Preview: The Crucible

Preview writing is a skewed affair. Tapping out five-hundred words on the basis of a live show-reel performed for the pleasure of four or five student journos, is hardly an exact science. And nor is it a particularly productive task either. If you care to take a look at the other previews of this particular show, or indeed any other show in the annals of Oxonian history, you will not find among them a single sincerely written article, that doesn’t contain the words ‘intense’ or ‘ambitious’, and that doesn’t exhort all would-be playgoers to pay their five pounds and go and see it.

Because we are all far too nice, as my colleague  will tell you. The value of a preview for a director lies solely in the hope that the brief headline glimpse in The Cherwell or The OxStu might seep into the cursory reader’s subconscious and convince them to buy a ticket. Because no one, no matter who you are – physicist or O’Reilly regular- has ever actually read a preview from start to finish. If you are still reading this, you are probably a member of the cast and crew.

And for those twenty-odd people that are reading these words, you are here to read my utterly unqualified opinion on whether or not it’s worth your time going to see this. But if I am to be utterly frank, it’s not a judgement I can really make on the basis of a forty-minute press showing performed in a low-ceilinged conference room somewhere in New College.

Because it was all very good. We were treated to a rendition of Act III, the trial scene, in which an excellent Deputy Governor  Danforth, played by Sam Liu, attempts to sort the wheat from the chaff. Had there been any line slips or instances of incongruous overacting, I could have rattled off an easy slating critique – and believe me, I was looking for them. But none were to be found, only to reaffirm my constant wonderment at those who manage to hold down a degree whilst learning, rehearsing and performing a weighty script.

See this, and you will also have the pleasure of being among the first audience ever to see a play performed in the Sheldonian. And if its vaunted ceiling and ornate décor don’t impress you that much, sitting on the wooden benches of the room in which you matriculated might just give you a fuzzy warmth of nostalgia as you muse upon the passing of time and fleetingness of life.

The acting is tight, the direction is professional, and it’s a fine rendering of Arthur Miller’s greatest play. But I will save the bombast for the others.

And to you, fair and faithful readers who have made it this far – should you divest yourself of a small chunk of your student loan to see The Crucible? I couldn’t possibly say. But I can tell you that I have. Will that do?