The Glass Menagerie: Shared Experience (Oxford Playhouse)

There's a point halfway through this production when Amanda Wingfield, in a flurry of frantic cleaning prior to the arrival of the longed-for gentleman caller for her daughter, absentmindedly dusts her son as well as the furniture on which he's sitting. She's in the midle of another of her overwrought monologues to the exasperation of Tom. It's a very funny moment and one amongst many that centres on the discrepency between Tom's hopes and dreams and those of his mother. Tom looks enviously towards the future while Amanda harks back to her Southern belle past. In fact past and present coexist onstage. Tom in the "present" in effect presents the main action and occasionally his present self slips into the past, speaking the lines that will be repeated seconds later by others. Within this past there are other manifestations of Amanda's memories (dancing with an old suitor, being swept off her feet by her errant husband-to-be) often accompanied by slowed-down film footage projected onto a screen at the back of the set. It all nicely illustrates the slippage between past and present. The suffocating nature of the family home is all too evident and it's painfully obvious why Tom longs to escape. The beautifully judged final act briefly holds out hope for his fragile, painfully shy sister as she visibly blossoms under the attentions of the gentleman caller (initially appearing a blow-hard, he actually turns out to be kind and pereceptive). It's the only time we see Laura laugh, and for once she starts to interact with another person in a normal manner, which makes the denouement all the more devastating.

Hedda Gabler: Theatre Royal Bath (Oxford Playhouse)

Surprisingly, there was an awful lot of laughter from the audience for this production. Admittedly, most of that humour stems from the either the self-obsession or self-delusion of the characters. Tesman is slightly pompous and single-minded to a fault. While essentially harmless, he's also totally boring as a spouse - at least as far as Hedda's concerned - and yet he's clearly devoted to both her and the elderly aunts who raised him. Aunt Juliana (who clearly drives Hedda to complete distraction) idolises her nephew, tirelessly nurses her ailing sister and tries to be nice to Hedda, yet has a tendency to both witter and pry. Decent people yes, but Hedda doesn't belong in their world and to be honest doesn't make much effort. We can tell it's the sort of milieu that she will find mind-numbingly stultefying and yet it's difficult to totally sympathise with her because her petulance, jealousy and lack of empathy only destroy. She pushes Loevborg towards self-destruction apparently for her own satisfaction and because he seemingly found some peace working alongside Mrs Elvstad, but his weakness deprives his death of any "beauty". Presumably she would consider her own suicide to be such an act though it feels more like desperation to escape a trap of her own making.

Medea: Northern Broadsides (Oxford Playhouse)

The fascinating thing about the Greek plays is that even after 2000 years, they still possess deeply powerful moments that shake the viewer's soul. Even when a particular interpretation has underlying problems, those moments somehow survive. Medea is a case in point. The blues might be a logical choice of music on paper but in practice it doesn't always work, and the seriously distracting electric guitar at one key point made it feel more like the 1970s than ancient Greece. Some of the performances are worringly strident, and yet the play itself remains deeply disturbing ("the gods themselves turn pale when we kill our children") On one level Medea is a synpathetic character - a strong woman but a wronged wife - but this is constantly undercut by her own jealousy, pride and uncontrollable anger, not to mention her skill in murderous sorcery. The true victims are the unseen children, pawns in her plan of revenge. The exchanges between Medea and Jason keep the audience's sympathy swinging between the two (his arrogance and ungratefulness, her self-pity and ruthlessness) but ultimately we wonder: did his new wife and her father *really* deserve such hideous deaths? did his children *really* deserve to die in order to make him suffer? These acts go unpunished and Medea is able to glory in her triumph while the gods - maybe - get what they want. It's not a comforting thought.

Julius Caesar: RSC

The Courtyard Theatre might be a lovely theatre in it's own right but I always have trouble hearing the actors whenever I sit in the stalls. Somehow, the sound gets lost under the galleries above. True to form, I spent a lot of the first half straining to hear what Brutus was saying, particularly when he was facing away from my section of the stalls. Luckily as the play progresses, passions are raised, voices get louder and audibility is no longer a problem. Julius Ceasar is one of those plays that improves as it goes along, especially once it reaches the assassination itself. Up until then it tends to be rather static and talky, but after that point, the conspirators find their plans unravelling and are outwitted by the seemingly buffoonish Mark Antony. There may be suggestions of the indolence and luxury to come in Antony and Cleopatra, but Cassius was right in wanting him removed. He's still a first class orator and a sharp political operator, fuelled by a sense of righteous vengeance. Brutus on the other hand proves to be disastrously naive. Video projection makes the bare stage seem more populous than it is and gives a sense of Rome's bustling crowds, appealed to by both factions. Sam Troughton's Brutus comes into his own in the latter half of the play as events spiral out of his control. The scene where he relates news of his wife's death shows the Stoic desperately suppressing overwhelming emotion. It's a great scene with Cassius, who ends up more sympathetic than usual, and his death feels genuinely tragic. Mark Antony, Lepidus and Octavius meanwhile show signs of the future cracks in ther alliance, yet these men can still mourn Brutus for his honour and nobility.

