Monday, May 12, 2025
Blog Page 1772

Get your knit on!

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Comfort and fashion don’t necessarily go hand in hand, but if it is ever going to happen, winter is the time. Knitwear is an annual staple of our wardrobes, but it doesn’t have to be boring and shapeless. Done well, knitwear livens up a wardrobe. Rather than covering up your new dress, it can be the main player in an outfit, from a cable knit dress to a knitted coat and the obligatory knitted accessories.

This year variety is key. There isn’t one knitted style which dominates. The trend is chunky, layers, and above all clashing styles. To create a chunkier look buy your jumpers two sizes too big, head into the men’s section, raid your boyfriend’s wardrobe (or even steal a vintage aran jumper from your Dad) and you’ll be right on target. This winter is nonchalant and casual in its attitude to knitwear. Anything goes.

This is obvious in the clash of styles – Fair Isle patterns on cable knit jumpers, or for the brave heavy cardigans with fur necklines. However, the real clashes are done through DIY extreme layering. Put your polo neck under a Fair Isle jumper, and team a jumper dress with a thigh skimming cable knit cardigan, thick woolly tights, and a scarf to boot. Primark has a surprisingly good supply of oversized cardigans and knitted pieces, and you can’t go wrong with Topshop’s winter offerings.

There is fun to be had, and layering can be achieved in the simplest way by your accessories. Finish off your outfit with a swamping snood, bobble hat, mismatching gloves, or even some Fair Isle legwarmers. The more the merrier. This winter is big, brash, and beautiful.

Putin Power

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A big month for Putin: the puppet master par extraordinaire not only announced his plans to run for President once again, but celebrated his 59th birthday across 15 cities, and unearthed two magnificent  ancient Greek urns whilst engaging in a spot of deep sea diving.

Though it may seem a bit bland after the highs of Freshers’ Week and the lows of work-weary 1st and 2nd, 3rd is still a week of a great consequence. 
 Something new has crept into many students’ minds: internship guilt – that creeping feeling that you really should start applying to internships as deadlines start to look far less distant. But if past Cherwells tell us anything, it’s that you shouldn’t worry. Who wants a job in a bank anyway, when you can easily become a porter and spend your time surrounded by intellectual giants? The 28th October 1983 Cherwell revealed that ‘There’s a porter at St. Catz with a philosophy degree… The other porters at the college include an Oxford maths graduate and a lawyer.’ Personally I’m just disappointed that Porters’ Lodges seem to have lowered their application requirements. If your porter can’t also help you with civil litigation or complex equations then what’s the point in having them?
This week also sees many societies taking stock of how successful their attempts to woo freshers in the first few weeks of term really were. Perhaps they should take some lessons from the Oxford University Conservative Association, who were reported by Cherwell, on 25th October 1958, to have been on track for 2,000 members. Maybe that year saw the beginning of their free champagne policy? In contrast, the leader of the Labour Club seemed to miss the point when he thought having the club in the evening for ‘members to discuss socialism over suitably sober cups of coffee’ would shore up their declining membership.
Similarly, by this time in the term it will have been easy to gauge how anti-social your neighbours are. The bane of many people’s sleep patterns and study sessions are neighbours who insist on playing the same bad music. Strangely enough 1925 was no different, with the 31st October issue imploring people not to play the tune ‘Ah, Ha!’ constantly on the gramophone, as it’s ‘a tune which should clearly be played with discretion; it is violent, and full of repetition; very fast and noisy’. Cherwell suggested simply expanding your record collection, even being ‘extravagant’ and having a whopping ‘collection of a half a dozen ‘gems.” I suppose six songs is less annoying than just one.

Admittedly, the urn discovery was staged for viewer consumption, much in the same way we imagine his jovial convivience with Dmitry ‘I’ll let him go for it – he’s more popular than me’ Medvedev to be. As for the exuberant birthday festivities, the most insightful nugget of proletariat support swept up by television reporters seemed to be, “Well I just trust him, just because he is going to be our future president, and we should trust our future president, just because.”

Indeed, the aftermath of his announcement to run was paved with campaigns designed to win the public’s trust. “We must speak openly”, he said during the press conference, “about the dangerous level of social inequality, violence, corruption, about the feeling of injustice and vulnerability that people feel when they are dealing with government bodies, courts, and law enforcement.” That his government is more often than not deemed to be the source of said injustice is of little consequence to pundits who expect his inevitable return; the language of social justice and democracy has minimal currency in a political atmosphere in which the state, and those steering it, wield more power than individual rights.

