By Ed Bayliss

“My whole life has been movies and religion. That’s it. Nothing else.” 

(Martin Scorsese)

There exist three films in Scorsese’s portfolio that are explicitly tilted towards the lives of religious figures. This unusual trinity of films consists of The Last Temptation of Christ, Silence, and Kundun. The latter drifts from the bloody trials of Christianity into the meditative stillness of 20^th C. Buddhist Tibet, perhaps providing a refuge for the three times divorced Scorsese and the guilt of his lapsed Catholicism.   

In The Last Temptation of Christ, the titular Christ shockingly states: “I’m a liar. A hypocrite. I’m afraid of everything. I don’t ever tell the truth. I don’t have the courage. When I see a woman, I blush and look away. I want her…” While screening this film in 1988, the Saint Michel cinema in Paris was bombed and set alight. Scorsese’s rendering of Christ as a man wrestling with his own capricious animalism and a life scripted by a distant and unknowable God became indigestible for many. 

The filmmaker’s most recent ‘religious’ film, Silence, took us on a heavily theological journey through Christian persecution in Japan. The central question asked is one of the literal ‘silence’ of God and its relation to theodicy. Slow and brooding, but ultimately rewarding, this contemplative film, I think, mirrors a director who has recovered some sense of religious direction. 

What interests me most, however, is the veil of Catholic doctrine that falls lightly but definitely over Scorsese’s remaining films. I would like to expand upon what critic Roger Ebert has spoken of as “Redemption by Blood” and the centrality of blood itself to transformation – a fundamental tenet of Roman Catholicism. Scorsese lifts this Catholic mass inspired image, mangles it, and drops it into the avenues of the Bronx as he remarks in Mean Streets, “You don’t make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home.” For directors like Tarantino, violence is style, but for Scorsese, it’s sacramental.

Critic Barbara Mortimer has identified a specific character type in the Scorsese oeuvre, the “postmodern person”; someone whose identity becomes a “matter of impersonation”. Such characteristics can be seen in Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver), Jake La Motta (Raging Bull), and Charlie Cappa (Mean Streets); all of whom attempt cleansing and redemption through the spilling of blood.  

For La Motta, a man who sees himself in the mirror but doesn’t know himself, the altar rails of the Catholic mass become the ropes of the boxing ring. The camera pans to blood dripping from the ring rope in an extreme close-up. Jake, having abandoned his wife and his brother, takes to bloodshed and endures physical punishment, a symbol of the sacrament, in a bid to effect a spiritual awakening of sorts. A passage from John’s Gospel closes the film resulting in images conjured which are very much in line with the act of redemption by blood. 

Alternatively, Taxi Driver’s Travis Bickle, self-described as “God’s lonely man”, attempts to map himself as the hero of the narrative. At the climax of the film, we see Bickle stalk through a brothel wielding his Smith & Wesson handgun whose bullets rip through every man he comes across. We follow behind him as he is shot several times while blood, sacrificial blood, issues from all over his body. The words “Jesus loves you” are graffitied on the staircase wall as he ascends. Bickle sees himself as the postmodern-martyr; a title that necessitates death, so he attempts suicide, but his revolver is out of ammo. The ‘hero’ sits on a sofa, blood-soaked, with his head tilted upwards while closing his eyes acceptingly. Jodie Foster’s character collapses to her knees, weeping before Bickle, much like Mary Magdalene at the scene of Christ’s crucifixion.

Harvey Keitel’s character in Mean Streets seeks his redemption not in church but through sacrificing himself for his friend Johnny who is in debt to loan sharks. He admits: “Ten Hail Marys, ten Our Fathers, ten whatever … Those things, they don’t mean anything to me. They’re just words …” One can’t help but hear the pained voice of Scorsese through Charlie Cappa’s (nicknamed St. Charles) moral musings. At the concluding stages of the film, we watch Charlie’s efforts to drive Johnny and his cousin Teresa out of town as they are pursued by hostile ‘debt collectors’. Charlie crashes the car as he is shot in the arm and bleeds while kneeling beside the cleansing spray of a fire hydrant. This is, as critic Joel Mayward recognises, “religious cinema for non-believers.”  

