"Milked". Burton Taylor Studio

Before tonight I had never heard of Simon Longman or his 2013 debut play Milked, but I’m grateful to Matchbox Productions for spreading the word. It’s a dark two-hander (with an extra, non-speaking role for a large cow). The play is extremely funny, and also has a lot that’s serious to say about men’s relationships, mental health, career prospects for graduates, and the disadvantages of living in Herefordshire.

Declan Ryder and Isaac Wighton play Paul and Snowy, two friends stuck in the middle of the countryside with impressive degrees and no job prospects. Pushy parents lurk in the background as Paul desperately and doggedly grinds his way through scores of fruitless job applications, vaguely searching for Something In Media, only to be kicked back at every turn.

Outside, in a field, lying there like the giant symbol she undoubtedly is, is an enormous, sick cow called Sandy. The men try to cure her, to move her, to feed her, to kill her, but she is impassive in her invalid state: the great thing they somehow have to get past for their lives to begin.

Paul and Snowy’s increasingly frenzied attempts to do away with Sandy the Cow are both absurd and action-packed. In fact, the movement in this production is amazingly well choreographed. At one point the men break into a fight which looks about as real as you can get without actually going to hospital, and Paul’s despair-filled weeping as his face is ground into the grass and the mud feels like it comes from the bottom of a very deep, dark well.

Unless you are an inveterate and regular hunter who thinks nothing of skewering a few innocent foxes of a Sunday morning, there is something primal and terrifying about killing an animal. If I may digress for a moment, I’ve had an experience not unlike what Paul and Snowy go through with the cow in Milked, and I felt I understood the enormity of the challenge the cow presented, both physically and mentally, for the characters. Anyway... 

One of the many delights of this production is its set design. The 'minimalism' of too many shows in studio spaces is often a synonym for 'absence' of design. In Milked, the stage is certainly very bare, but what is present looks good and works for the purposes of the play. Artificial grass covers the floor, carefully clipped around the 'house' area where Snowy and Paul spend most of their time. The audience, on three sides, encloses the field and also feels like a massive, encroaching limitation on the lives and prospects of the characters. Simple and effective.

And the acting, from Ryder and Wighton, is pitch-perfect. Watching them, you feel not just a depth of love and care between old friends, but you're also aware of the deliberate, amplified performances that bring out the comedy and tragedy of their situation. It feels like poetry. Why are there so many outstanding actors in Oxford? Get out of here! Go to a stage school!

Matchbox Productions has so far specialised in bringing the work of modern playwrights to the Oxford student stage. They’ve previously done Dennis Kelly’s Love and Money and Steven Berkoff’s Metamorphosis, both to great acclaim. This is a valuable service at a time when original work is so dominant. Oxford is producing some brilliant young dramatists, but seeing the work of people who are a few rungs further up the ladder is both useful for new writers and blissfully illuminating for audiences too. They’ve continued this trend with Milked, and it hasn’t soured yet. A great play to end a great term of theatre.

NOTICE TIME

The President’s Husband’s Drama Review team is looking to expand beyond the current group of, um, one. If you fancy yourself as a reviewer, why not get in touch? I’m looking for someone who can write succinctly, honestly, entertainingly and quickly. Plus they should have a certain amount of insight and judgement, and should enjoy going to the theatre. There’s no pay, but we do sometimes get free tickets. If this sounds like you, send me an example review. I’m not interested in A-level-type essays. Pithy journalism is what we need.