Depression, bestiality and climate change: Zennor is a triumph

It is a truth universally acknowledged: that student play reviews are utterly farcical. I write this in the knowledge that the only people who will read these sentences are the cast and crew, and most of them probably won’t even read it. The real reason anyone gets involved in student play reviewing is not some deep-seated, altruistic desire to contribute to an artistic community: it’s for the free tickets and the copy that you might one day send to a future employer to show that your time at university wasn’t completely wasted.

So why bother saying anything of any critical veracity? What good does blunt cruelty serve? Even if the play is two hour’s worth of overacted drivel, everyone involved has clearly worked their socks off, so give ‘em four stars and everybody goes home happy. Justice is served, and the BT can cling onto life for another term as it continues to put on plays that make pornos look well acted.

But making my way to Zennor (NB. don’t go on foot – it’s in Summertown), I thought, no, the buck stops here. I refuse to remain a cog in this maddening cycle of self-serving egoism. Let them feel the full force of my wholly unqualified opinions! Let no slip-up or poor transition go unnoticed; no weak-link supporting actor or over-enthusiastic lighting manager be spared from my vile tirade!

But can you imagine my consternation, when midway through Zennor, I found myself sat on the edge of my seat, firmly within the thrall of the unfurling narrative, now laughing, now weeping? Because, disappointingly, Zennor is a triumph. By no means is it without its blemishes – first night line slips being the primary culprit. But to dwell on these when faced with a production of such tremendous stature would be heinous and indefensible.

Lead roles Calum Lynch and Ell Potter are marvellous (no, they really are!) and preside over a gradual mounting of emotional intensity with control and finesse. In fact, the whole cast is excellent, not a weak link in sight, and I’m constantly in awe of anyone who can learn and rehearse a part while holding down a degree.

But the praise-fest doesn’t end there. Tom Stafford’s musical orchestration is superb and, above all, relevant and fitting with the on-stage action. So often is it that student plays are punctuated by random smatterings of wholly inappropriate jingles and chimes. But Stafford cleverly weaves the sound of the shipping forecasts with simple overlain bass-notes throughout, and greatly augments the moment of emotional crescendo in the final scene with, er, a crescendo…

First prize must, however, go to Lamorna Ash’s script, which manages to cover love, loss, depression, suicide, climate change, bestiality, provinciality and folklore, and still seem coherent and powerful. Despite the multiplicity of puns and gags, nothing is forced as humour and pathos temper one another into dramatic euphony.

Yes, it is a bit of a hike up to Summertown, and yes, the ticket prices are a little steep, but I really do mean it when I say that this is good and deserves your undivided attention for a few hours. Because this is, perhaps, one of the few sincere student play reviews you are likely to read – but it just so happens that this was one of the very few student plays that was any good.