Scorsese has said that he “wouldn’t presume to be God’s point of view.” And so, ultimately, he accounts for the loftiness of Christ’s trial by bloodshed in terms of the hardships of the everyman in search of redemption.         

By Maggie Baring

Recently, my father and I, both avid music listeners, formulated a revolutionary new musical theory: that the average listener of mainstream music is either a music or lyric listener. They either pay attention to how the melodies, rhythms or atmosphere of a song make them feel, or they listen avidly to what the singer is saying; unpicking each line and its possible contexts, meanings and implications. If you, like me, are in the latter category, and prefer songs crammed with intelligent, poetic and often deeply emotional lyrics, then you will, or at least should, be familiar with Noah Kahan’s music. 

Noah Kahan, on 19th June 2023, released a deluxe version of his third studio album, Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever), which came out in 2022. This re-release of songs, with the addition of seven brand new tracks, has prompted a resurgence in its popularity. Kahan, who has referred to himself as both “Jewish Capaldi” and “Folk Malone”, rose to stratospheric and mainstream popularity only in 2023, with the title track of his recent album, “Stick Season”, earning huge popularity due to TikTok. A long overdue review of Kahan’s seminal album is what follows. 

The album is unified by the strain of memory which flows throughout; Kahan’s history of mental health struggles, childhood memories and his path to fame. The result is an album which reads as a letter of love, and hate, to his Canadian hometown in Vermont. The opening track, “Northern Attitude”, introduces the mood of Kahan’s writing for this album as autumnal, with “Stick Season” meaning a local term for “this really miserable time of year when it’s just kind of grey and cold, and there’s no snow yet and the beauty of the foliage is done” (Kahan, 2022, interview for Genius). A mood of bitterness also pervades, with the song containing nostalgic (and, at moments, negative) depictions of Kahan’s hometown and community: “Forgive my northern attitude, I was raised on little light.” The final track completes this bookending technique of framing the album whilst also retaining a sense of journey as we listen. “The View Between Villages – Extended” also contains passionate lyrics about Kahan’s hometown, with the deluxe version spinning the song in a particularly sentimental direction, as the song echoes out of earshot with spacious guitar and Kahan’s stunningly sustained vocals. These give the impression of driving in the stillness of the countryside around one’s home, elated by a feeling of freedom and acceptance. Throughout the song unknown voices of hometown locals pierce the soundscape, talking lovingly about the town where they spent their lives. One female voice notes, “For me personally, I found the town big enough for anything that I wanted.” This draws attention to generational differences between Kahan’s elderly community and the youth of Vermont who, like Kahan, seek something better outside its small community. It develops upon the idea presented in “You’re Gonna Go Far”, which is written from the perspective of a parent encouraging their child to embrace their dreams and not feel guilty for leaving home. The sense of parental self-sacrifice in lines such as “while I clean shit up in the yard, you’ll be far from here”, convey the powerful contrast in life experience between the rural farmers of New England and their ambitious children. Whilst the album begins in bitterness and a feeling of stagnancy, the ending of the album suggests a sense of growth and catharsis, which comes to a crescendo in the final track. The most refreshing aspect of Kahan’s album is that he has not underestimated the power of an album as an impactful body of work, rather than a collection of unrelated singles. Not only as a songwriter did Kahan find this unifying motif helpful when creating the album, but it also reminds the modern listener of minute attention span that, in a world of thirty second TikTok snippets and catchy choruses, to stick with an album for the full hour-and-a-half experience can be just as rewarding. 

