Good Work by Melinda Zhu (Empty Space Productions)

Burton Taylor Studio, 4th – 8th March.

At its core, Good Work is a striking and deeply thoughtful exploration of grief—how it manifests in different ways and how unresolved relationships with the deceased complicate mourning. The play follows Zach, George, and Felix—George and Felix are twins (played by Orla Wyatt and Charlie Lewis), while Zach (played by Eddie Jones) is Felix’s best friend—as they navigate the aftermath of loss. George attempts pragmatism, pushing forward with a level-headed approach, while Felix unravels, his grief expressed in increasingly erratic ways.

 

The script is ambitious and often compelling. There are moments of brilliance—particularly in George’s monologue to the ghost of her father, a raw, gut-punch of a performance. Another standout is a conversation between George and Felix about money, which delivers many memorable lines including: “even money you think is clean has just been passed through many hands”. These moments showcase the play at its best—insightful, poetic, and deeply human. However, the dialogue sometimes falters, feeling stilted or unnatural, as though the characters are speaking for the audience’s benefit rather than engaging in genuine conversation. Felix’s monologues, scattered throughout the play, lean into a more poetic style. Initially, they feel somewhat disconnected, an unusual tonal shift from the rest of the dialogue. But as Felix’s grief intensifies, these moments start to make more sense, reflecting the fragmentation of his mental state.

 

Structurally, the play occasionally stumbles in how it reveals key information. The fact that George and Felix are twins, for example, is introduced in a way that feels forced rather than natural. Conversely, other details remain frustratingly vague—Zach’s relationship with Felix is left ambiguous, as are references to his mother, which feel significant but never quite land with clarity. Furthermore, on a technical level, the staging and blocking sometimes feel awkward, making certain scenes less impactful than they could be. However, the play is intentionally stripped back, placing the focus squarely on the script and performances rather than elaborate staging. While this choice results in a few clunky moments, it also allows the emotional weight of the story to shine through.

 

So, Good Work is not without its flaws—its dialogue can be uneven, its structure slightly unsteady, and its staging at times awkward. Yet, it is also brave, deeply compelling, and often moving. The play’s rawness, its commitment to exploring grief in an unfiltered way, and its occasional flashes of genius make it a rewarding experience. Good Work is an ambitious and thought-provoking piece that lingers in the mind long after the final scene. If you appreciate stripped-back, emotionally driven theatre, it’s well worth seeing.∎

 

Reviewed by Lina Osman, Features Director

 

Julie by Polly Stenham, adapted from Miss Julie by August Strindberg (Labyrinth Productions)

The Pilch, 25th Feb-1st March.

Polly Stenham’s Julie is an incisive study into class, race and power, explored through the relationship between the titular Julie (a white London socialite leeching off her father’s wealth), Kristina (her Brazillian maid), and her father’s driver Jean. The short, 80-minute runtime doesn’t stop it from packing a punch for its audience.

 

There are some aspects of Labyrinth Productions’ Julie, though, that don’t quite work. The idea to stage the play as a semi-immersive party is one which definitely had the potential to draw the audience further into Stenham’s wonderfully modern universe—that of pill-popping club nights, and house parties that last until the sun rises. Instead, though, this decision felt incredibly artificial and forced. I really didn’t expect to be shyly offered a shot of cherry Sourz, before making painful small talk with members of the cast as other actors danced around me. It felt like the awkward artifice of the stock monologue you’re given at the beginning of an escape room, rather than anything impactful or immersive.

 

Once we got into the body of the play, though, things improved. Hafeja Khanam’s Kristina is warm and likeable, and her journey from politeness, through simmering rage, to full-blown apathy by the play’s conclusion makes for an interesting watch. Catherine Claire and Rufus Shutter, though, are the vital binding agents of the play. Both performances are electric, and their volatile relationship is very engaging to watch. Shutter’s Jean has a sleazy, believable confidence, but also shows great vulnerability. This is a dynamic that works well with Claire’s performance of Julie as a character who is repulsive, out-of-touch, and selfish, yet is acutely aware of her own deficiencies, and deeply, deeply unhappy.

 

Labyrinth Productions’ Julie, at times, sinks its teeth into the dark, beating heart of modern life and shows us the sickening ugliness that exists under its skin. Some production decisions distract from this task, but it is still, ultimately a production worth seeing: particularly for students attending one of the most privileged universities in the whole world.

 

We have three years of complete extravagance at Oxford: we dress ourselves up for black-tie balls in formal halls; drink champagne in our subfusc, and have our food served to us at exclusive formal dinners. Julie is apathetic and oblivious towards the benefits of her immensely privileged life—but are we not capable of the same attitudes? Or are we watching ourselves on stage, too, in all of our pathetic, hideous obliviousness?

