What happens when a group of old university friends encounter each other 
      again in mysterious circumstances after thirty years? As you might expect, 
      old passions resurface, secrets are outed and they remember why they 
      had organised a reunion before. Perhaps not the most original premise, 
      but Mike Coleman's new work deals well with complex issues about memory 
      and identity, spoiled only by a Priestley-esque descent into melodrama and 
      supernatural intervention. This entertaining ensemble piece from an 
      accomplished cast has some great one-liners and is worth seeing for its 
      intriguing middle section alone. Ultimately, however, more could have been 
      made of the play central preoccupations had a different course been 
      pursued.

      Truth or Dare is set over the course of one evening, during which five old 
      university friends (along with the daughter of one) arrive at an old 
      cottage, having received an invitation and unaware that the others would 
      be there. The set is a simple representation of a living/dining room but 
      achieves the rare distinction of using the O'Reilly space well. The 
      theatre has a very large stage proportionate to its size as a venue and 
      productions generally struggle to fill it adequately. The Oxford Theatre 
      Guild also manages to create a realistic and inviting living space by 
      avoiding a problem that persistently dogs student productions: that of 
      appropriating college furniture to supply a production props.
      Use of the balcony for an alternative bedroom set is effective as we feel 
      that we are getting a slightly sordid glimpse into private affairs. Tony 
      and Robert, once inseparable, have grown into the antitheses of each 
      other. Robert sees Tony as the eternal student who needs to move on; Tony 
      struggles to come to terms with the ultimate sell-out of his idol. On the 
      surface, Ruth and Nikki play the dutiful wives, but it soon becomes 
      apparent that all are to one degree or another unhappy and frustrated, as 
      jokes about cheap lager, unwashed plates and copious amounts of sex and 
      drugs give way to insults and the dredging up of unwanted memories. Stand 
      out perfomances include that of Steve (Steve Wright) as the aging Lothario 
      whose acute perception still succumbs to the temptation of denial and 
      self-justification, and Cathy Oakes as the shrill alcoholic ‘beamer 
      beaver (one can help but be reminded of Ange in Abigail's Party, a 
      similar drinks party from hell). However, the cast fail to sustain 
      momentum at moments of crisis and this partly contributes to the 
      unsatisfactory denouement. 

      The production is at its best during the dinner scene where traditional 
      table etiquette is ignored and sex, politics and religion are the staples 
      of an increasingly drunken conversation. Their reminiscences about their 
      student days are some of the funniest dialogue in the play (although 
      delivery was occasionally disturbed by the odd first-night fluffed line), 
      while their cliched glorification of the swinging sixties is thrown into 
      relief by the voice of the post-hippy generation, Jade. 
      Through her eyes we see the artificiality of their memories as she shoots 
      down their idealised truisms about the past; after listening to them 
      discourse on Lennon 'Imagine' and its symbolism of an optimism and hope 
      peculiar to their generation, Jade,s laconic observation that the song was 
      a hit from the seventies raises a laugh but forces them and us to admit 
      that they have collective false memory syndrome. Robert's awkward 
      mention of the old joke 'if you can remember the sixties then you weren't 
      there' puts the play's position squarely; it is an examination of our 
      re-imaginings of the past, and the way we use the past as a tool for 
      self-justification in the present.
      In the play's last scene, after the recriminations and drunken honesty of 
      the dinner, the role of the Maggie, the mysterious housekeeper, is 
      revealed and the play tackles the wider theme of responsibility and 
      consequence. Maggie has brought them together to confront them with their 
      sexual and force them to realise the significance of the actions they 
      lightly dismissed under the blanket of free love. This is the plays real 
      weakness; it cannot resist spelling out its messages for us. With Jade 
      playing devil's advocate and the over-consumption of Liebfraumilch leading 
      to hasty words, the reunited friends soon show us their true colours. In 
      due course, the characters hypocrisy and ignorant selves emerge 
      organically from their dinner table discussions, which are very well 
      structured. By contrast with the dramatic subtlety of this scene, the 
      eventual catalogue of sexual misdemeanours and bed-hopping seems like 
      overkill.
      The tight structure and unobtrusively realistic dialogue keep it highly 
      watchable throughout and it provides thought provoking insight into our 
      manipulation of our own (collective and individual) pasts to justify our 
      present. Comparisons with Priestly's An Inspector Calls are perhaps 
      inevitable but, that aside, this is a play that demands attention.

       Theatre Review.

Cast in Order of Appearance

Maggie - Helen Taylor

 Tony - Colin Macnee

      Ruth - Barbara Neville

   Robert - Joe Kenneway

  Nikki - Cathy Oakes

  Steve - Steve Wgight

   Jade - Louise Jones

   Production Team

Director - Aldyth Thompson

Production Manager - Zoe Robson

Lighting - Matt Boult & David Long

Sound - Harry Nixon

Props and Set - Raymond Dennehey

Costumes - Helen Wilcox

Front of House Manager - Kevin Elliot

Publicity Design & Photography - Mark Brome - www.markbrome.com

Other members of the crew:

Rainbow Calvert, James Norris Keiller, Stephen Ashworth, the front of House team.

With thanks To:

Bill Moulford, Felicity Peacock,