The beauty of the album, in my opinion, also comes from the fusing of modern issues, modern metaphors and modern subjects, with natural, historical and emotional imagery and language. The “good land”, the “curve of the valley”, “hibernation” and a pervading autumnal mood fuse combine with the modern world, perhaps even standing for Kahan’s own feelings when returning from the busy world of fame into the agriculturally dominated lifestyle of his hometown. Folk music’s reputation of pinpointing the specific and relating it to the greater picture can be spotted here profoundly, with mentions of travel restrictions due to COVID (“Stick Season”) signifying a greater sense of entrapment. Additionally, orange juice (“Orange Juice”) at a party signals the strength to battle alcoholism, and dialogue within a voice message (“Dial Drunk”) communicates an inability to move on from a past relationship. This technique of specificity is a hallmark of folk music; one which often tells stories in relatable ways to engage a listener. Kahan is following in the footsteps, perhaps in a slightly more mainstream way, of another Jewish-Canadian folk singer, Leonard Cohen, who died in 2016. His influence, especially in the Canadian music tradition as a whole, is profound, and there can be no doubt about his lyrical influence over the artists who came after him pursuing a career in the folk genre. Noah Kahan has taken this baton proudly and continues to elate fans with every new single he releases. His tour, which comes to England in February, is widely popular and selling out fast. This artist is definitely one to watch. 

By Edward Bayliss

The Phillipou brothers seem to be the next sibling duo to stamp their seal on the cinematic landscape of the 2020s with the release of their film Talk to Me, made available to the public this summer just gone. An A24 horror film that follows an increasingly esteemed pedigree from the same producers, Talk to Me offers challenging takes on the nature of the supernatural object (in this case an embalmed hand) and its teenage users. I apply the word ‘users’ here because this ceramic hand is presented as an article of obsession for the characters who take turns to enjoy its terrifying ecstasy of possession, all while filming it behind mobile phones. That is until the central character played by Sophie Wilde (embodying brilliantly the dizzying psychologies of childhood grief) believes she has contacted her dead mother through the ‘hand’ and unwittingly unleashes a paranormal presence.

Cue the inevitable line: ‘What if we opened the door but didn’t shut it?’

What follows is an effort spearheaded by Wilde’s character to amend the rift with the parasitic spirits of limbo, while peeling back the mystery surrounding the circumstances of her mother’s death. 

This film seems to be cut from the same cloth as The Babadook (2014), a fellow Australian production whose crew involved many of the same that are present in Talk to Me. Despite relatively low budgets, both films explore their respective objects of horror (the Babadook book & the embalmed hand) with a shrewd eye. 

The embalmed hand itself is a great object of cinematic invention. Unlike the doll of The Conjuring, or the blood stained hockey mask of Friday the Thirteenth, the hand has an implicit dexterity, angularity, and importantly, a grip; all of which give it an impression of uneasiness. It is white with graffiti all over, displaying its use over the ages by similarly curious teens. There is no heavy-handed discussion of the object’s backstory, and no such origin is questioned in any detail by any of the characters. We are told it is the hand of a medium, that’s it – the rest isn’t important to the plot so isn’t worth dissecting to a tedious degree, allowing for a good pacing and continuation of plot in real time. 

A great supporting cast convey convincingly the stubbornness and unforgiving nature of the contemporary teenager navigating relationships at a tricky time in life. They cover most archetypes of the college character, from shy misfits to smug socialites, albeit in a sensitive and reasonable fashion. The characters behave plausibly, while also allowing for decent plot development. Additionally, it must be said that the Phillipou brothers have their fingers on the pulse when they enjoy the strap-line, ‘Possession Goes Viral’, as they capture our era of internet crazes and trends in this absurdly horrific iteration of the phenomenon. 

The camera is at its most ‘involved’ in the possession scenes which punctuate the film with regularity. The lens flings itself with the possessed subjects, rotating and jolting as we the observers participate in the rituals with the teens. There is one very clever match-cut wherein our perceptions of horizontal and lateral plains are completely messed with by the camera work as the main character moves seamlessly from reality to her possessed state. Prosthetic effects are used with a potency that will satisfy any gore enthusiast, mainly thanks to a really ‘head banging’ scene relatively early in the film’s run time. 