 

Only, Julie’s predicament is for life. She will never return back to normality like we will after our degrees are over. She lives in this endless party that Labyrinth Productions tries to stage for us. That is the real tragedy, and it can make us reflect on our own university experience as well.∎

Reviewed by Ruby Tipple, Non-Fiction Team Member

 

Jekyll & Hyde in an adaptation by Frank Wildhorn and Leslie Bricusse (Broken Wheel Productions)

The Oxford Playhouse, 27th Feb-1st March.

The opening night of Jekyll & Hyde, the musical, featured an impressive array of student talent, something I, ever a sceptic of student theatre, am forced to happily admit. Taking a seat in the theatre you will be greeted with a masterwork in set design. Ladders, rope and scaffolding adorn the stage, prepared for the animalistic Hyde, played by Tristan Hood, to traverse. The set itself was a runaway star of the show, and outshone certain members of the cast. The red curtains lowered for the Red Rat, the brothel that Doctor Jekyll (again played by Hood) visits on his bachelor party, create a seedy atmosphere. For this work Ted Fussell and his team must receive all the credit.

 

In contrast, the lighting left something to be desired. Lighting is often underappreciated when performed well, yet it has all the power to create ambience and make or break a scene. Done poorly, mistakes are glaring. The lighting team missed several cues, at one point raising the house lights before the interval prompting several audience members to rise prematurely from their seats in the middle of a transition.

 

 In terms of the acting, the afformentioned Tristan Hood perfectly captured the duality of the two characters. Seeing his mannerisms and voice completely shift was as if I was watching two different actors. In the best marker of effective acting, I forgot he was acting. To be completely frank it is worth attending for Hood’s acting and singing voice alone. Peregrine Neger’s performance  as the Bishop of Basingstoke was both creepy and comedic in a perfect measure, bringing some comic relief to the Gothic tragedy without being in any way forced. Caitlin Mcanespy danced and sang wonderfully as Lord Savage. My only regret with her performance is I wish she had been used more; bigger and better roles await her in the very near future! On the other hand, Ronav Jain, who played Sir Archibald Proops, was guilty of overacting. However, his singing and dancing abilities are in no doubt, and he can still be proud of his performance.

 

Performances at the Oxford Playhouse are almost always the best of student theatre, and Jekyll & Hyde is no exception. It is worth the watch for the singing alone! Don’t expect a mistake free performance, though I imagine a lot will be refined between now and closing night. But, nevertheless, I absolutely recommend seeing it before the show closes on the 1^st of March. ∎

 

Reviewed by Harry Buller, Deputy Editor for Non-Fiction

 

When You Pass Over My Tomb by Sergio Blanco (Blue Skies and Sunshine Productions)

Burton Taylor Studio, 18th – 22nd Feb.

I would personally like to thank Sergio Blanco for providing me with the ultimate rebuttal to those who claim that the future of literature is doomed by AI. Because, let’s face it, no algorithm—no matter how advanced—could ever generate something as grotesquely brilliant, as existentially unhinged, and as deeply, deeply human as When You Pass Over My Tomb. This play is not merely a spectacle; it’s a high-wire act of autofiction, philosophical provocation, and theatrical virtuosity. And, for better or worse, it has me reconsidering my organ donor status.

 

For those unfamiliar, When You Pass Over My Tomb chronicles Sergio Blanco’s (or at least the character playing Sergio Blanco’s) journey to an assisted suicide clinic in Geneva—except he decides instead to donate his body to Khalid, a hospitalised necrophiliac in Oxford. (Yes, Oxford, not London—the playwright collaborated with the cast to localise the setting. Nothing says Welcome to Oxford quite like an MPhil student in Medieval Studies with a particularly niche extracurricular interest.)

 

Trying to explain the premise of the play to a friend, I was met with the response: “Oh, like in Saltburn?” which, while both eerily close and wildly off the mark, is an association I imagine Blanco himself would reject with the fiery disdain of a man who has spent way too much time researching necrophilia case studies (Henri Blot, anyone?). The truth, however, is something this play gleefully plays jump rope with. The character of Sergio openly declares, “What’s true and what isn’t doesn’t matter.” And by the time he’s philosophising about the eroticism of death to Dr Wollstonecraft, we’ve all accepted that reality is as fluid as the actors themselves, who effortlessly slip between personas, breaking the fourth wall with the kind of dexterity that makes even the most hardened theatre-goer question their grip on what’s real.

 

And then there’s the music. Because what better way to announce the interval in a play about mortality than with a rousing performance of Noah and the Whale’s “L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N”? I mean, truly, if theatrical irony were an Olympic sport, Blanco and the cast would be standing atop the podium, gold medals in hand.

 

A personal highlight for me? The intermission debate among audience members about the plural of “necrophiliac.” (For those losing sleep over it: it’s necrophiliacs, not necrophilae.)

