Acting Natural

Being a fresher I believe I am well placed in saying that those out in the real world have a somewhat sceptical view of student drama. I know that might seem hard to understand from inside the bubble (what with Warwick being the bubbliest of bubbles after all) but the fact is I was apprehensive in seeing my first student production here at university as all too often they occupy that space between am dram and professional
Nevertheless, I swallowed my preconceptions. Not, I might add, because of any extra tribalistic credit I gave WUDs, more the justified credit I gave Tom Stoppard. This play was a safe choice. It’s funny, it’s cerebrally fulfilling, and it lacks any points of particular contention to a modern, middle class British audience. In other words: Tom Stoppard? Eighties Hair? Dysfunctional posh people? What’s not to love? ‘Nothing’ is the short answer to that question. And I would like to put my cards on the table at this juncture and say that I loved this production.
I have mentioned already the comedic elements of this play, and for a director to understand Stoppard, you have to understand that his default setting is funny. Breman Rajkumar and Alistair Faiers seemed to grasp this concept by the gonads, and it came to no surprise, when I did a bit more journalistic digging, that their background seems to be in the Warwick comedy scene. However, this is a double edged sword, and unfortunately the performances were at their most synthetic when the integrity of the characters motivation seemed to be compromised in the pursuit of a cheap laugh. There is nothing cheap about the sumptuous, incisive gift that this play is and even with the best of intentions it was a wrong move.
This proves then that there is more to ‘The Real Thing’ than good jokes. Stoppard gives us good characters, and the driving force behind Wednesday night’s offering was the central relationship between Edward Davis and Nicola Williams. These two actors were the productions powerhouse, stream rolling through to a satisfying conclusion. And although some of Stoppard’s denser passages about the nature of love and self-knowledge remained dense there was a real class and an easy style at the heart of their on stage chemistry. I thoroughly enjoyed myself in their company and could watch them for hours. There was some good stuff coming from the supporting cast too, but for me extra special mention should go once again to Davis, who was perfectly insouciant and painfully repressed as Stoppard’s linguistically autocratic alter ego. Again his comfort zone was comedy, but whilst he struggled to get to grips with the finer points of Henry’s more emotional, less articulate core, you just didn’t care. When he was on form he had the mercurial effortlessness of a great, great actor.
To that end; credit should also go to the directing team, it was evident that they had spent a lot of time injecting pace and vibrancy into the on stage action and horsewhipping their actors into greater personal intimacy. That takes persistence in no short measure and the ebullient chemistry on stage was as much a testament to their skill as anyone else’s. They did seem less assured when it came to the technical direction however. I am tempted to say that this is understandable considering the limited experience one can expect from a student director, but I know they wouldn’t want that. Instead I will just say that the speed of the transitions let the pace of the overall production slide disproportionately. It is also telling enough, and does much to confirm my original argument, that the weakest action came when the company deviated from their excellent source material. Too long as transitions, too dramatically thin as scenes and, although sporadically very enjoyable indeed, (especially David Levesley’s dancing) the devised work was, on balance, a misguided addition.

I have nevertheless only been able to find small points of contention, points I hate myself for even mentioning, as overall I was seduced by the evening. It is so much easier to make something that is objectively good and I feel no shame in admitting that this was a difficult review to get my teeth into. This is because ‘The Real Thing’ has a greater subtlety; it had more to it than being just good or bad. I feel no sense of journalistic malpractice by urging you, on the basis of my own sentimental attachment, to go and see WUDs do ‘The Real Thing’. It will suck you in and endear you to it, despite its foibles and idiosyncrasies. At worst it would deserve a second date, I personally think its marriage material. I personally think that it’s the real thing!