Having not gone too far into the ins and outs of plot, the film does have a tangible and satisfying narrative; it begins with a flashback scene and returns there to embellish it later, suitably connecting the threads. The ending, however, is the exceptionally gripping moment in the drama which will stay with you for some time. Interviews reveal that the directors were sure that the horror would conclude with this twist regardless of what preceded it – I think this says something of its gravity. 

Talk to Me has enjoyed some celebrity among the releases of the year so far, and I’m not surprised. It brushes broad strokes across horror history – inviting us into the age old traditions of the candlelit séance and the cursed object all through the zeitgeist lens of the Phillipou pair. This feature directorial debut is one to watch. 

By Cosmo Adair.

Hitherto, the television has had little to say about Weimar Germany. Given the period’s well-recognised influence on film (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Metropolis, etc.), this is somewhat surprising. Especially since it’s such a beguiling period, abounding in themes and tensions of significant artistic promise: be that the sheer decadence of the nightlife, the Cabarets and the Avant Garde; or else the pervasive angst, shellshocks, and nostalgia all evoked by the pernicious ghosts of the Second Reich and the Great War, and then the umbrella under which each of these exists in the historical imagination — what we now perceive to be the Nazi Party’s inevitable rise to power. To exist in that period was to follow a frantic compass with a myriad of poles — the Social Democrats, the Communists, the Freikorps, the Stab-in-the-Back, the Nazis, the Imperial Nostalgics, straight Conservatism, and apathetic decadence. Each of these, it seemed at the time, had a claim on the narrative — but only one of them prevailed. 

But now, courtesy of Sky Deutschland, it’s finally on our screens in all its excess, dirt, and beauty, its violence, anxiety and utter joie de vivre. Let me present to you, Babylon Berlin, the highest budget show in the history of German Television and at the time of its first release in 2017, the highest outside of the English speaking world. It should have been financial suicide; it came before the subtitle-craze, which can — I propose— be traced back to Alfonso Cuaron’s 2018 Roma, and its list of Oscar nominations. It not only led the subtitle-craze, but also became the cornerstone of a surge in the English-speaking world’s interest in German film and television: which has climaxed now with All Quiet on the Western Front, which has swept through this awards season like the blitzkrieg. 

The protagonist of Tom Tykwer’s glitzy adaptation of Volker Kutscher’s detective novels is Gereon Rath (played by Volker Bruch). Part of his success as a character is that he’s a bit of an Everyman figure — not in himself, overly interesting. Gereon is probably upper-Middle-Class; he’s a detective, but his father’s a politician. His politics seem to lie somewhere in between the Social Democrat and the Conservative. Crucially, he is shell-shocked, which means that from the very beginning of the series, the social effects of the Great War loom over. 

In Gyorgy Lukacs’ theoretical work The Historical Novel, he insists that it’s ‘everyman’ roles like this which ensure an effective historical reconstruction: such characters, who interact with everyone aren’t overly intrusive, are capable of “presenting the totality of certain transitional stages of history.” Such characters become centres around which things happen, without forcing their own interpretations onto the reader or, in this case, the audience. This is certainly true of Gereon, and it’s why the plot is so successful. 

His female co-star, Charlotte Ritter (played by Liv Lisa Fries) is a much more beguiling character: a prostitute and police-copyist, turned detective, who adores Berlin’s infamous nightlife as well as solving crimes. Fries performs with gusto — and, I dare say, is the series’ most talented actor. She has a wonderful, affectedly naive pout and innocently flirtatious manner, which not infrequently helps her gain inside knowledge and get out of trouble. That Charlotte could have been a prostitute and become a police detective seems to show how, in Weimar Berlin, such things were perfectly normal and had very little stigma attached. 

