It was halfway through Future Conditional that I knew playwright Tamsin Oglesby must have gone to Oxford or Cambridge.
It wasn’t the play’s outstanding verse, or its fiercely radical ideas; for indeed neither were present. Instead it was that her new play, which purports to “tackle the conundrum of British schooling” steadily became an oxymoronic, eulogizing diatribe on the Oxbridge admissions process. And there is nothing an Oxbridge graduate enjoys more, than muscling their alma mater into the conversation.
Although the play starts off well enough, following the amusing albeit rather pedestrian drama of mums at the school gate, Oglesby complicates the play with two other narratives. The first: a bright Pakistani refugee studies hard, and applies to an Oxbridge college. The second: a group of quango mandarins draw up their proposals for new education policy.
Into these narrative strands are thrust an involuntarily racist don, who queries the suitability of the Pakistani refugee’s application; a self-involved Etonian (naturally), who champions the rigorous, world-class superiority of the two universities; and an ever-so-‘umble school teacher (Rob Brydon), who sits his state comp class down to listen to the inspiring tale of Oxbridge success.
But why the prominence of the two universities in a play, which sets out to be an all-encompassing analysis of British schooling? Well the antidote Oglesby proposes to the British education’s system confused morally questionable mess of public, private, grammar, and academy, is that Oxbridge should take the top three pupils from every school in the country regardless of their grades.
As anyone who is a teacher, or a pupil, or a parent will know – the idea that proportionally unrepresentative Oxford and Cambridge admissions are somehow to blame for the state of British education is not only ludicrous but gravely out of touch.
Oglesby’s naïve, simplistic conclusion is all the more ridiculous given how much she has tried to pack in. The three narratives are full of characters: six mums and a dad at the school gate; six policy gurus sat around the round table; as well as two Oxbridge dons, a teacher, and a student. And Oglesby clearly recognizes how vastly complicated the British education system is as her policy gurus shoot barbed, classist comments across the table; expressing the heavily partisan agendas at play.
Some would say trying to fit three entirely different narratives into a two and a half hour play is ambitious. I’d say it’s messy. It doesn’t make for a better play, but instead results in a dull, half-baked production of confused 2-D stereotypes and ill-considered inferences.
With three different storylines, and a cast of over 20, all competing for attention, any attempt to engage our emotions necessarily falls flat; and any attempt at humour becomes primitive and unsophisticated. For example, we laugh at the alcoholic, flag-waving, working-class Mum and her farcical jingoistic tirades on St. George’s Day; we expect nothing less from Sloane Ranger mum, Sarah, who of course would rather have little Johnny go to the local state school but husband wants them go to private. Although resorting to clichéd class stereotypes may leave many in stitches, it makes the play feel trivially predictable, and sometimes tonally ambiguous.
Are we supposed to feel sorry for right-on Suzy, whose personal vendetta against private schooling is shattered after her daughter fails to get into any other school, and she is forced to send her private? As she sends her off to school in floods of tears, you’re not sure whether this is a bathetic joke; or a pathetic critique.
Which brings me back to how annoyingly out-of-touch Oglesby and the play are; most would agree that British state comprehensives aren’t up to scratch, but most also can’t afford to pay for private education. By targeting Oxbridge and private education Oglesby misses the point. She should be asking: why are state comprehensives so bad? Not: Why must I send my little darlings off to private school!
Add to this already convoluted script, a bizarrely upbeat production, replete with school-uniform-clad electric guitarists announcing scene changes with renditions of the Beatles’ Revolution, and you have a very strange opening production for the Old Vic’s new creative director, Matthew Warchus.
Warchus is a hugely talented and celebrated director. He has won Oliviers and Tonys, and his cinematic debut last year, Pride, was one of the best films of the year. Future Conditional is an unusual play, and a perhaps misguided choice for the opening production of his directorship at the Old Vic, but it’s a definite sign of intent: of experimentation and innovation. I’m certain there are better, and more exciting, things to come.
Future Conditional runs at The Old Vic theatre until Saturday 3rd October 2015. For more information and to book tickets, visit www.oldvictheatre.com.
