The Fence

Oxford Playhouse, 8-11 June 2005

Emerging from The Fence, a Howard Barker play flawlessly performed by the Wrestling School, was like awakening from a disturbing dream. Did it have a coherent meaning, or was it the cheese I had for supper? A sparse colourless set gave the stunned silent audience no distraction from the perplexing tale of a rapacious duchess, who nightly consorts with a gang of thieves from the other side of the fence. We build endless fences "in the mind as well as in the plains", and then in thrilling shameful moments of transgression, such as those enjoyed by the duchess, sneak through.

Climaxing in the simultaneous staging of birth, sex, and death, points at which we cross more metaphorical fences, there was very little kindness, light or love to be found. Sinister noises off, jagged strings and ominous buzzing seemed to point at the ugly and futile nature of our endless urge to build barriers to keep our kind in, to keep their kind out.

The text is studded with intricate metaphor, the story grips, and yet a veil of obscurity - another fence - seems to float between the minds of the audience and the playwright. Thankfully, he reassured us at the post-show discussion, we were not meant to understand; the actors were not trying to elucidate; there was no "project". We simply had to let go of the need to know, and allow ourselves to relish the ambiguity. If you have an urge to jeer at abstract art, this is not the play for you. If you can lie back and let the great human themes wash over you, then watch, listen but don't expect to learn.

Nancy Gladstone, 09.06.2005