Herein lies Babylon Berlin’s effectiveness. It never feels as if it has a political point to score or a moral judgement to make on the past. There’s no tedious alignment of contemporary Populism to the Nazis, and none of the characters are so prescient as to foresee the mortal danger that the rise of the Nazis poses until it’s too late. In the first season, Hitler is mentioned only twice; the perceived danger is the Communists, something which blindsides many in the Establishment from the threat of the Nazis. But the Nazi presence rises and with such subtlety that we hardly notice it. By Season 4, set in 1930, they’re noisy and unavoidable; even when they’re off-screen, their presence is unavoidable. This is how it probably felt at the time. Equally, the series shows how decent people can be swept up by the Nazi influence: be that in the form of Fred Jacoby, the homosexual Journalist, or Gereon’s nephew, Moritz. Fred needs work, having been laid off after the Wall Street Crash, and the Nazi paper is the only one doing well at the time. Of course, we all say that we prioritise our values over everything else; but when the reality of money and living come into play, how many of us would, really, stay true to them? And then, in the case of Moritz, we see how to a young boy, whose father had died in the Great War, the camaraderie and excitement of the Hitler Youth’s Dangerous Book for Boys style of indoctrination appeared to be much more exciting than anything else on offer. 

It’s an excellent show. It’s informative in a way that so many historical dramas aren’t. It reconstructs an entire society—and the audience, somewhat voyeuristically, can watch this world unfold whilst fully aware of what happened. Which is perhaps what gives it its unique atmosphere. And, to the lazy TV-viewer (hands in pants, scrolling on their phone, eating crisps etc. — which can sometimes be, I hate to confess it, me), watching something in Subtitles means you can’t afford to lose concentration. 

By Ed Osborne.

I asked Lord Emu about their new album at their last gig on Sunday 29^th January. They told me it wasn’t finished, and they didn’t know when it would be ready to be released, but two days later, on the 31^st, it was out on Bandcamp.

Either their producer pulled an all-nighter, or the band were being sneaky and deliberately playing down the hype. Whichever it was, I don’t mind – I’m just happy to be able to listen. The Rocking Horse Sessions is a collection of demos recorded live at the (sadly soon to be demolished) Rocking Horse rehearsal rooms, and – so they tell me – a precursor to a full studio album. You might have heard a few of these 8 songs if you attended our collaborative event with DH1 Records, which the 4-piece headlined. In my write-up of that night I praised the chemistry and showmanship of their live set, and this album reiterates why they are some of the most entertaining performers in Durham.  

In recording all 8 songs live and releasing them without any fanfare or social media marketing, Lord Emu have played to their strengths as a popular live band amongst Durham’s music scene, whilst managing to avoid layering the songs with too many studio effects that might have spoiled their magic. Despite the straightforward instrumentation (guitar, bass, drums, and the occasional piano) and the recording equipment used, The Rocking Horse Sessions sounds professional – every instrument has its place within the song, the mixing is beautifully clear, without the crowding of endless overdubbed guitars, and the backing vocals add another layer without ever becoming cliché. And that is without even talking about the songs themselves.

Every riff, every chord, every hit of the drums, is relentlessly in-time, something incredibly hard to do when recording entirely live. There’s no doubt that a good deal of the songs’ cohesiveness is down to Luke Pocock’s drumming; I can’t imagine the hours of rehearsal it took to get everything sounding so tight. Despite this, each title is followed by ‘(live demo)’, as if Lord Emu are modestly understating what they’ve accomplished on this album; songs like ‘More than a Meditation’ don’t sound like a live demo, they sound like something you’d hear on rock radio or a festival stage. The song is my personal favourite from the album, with an earworm guitar riff that hasn’t left my head for weeks. After the halfway mark, the band switch from a catchy alternative rock song to a fast-paced heavier instrumental, which revolves around George Brown’s virtuoso guitar riffs. I think it would’ve been more interesting to see them build off the existing motif, but when the song still sounds this good I can’t really complain.