Love's Labour's Lost: RSC

I'll never be converted to the comedies. There are simply too many irritants built into their structure: "comic" rustics (Costard); wilful disguise and subsequent misunderstandings (the princess and her women wearing masks in retaliation at the men disguising themselves as Muscovites); a deeply distasteful cruelty displayed towards the lower orders by the aristocrats (the mean jibes throughout the Nine Worthies scene); and plots that never seem to go anywhere. Give me the dramatic tension of the histories and tragedies any day. Love's Labour's Lost sparks to life whenever David Tennant's Berowne takes centre stage. His relaxed comic timing is a delight, especially compared to the laboured machinations elsewhere. The comedy Spaniard Don Armado also proves a highpoint, forever manging English grammar and syntax. He works far better than the endlessly tedious Holofernes and his sidekick. There is also a delightfully simple set comprising a tree centre-stage with "branches" and "leaves" hanging down from the rafters. It provides both a backdrop and a handy hiding place, and doesn't distract from everything else. Alas, there are moments in the play when one wishes that it did!

Hamlet: RSC

Another production of Hamlet, but luckily one with a few unusual touches. Don't be alarmed if you think that "To be or not to be" occurs a bit earlier than you recall. It does. Gregory Doran has repositioned the speech to its place in the First Quarto instead of the more familiar First Folio. He's done this because it seems to fit in better with the psychology of Hamlet at this earlier point in the play, and it does work rather well. Likewise, the actor playing Old Hamlet usually doubles up with the role of the Player King. However, this time Patrick Stewart plays both Old Hamlet and Claudius, adding an extra dimension. This means that in addition to Hamlet being mirrored by the more active characters of Laertes and Fortinbras, and the true friendship of Horatio being contrasted with the more venal Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the warlike Old Hamlet is thrown into relief by the wily politician that is Claudius. Curiously this makes the latter more sympathetic as a diplomatic ruler endeavouring to avoid war. There's also a hilarious Polonius, prone to rambling mid-sentence, but with flashes of dignity. As for Hamlet, he's clearly not mad and the Doctor's performance is very solid. There's a few too many pauses between the lines during the early monologues but matters improve later in the play. The final appearance of Fortinbras might not be completely obvious to those not familiar with the play, especially as his lines are cut, but otherwise it's all very enjoyable.

The Revenger's Tragedy: National Theatre

A terrific production of one of the most complicated (not to say downright daft) Jacobean revenge tragedies. What starts out as a simple quest for revenge against one man soon spirals into an intricate web of plot and counter-plot with almost every character trying to kill someone else. The revolving stage, with it's hidden passageways, aptly conveys the corruption at court while allowing several bits of action to be glimpsed in rapid succession, and the modern dress doesn't detract from the power of the play at all. Vindice and his brother set about ensnaring the Duke in revenge for the poisoning of the former's fiancee 9 years ago. Vindice, in an echo of Hamlet, talks to his beloved's skull but more ingeniously uses it as the means to kill his enemy. Meanwhile, in disguise at court, his machinations become entangled with the various maneouvrings of the Duke and Duchess's children, resulting in yet more bloodshed. By the end, revenge has turned into a palace coup with the final irony being Vindice's boasting wrecking the perfect murder(s). Far from being grateful, the new Duke orders yet more deaths. This is a world where justice is thoroughly compromised and men must act for themselves, thus sowing the seeds of their own destruction. A bleak, and blackly comic, view of the times.

London Assurance: Northern Stage (Oxford Playhouse)

I didn't know anything about this play before going to see it. In fact, I'd never encountered Boucicault on stage before. It was quite funny (although Restoration comedy has sharper social satire) but I found the dreadfully strident female lead incredibly offputting. I just wanted her to lower her voice. It was far too reminiscent of some of the staff and students at Oxford. It was also quite disconcerting to be the youngest person in the theatre as far as I could tell. At least it made a change from Shakespeare, although the tendency to be irritated with all these vacuous upper class characters meant that I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought that I would.

A Doll's House: Northern Stage (Oxford Playhouse)

The 1950s setting worked surprisingly well in this production. Far from being some long lost Golden Age, it was a period of repression and that aspect is caught perfectly. Torvald might be all babytalk on the surface but there are enough flashes of the tyrant lurking beneath the surface. He has very clear ideas about what Nora should and shouldn't be doing. Nora meanwhile progresses, perhaps a little too quickly, from a thoroughly irritating flibbertigibbert to a woman with a steely determination to discover just who she is. The glass box that doubled as the entrancehall leading onto Torvald's study made good use of the stage space and served as a reminder that Nora is constantly on display, even when inside the confines of the house. The sheer hypocrisy of men is also laid bare. Nora's actions were solely to save the life of her husband and spare her ailing father any worries, but all Torvald can see is *his* imminent disgrace. The minute Krogstad (unexpectedly finding love himself) rescinds his threats, Torvald reverts to his old ways, as if nothing had happened. Nora, however, has finally seen what he is truly like and how little her own thoughts and feelings count in this male world. Her exit is thrillingly empowering.

The Merchant of Venice: RSC

This was my O level play and I've seen several productions of it over the years. Some go for modern dress, others for a historical setting. One approach doesn't necessarily yield better results than the other. It's all down to the interpretation. The new production at the RSC is curiously underpowered. Shylock barely raises his voice, in passion or anger, and in dress is almost indistinguishable (smarter perhaps) from the rest of Venice. The only real flicker of genuine emotion is his distress over the loss of his wife's ring, which makes a telling contrast with Bassanio and Gratiano subsequently giving away their rings. In a similar vein the relationship between Antonio and Bassanio is muted. There's very little sense of *why* Antonio is willing to risk so much for his friend. For a change Bassanio comes across as the more engaging character rather than merely as a rather selfish chancer. This is partly because of Antonio being equally low key. You can't imagine this man behaving towards Shylock in the anti-semitic manner of which he's accused. He doesn't seem to have the passion for it. In effect the heart of the play (rather than Antonio) has been removed. So, not one of the best versions of the play that I've seen unfortunately.