Without wanting to make excuses for or patronise last night’s performance, Camus is difficult. ‘Les Justes’ particularly so and the Girton Amateur Dramatic Society were brave to take it on, but it is perhaps unsurprising that they failed to deliver.

The play is set in 1905, and recounts the true story of a group of Russian Socialist-Revolutionaries as they plan to assassinate the Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovitch. I wasn’t taken wit the play’s opening - Vainius Udra was wooden as conspirator Boris Annenkov, and didn’t engage with Dora or Stepan. His thick Eastern European accent was confusing (I was unsure whether it was put on or not) and at points made his speech hard to understand. Max Thoma’s Stepan was also unconvincing, and lacked emotional weight: fury became sneer, outrage reduced to a curled upper lip.

Georgia Wagstaff gave a more animated bomb-maker Dora, and sparks flew between her and protagonist Ivan Kaliayev (played by Charlie Merriman) - though her handsiness was at times excessive. My sympathy for Dora increased exponentially in the second act, when Wagstaff’s misery and despair at what she had done took root, and she finally came into her own.

It was Merriman, however, who was the play’s saving grace: the maniacal glint in his eye was delicious, and I took an instant liking to him. More importantly, I believed his psychotic, homicidal commitment to the Revolutionary cause. His teasing out of doubt in the mind of an assassin was exquisite. Astonishingly, Merriman’s production humanised the murderer, whose strange magnetism was both troubling and compelling.

I was similarly impressed by Matt Clayton, who gave a wry Chief of Police, tormenting Kaliayev into repentance. Though in principle I disliked Camus’ tokenistic 5-minute religious spiel tacked on at the end, Maria Montague delivered it in such mournful plainsong that it was difficult to remain untouched.

Though the production certainly picked up in the second act, the overall effect was underwhelming, palpable in the awkward lack of applause. Some individual talent was discernible, but something about the ensemble jarred: more could perhaps have been done with a smaller cast. And though the performance built up to a heart-racing crescendo, I was left feeling slightly deflated, and philosophically none the wiser.