George Brown’s valuable presence is felt on the rest of the album too; as well as intricate solos, his keyboard playing adds another dimension to the band which lets them explore even more genres. The recordings have also shone a spotlight on vocalist/guitarist Dillon Blevins’ unique voice, which is sometimes hard to hear amidst the distorted guitars and furious drumming of their live sets. Their vocals on glam-inspired tracks like ‘The Glass People’ and ‘Afraid To Go Home’ have traces of David Bowie’s early melodramatic inflection, and can shift to a tuneful and powerful falsetto at any moment. Elsewhere, on the album’s heavier punk songs, his voice has a raspy, full-bodied quality which matches the rest of the band’s energy – ‘The Scoundrel Express’ and ‘In Your Corner’ sound just as frenetic here as they do live.

Despite the overall strength of the album, Lord Emu saved the best till last. ‘Uninspired’ is a 7-minute amalgamation of genres, beginning as a riff-heavy metal song before switching to a more contemplative bridge that builds into another excellent guitar solo – a transition that reminds me of ‘Free Bird’. As the solo gets more chaotic the drums shift to match it, and eventually all instruments give way to a melancholy piano and a power-ballad final chorus where Dillon gives one of his best vocal performances, lamenting the difficulties that come with creativity. I wish I was as ‘uninspired’ as this.

Lord Emu’s debut album veers unpredictably (in a good way!) between any and every subgenre of rock like the most erratic rocking horse you’ll ever sit on, and gives no indications of where any song could go next. It’s incredibly fun to listen to, and I’m sure it was just as fun for Lord Emu to make. Also, it’s available on Bandcamp for as little as £2, all of which will help the band turn these songs into a studio album, so why not buy it? Definitely a better way to spend your money, rather than wasting it in Jimmys.

Instagram: @lordemuband

Bandcamp: The Rocking Horse Sessions (Live) | Lord Emu (bandcamp.com)

By Jack Fry.

Last week I was lucky enough to attend DULOG’s superb musical theatre production of the Gilded Age musical, ‘Hello Dolly!’. When I asked the producers why they had opted for ‘Hello Dolly!’, they explained that DULOG favoured the musicals of this period in order to appeal to the older, more genteel theatre-going population of Durham. While one may think this could make for a stale rehashing of familiar and old-fashioned productions, the producers outlined their desire to modernise some of its more dated aspects.

The story follows a matchmaker, Dolly, a character most famously embodied by Barbara Streisand in the 1969 film version, as she tries to divert and win the affections of half-millionaire, Horace Vandergelder. She is a woman of all trades, including but not limited to: varicose vein healing, dance teaching, ear piercing but most importantly to the narrative arc, matchmaking. As she proclaims shortly after the curtain is raised, “I meddle” and boy is she good at it! Through smart direction and choreography Dolly orchestrates the stage, sending the chorus one way and the other, making clear to us from the outset who is in control. A larger than life character; she is vivacious, charming, impertinent and independent. Florence Lunnon inhabits her role with confidence as her voice soars between a low New York growl and a beautiful soprano. She also has a knack for physical comedy that repeatedly fills the Gala Theatre with audible laughter.

A standout number, ‘It Takes a Woman’, is initially sung by the character, Horace Vandergelder; the lyrics demonstrate some of the sexist ideals of the time that may have made the audience cringe and that those involved sought to refresh. However, when the song is reprised by Dolly it becomes an empowering ballad of agency. For me, the show seemed a smart commentary on gender roles. The female characters are searching for fulfilling lives and financial independence; they use the constraints and expectations of a patriarchal society and the naive men in their life to their advantage. This theme draws from an era that was pivotal in the development of the women’s movement. Suffrage began to gain momentum in the 1890s and women became more liberated; the Victorian invention of the bicycle, an unlikely ally, also gave women higher hemlines and a new found independence.

‘Put On Your Sunday Clothes’ was also a noteworthy number, anchored by the riotous comedic duo of Samuel Kingsley Jones and Stephen McLoughin as Cornelius Hack and Barnaby Tucker. They were particularly engaging throughout – Kingsley Jones’ performance was impressive and his singing voice was a highlight. The song ascended to a pinnacle of the show when the whole company joined, singing in harmony as their technicolour parasols spun in steam train formation towards Manhattan.