 

And yet, amidst gleeful disregard for conventional narrative structure, When You Pass Over My Tomb is also, somehow, a masterclass in theatre. The actors navigate Blanco’s layered meta-narrative with such precision that it almost makes sense—until it doesn’t, and you’re left in a state of utter bewilderment. So, no, AI could never write this. Because When You Pass Over My Tomb isn’t just a play. It’s a dare. A challenge to storytelling itself.∎

Reviewed by Mercedes Haas, Non-Fiction Team Member

 

The Goat by Edward Albee (Clarendon Productions)

The Pilch, 12th-15th Feb.

Student productions often grapple with intimacy—how much to invite the audience in, how much to hold them at arm’s length. This production of The Goat does neither. Instead, it plants you right in the thick of it, an uncomfortably visible spectator to Edward Albee’s descent into absurdity. With actors weaving between chairs and taking up seats in the front rows, there’s nowhere to hide. At first, this feels unnerving. By the end, the effort of avoiding eye contact has only deepened your immersion.

 

The play began somewhat unsteadily, but the moment Rob Wolfreys’ Martin begins to confess his affair to Luke Bannister’s Ross (an exceptional performance), the production clicked into place. Wolfreys’ performance in this confession scene is a standout—he brings genuine anguish to Martin’s breakdown, but more impressively, he makes the love story (if we can call it that) disturbingly believable. He plays Martin’s devotion to Sylvia with such sincerity that, against all reason, you almost buy into it. Honor Thompson’s Stevie is a force—her emotional unraveling is both devastating and masterfully controlled. By this point, the cast is completely in sync, their movements fluid, their pacing sharp. 

 

Movement around the set is another highlight. The blocking feels purposeful, with actors never staying still for long enough to let the energy lag. Even in quieter moments, a simmering tension remains. The decision to have the actors stationed among the audience further heightens the feeling of unease, making it impossible to ever fully detach. That said, some of the more physical choices—like the repeated smashing of glasses— did start to feel gimmicky rather than impactful.

 

Albee’s script has its moments of alienation—most notably in the infamous father-son kiss, which threatens to derail the momentum. But the cast pulls it back, steering the play toward a hauntingly effective conclusion. It’s absurd, occasionally meaningless, and entirely wacky. And maybe that’s the point. It unsettles, amuses, and disturbs in equal measure. If you have a taste for the surreal—or, like me, a soft spot for the kind of Edinburgh Fringe sensibility—The Goat is one to watch.∎

 

Reviewed by Lina Osman, Features Director

 

The Critic by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (Playing Productions)

The Pilch, 5th – 8th Feb. 

Writing a review of The Critic feels like an act of self-parody. Sat in the front row writing into my notebook, I felt poised to leap into the melodrama of the play. The performance was imagined as a rehearsal with “the Director” played by Wendy Shi, sat across from me, intervening in the action of the play with her notes and comments, all of which were met with groans from the interrupted cast and laughs from the audience enjoying a little schadenfreude. This twist on the play must be credited actual director, Phoenix Barnett. These modifications brought the Restoration play into the modern world, with scenes of comedic tension between the actors and the director familiar to anyone involved with student drama. Yet, it perfectly captured the tone of the original material.

 

Many of The Critic’s funniest moments came from Mr Puff and Mr Dangle, played by Noam Sala Budgen and Gillies MacDonald respectively. Mr Puff danced about the stage with the impish energy of a child high on top shelf sweeties. I promise that is a compliment. His “camp” energy was matched by costuming so fabulous it would make Ru Paul blush. Credit is very much due to Effie Halestead and Mikela Caracciolo for their work not just on Puff but on all the flamboyant magic of The Critic‘s costumes. Mr Puff’s was kept in excellent company by Mr Dangle, whose melodramatic entrances enough to elicit a laugh from the audience. Both men should be immensely proud of their performances and perhaps consider a career in stand up.

 

Shi, the aforementioned intervening director, often found herself in conflict with Mr Sneer, played by Hugh Linklater. Unfortunately, for all their differences as characters, both actors are guilty of the same fault: being actors. What I mean is that I could tell both were working from their memory of the script. Whilst I could recognise both to be good actors, I still recognised them as actors Mr Dangle, Mr Puff and Mrs Dangle, played adeptly by Fiona Bestrova, all  dissolved into their character. In other words, I believed them in a way I could not believe Mr Sneer and the Director. On many other stages both Sneer and the Director would have stunned. They had the misfortune, however, to share with a trio of some of the most talented student actors I have seen in a long time. It would appear that comparison is the theft of joy.

 

In brief, The Critic is an absolute riot. It is funny, bold, and boisterous. I would absolutely recommend giving it a watch before it closes. Finally, on a personal note, I hope the actors will forgive me for playing my own version of the critical Mr Sneer, and appreciate my sincerity when I give my congratulations to Phoenix Barnett, the crew, and the cast for an excellent performance.∎

 

Reviewed by Harry Buller, Deputy Editor for Non-Fiction