet another unnecessary Americanism, and perhaps a sign of the UK’s waning cultural influence. On top of this, the advent of SNL UK has led to some doubting the success of sketch comedy as a format, with many regarding the inconsistent quality of SNL in America as reflective of the genre as a whole. To dismiss sketch in this way, however, would be a mistake. SNL UK provides a ripe opportunity to explore our own distinct tradition of sketch comedy. 

Sketch as a format was first developed in Britain. In the mid-19th century, music hall was a growing form of popular entertainment, where a variety of acts would be performed, including singing, dancing, and brief sketches. Later in the decade, burlesque shows began to gain currency. In this context, to burlesque something meant to parody it, and these sketches would often take the form of short mockeries of traditional Greek myths or Shakespeare plays. By the early 20th century, revue theatre emerged as a site of influence for sketch comedy. Unlike burlesque, which would focus on one scene, revue’s more topical humour helped shape the structure of sketch into what it has become known to be today. 

When considering traditional comedy in Britain, Monty Python is what comes to mind for many. Running from 1969-73, Monty Python and the Flying Circus was the beginning of a troupe which was to become a bastion of British surrealist comedy. With Terry Jones and Michael Palin meeting right here in Oxford, and later performing with Graham Chapman and John Cleese from the Cambridge Footlights, their beginnings were typical of many who grew to be huge names of British comedy. Their enduring popularity and influence, however, come from their innovations in the form of sketch and their surrealist humour. Monty Python was known to often break away from the concept of a punchline altogether, with self-aware sketches ending in acknowledgement of their own absurdity. This departure from the traditional form of a punchline is something that SNL can perhaps take lessons from, with a forced punchline of little comedic value becoming all too familiar. The brilliance of the Pythons meant that their influence was felt not only in Britain, but across the world, with comics such as Steve Martin and Robin Williams citing them as amongst their greatest influences.

Returning to Oxbridge, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are two other names which come up frequently when considering our own tradition of sketch. Meeting as undergrads at Cambridge, their sketch show A Bit of Fry and Laurie gave the genre a new dimension as they performed as a comedic duo, instead of as part of a large ensemble. This reliance on a duo and the comedic tension between them meant that they were constantly required to innovate, whereas in ensembles, a larger range of characters often swallowed the humour. The lack of ensemble meant that it intensified, leading to comedy which was sometimes surrealist and always highly entertaining. Fry and Laurie, however, are also representative of the dominance of Oxbridge and middle-class backgrounds within British comedy. By contrast, comics in America are often discovered through more accessible institutions such as improv troupes like Second City in Chicago or stand-up circuits. Programmes such as SNL in the US play a key role in facilitating a more socially varied pipeline of talent, and therefore an institution such as SNL in the UK could play a similar role in creating a more egalitarian means for new talent to be discovered. 

Incisive commentary on current affairs is often where comedy shines its brightest, and SNL is no exception, with its Weekend Update often giving way to the most consistent laughs of the night. Such a tradition is pre-eminent in the UK, with sketch shows such as The Day Today and later satirical mock-news programmes like Brass Eye showcasing the genre at its sharpest. These shows demonstrated how sketches could move into biting media criticism and explore the absurdities of modern journalism and public panic, playing into a culture of widespread commentary. This tradition of experimentation – moving beyond the quick-laugh genre of impressions which dominate SNL – is often where British comedy can be at its best, as it wryly challenges institutions and their often hapless bureaucracy. SNL UK could very easily learn from this practice found in our comedy and eclipse its American counterpart in making genuinely incisive political commentary through humour. 

SNL UK, therefore, should not be seen as purely an American influence but be viewed in the broader context of our own rich tapestry of comedy tradition. Originating as a form with mass popular appeal, sketch comedy remains a relevant form today because of its adaptability and sharpness. While SNL in America certainly has its shortcomings, its arrival to the UK could take an entirely different direction if it is able to learn from the strengths of what came before it.