This thoughtful choreography continued with a couple of dance interludes. The dancers appeared most notably as waiters at the Harmonia Gardens Restaurant; their high kicks recalled French cabaret dancers of the era and as their tailcoats spun behind them, their silver trays cast gleaming light across the auditorium.

I was especially impressed by the production value that benefited from a sizable budget, further adding to the polished nature of the musical. The various era appropriate costumes enhanced the visuals as well as the numerous candy striped, art nouveau sets that were presented to us; each one like a scene from a ‘New Yorker’ cover. The only aspect that gave away its student led operation was the youthfulness of the actors playing older characters.

Overall, considered and interesting directing choices by Alexandra Hart and Jennifer Lafferty made for a dynamic and accomplished production with old school charm and jovial melodies, truly a joy to watch. The experience as a whole altered my perception of student theatre – it’s no wonder DULOG has been a permanent fixture in Durham for the past 50 years!

By Mimi Nation-Dixon.

Nora: A Doll’s House’ is a play that explores feminist themes through the life of protagonist Nora, in 1918, 1960 and 2018. Reframing Henrik Ibsen’s brutal portrayal of womanhood in his 1879 play, following the same protagonist through different time periods prompts audience members to question how far we have really come in terms of equality. 

At first, I was sceptical as to how this play would maintain relevance in a crowded Student Theatre scene; plays centred on feminism are not short of supply in Durham. Yet, after seeing the artistic promotion for this play – I was intrigued and excited at the prospect of a fresh outlook and perspective. Needless to say, it did not disappoint; a powerhouse of creatives behind the scenes, led by director Jennifer Lafferty, and a dedicated cast, ensured that the performance and story told was relevant, inspiring and honest. 

The staging, although simple, proved to be highly effective – the clever use of lighting ensured that the sparsity of the set never felt barren or bare – it felt lived in, Nora’s home. Lafferty must be commended for her clear and methodical approach in terms of staging what is a very complex play in a small venue. City Theatre has a small and compact stage – a play like Nora would have naturally lent itself to a bigger stage which would have allowed the actors to be freer in their movement. Nonetheless, tactical lighting and staging ensured that the limits placed on the production by the venue were minimal – and for this, the production team must be saluted. 

The whole cast were, with no doubt, strong actors all with a natural flair for storytelling. I would have liked to see more continued characteristics in the characters in the different time periods; this would have reinstated that they are indeed the same people, albeit with differing limiting contextual factors –  this would have enhanced the themes of the production, at times it was too easy to forget that it was the same character of Nora and Thomas in 1918, the sixties, and 2018. 

In a cast of strong actors, it is always hard to pick out particular performances which resonate. However, I must commend both Honor Calvert and Tom Pyle – dynamic, expressive and electric, they were able to ensure consistent ‘light and shade’ within their roles, creating an artful performance which didn’t fall into the trap of being just one dimensional. Emotion never felt forced. They both trusted the script and let the lines lead their performance, not visa versa. A special mention must also go to Nathan Jarvis who executed his role of Daniel with such conviction – allowing the audience the relief of a laugh in what was an emotionally intense story.

There were moments of the play which could have been executed better, such as the ‘slap’ and the sound effect of the baby crying – in a hyper naturalistic play, these moments were somewhat out of place and forced. However, the clever staging of the dance scene was artfully constructed and executed with slick professionalism.  

The final scene is a moment all the cast and crew should be immensely proud of – the astounding performances and clear and clever direction really leaves no room for criticism. Simultaneous with the lights, the Noras’ exhalation at the end of the play serving as a neat and powerful finish to a strong production. 

I mentioned how I was sceptical of the relevance of this play in a crowded student theatre scene. My worries were proved wrong, in the most wonderful of ways. Through thoughtful staging and clear direction – Jennifer Lafferty, assisted by Julia Kennerley and Abby Greenlaigh, managed to ensure that the characters remained truthful and real – ensuring the story remained raw and powerful.