Brian Friel's later play 'Translations', that darling of the A-level syllabus, examines the political circumstances under which Celtic place names might mutate and become anglicised. His 1979 'Faith Healer' riffs on a mantra, a sort-of self-calming device for each of the three characters, composed of the names of "dying Welsh villages." This mutation of place-names - "Welsh - Scottish - over the years they become indistinguishable" - affirms the individual's power to fictionalise the world it lives in, an impulse at the heart of the colonial acts that 'Translations' examines. And in this world in which place names and personal names mutate according to circumstances, what exactly is it that we can have faith in? Brian Friel's moving and gloriously intelligent play is an examination of the nature of personal faith, centred around three characters' recollections of events in the life of "the fantastic Francis Hardy, Faith Healer." And to a great extent, this is also an examination of theatrical faith, the audience's simultaneous trust and disbelief in what they're watching. Which character do we place our trust in, when their monologues offer differing interpretations of single events, sometimes subtly inconsistent, sometimes radically discordant? Is it possible to believe in what's on stage at all, when, to some extent, it is unapologetically charlatan? Of course it's possible, 'Faith Healer' affirms - this is what love is all about; but just don't expect it to be healing.

This is quite simply one of the best productions I've seen in Oxford over the past four years. The acting is uniformally superb, with Polly Findlay distinguishing herself as Frank's nervy wife Grace, a posh patrician judge's daughter slumming it with her mountebank. Ilan Goodman's rendition of the cockney Teddy provides a wonderfully comedic foil to Grace's emotionally fraught monologue, before offering an utterly moving account of unconditional love and personal faith. And Richard Darbourne, too, is suitably dishevelled and elusive; evading the spotlight as much as he evades being pinned down under a fixed description by Grace and Teddy. The staging was sparse but beautiful, a fantastical flickering reminder of the candlelit 1950s church halls in which Frank Hardy would have offered his own theatrical performances. I really can't praise Faith Healer enough; impeccable acting, impeccable direction, and one of the most beautiful and painful plays of the past 30 years. Have faith, and go and see.

Rachel Hewitt, 22.01.02