Scathing Critique of Wyrd Sisters, Discworld Novel and Stage Production
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Written by terrypratchettbooks.org
Sunday, 14 May 2006 |
By Alys Denby
O’Reilly, 16 May - 20 May
Perhaps it is just me being green in judgement but something makes me think it unlikely that a large proportion of O’Reilly theatregoers are under the age of seven. This view is apparently not shared by Meghna Jayanth who, in choosing to stage a production of Terry Pratchett’s Wyrd Sisters must surely be attempting to appeal to this age group, that or trying to relive her own salad days.
The play is essentially a puerile parody of Shakespeare’s Macbeth with elements of King Lear and Hamlet thrown in for good measure. The megalomaniacal Duke Felmet (played by Rob Morgan) has usurped the good King Verence I and attempts to cement his rule by disposing of the king’s rightful heir. His plan is complicated somewhat by the interference of the king’s ghost, three witches and a band of travelling players.
These tiresome events strut their hour upon the fantastical Discworld of the eponymous novel cycle whose popularity is as incomprehensible as Stephen Briggs’ decision to adapt it for stage. The witches are characterised with bathetic realism, their only real power being the capacity of their comedy accents to slip seamlessly between Coronation Street and Ireland, with the exception of Claire Stevenson who plays Magrat Garlick and is actually from Belfast.
Pratchett fans will recognise the narrator — Jayanth’s own addition — who vocalises vast sections of the book’s footnotes. This play, having as it does all the characteristics of a tale told by an idiot, is rescued from unwatchability by Morgan who portrays the oleaginous perversion of the Duke admirably.
This is fortunate as the Duke’s character is the only one that provides genuine humour in the play as a caricature of the spotty sexuality of a fourteen year-old dungeons and dragons enthusiast with a reassuringly postmodern touch. In all fairness to the Wyrd Sisters team, the job they make of this dreadful play is far from hamfisted and would probably delight a family at the Edinburgh fringe.
I fear however that the travesty it makes of the bard may be an anathema to Oxford’s more erudite theatregoer.
www.oxfordstudent.com
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