Corruption under Putin, claims ex-leader of the opposition Boris Nemtsov, has taken on a “systematic and institutionalised form”. Most point the finger of blame at the increased power the state enjoys as a result of policies put in place by Putin himself; Kremlin statistics report that in 2005 alone, the number of bureaucrats jumped astronomically from 143,500 to 1,462,000; essentially one in place for each hundred residents. Given that a law enforced by the Duma in 2009 allows officials to charge for public ‘services and functions’, a move widely considered to have legalised if not at least encouraged bribery, it comes as no surprise that the organ of the Kremlin is mired top to bottom in corruption.

Yet the prime minister and former KGB agent seems to have won the votes, if not the trust, of the Russian people, with polls indicating 41% would be happy for him to rule once again. What, then, really is his secret?

Russian media outlets have played a decisive role in Putin’s enduring success. Although independent press is handled on the whole quite carefully, the three largest television networks, reports the Committee to Protect Journalists, ‘are now in the hands of Kremlin loyalists”. Channel Russia was theirs from the start, with ORT and NTV splitting their stocks between the government, as well as Gazprom, an oligarch-owned natural gas extractor nationalised by Putin in 2000. The prescribed image transmitted from Russian television sets is, more often than not, one resembling strength, manly charisma and dedication to an independent Russia freed from the scourge of the oligarchy and foreign intervention. Given the absence of a weighty and authoritative check and balance system that would otherwise be provided by the media , the cult of personality surrounding Putin is left open to mass consumption.

In a country in which personality politics prevails, strength and imperviousness are traits that have historically been held in high esteem. As Russian journalist Peter Sadovnik put it, “Whether it’s single-handedly rerouting massive oil pipelines or reorganizing the federal bureaucracy, Putin has not so much resurrected a dead superstate as responded to Russians’ long-festering desire for a ‘strong hand”. His affiliation to the powerful Russian Orthodox Church has also helped him along the way. The latter’s continued presence at state events, matched by his presence at important religious festivals, holds an allure that must not be underestimated given that 65% of ethnic Russians consider themselves to be Orthodox Christians.

One could however argue against presumptuous or even arrogant assumptions on the part of the western press, in response to recent events that have so discredited the Russians’ ability to choose their own leader. Although the bear wrestling, tiger shooting PR stunts have proved to be a noble effort, it would be naive to assume that an election could be won on attributes limited to image alone. Although perhaps an uncomfortable truth for the US press in particular (with some media outlets labelling him “communist” or “Tsar”), Putin has been credited for the country’s recent economical advances. Having inherited a turbulent economy from the government of former president Boris Yeltsin, whose ill thought out policies after the fall of the USSR are credited for giving birth to modern oligarchy as we know it, Putin raised wages and restored pensions, a move that vastly improved the everyday living standards of the population. His intentions to diversify Russia’s economy by dismantling its dependence on oil and gas exports have been well received by the elite and lower earners alike; he intends to target business owners by raising their piffling 13% flat tax rate.

Despite his lasting popularity, Putin  warned the press that the campaign process would be “dirty”. What exactly was meant by this is still to be seen.  “As Churchill said”, he added, “democracy is the worst form of government but there is no better one.” That Putin’s model of democracy will win out is of little dispute. The opposition is weak and fragmented, and any drastic developments in public psyche are unlikely. Come March 2012, the ballots will be scored, most probably dashing any hopes of dislodging Mr Putin for the next two consecutive terms.

 

We’ve got it in the bag

Rachel loves:

MAC Shroom eyeshadow RRP £11.50

Don’t let the modest appearance of this eyeshadow fool you – it really is a staple for any make up bag. Worn on its own it gives a simple, matt and even tone to eyelids, but it is at its best when combined with other colours of shadow. I use it blended in with darker tones with a to create a smudged, smokey eye, or to tone down a glittery shadow, such as MAC’s Gleam, to transform an evening look into something more suitable for the day-time.

Tweezerman Tweezers RRP £20

The shape of your eyebrows can change the appearance of your whole face, so it is really important that your tweezers are up to scratch! These ones from Tweezerman are nicely slanted, meaning that it’s very easy to grip on to individual hairs, and to ensure that your arch is as precise as possible. The fact that they come in a rainbow of colours is another added bonus!

Helen loves:

Vaseline Rosy Lips Lip Therapy RRP £1.99

For days when I need a dash of colour in a flash, Vaseline’s rosy lips is the answer. The classic lip balm updated with an injection of pink gives just enough shine and colour to enhance the look of your smile whilst keeping it natural and protecting you from the elements. Wear it just in the centre of your lips to create the appearance of a fuller pout.

Max Factor False Lash Effect Mascara RRP £10.99

A good mascara is the most essential item in any girl’s make-up bag, and with each brand coming out with what seems like dozens of new formulas every year, each making more exaggerated claims than the next, choosing the right one can be like finding a needle in a haystack. Max Factor is no exception in the bold claims it makes for its False Lash Effect mascara – but this one really lives up to the hype. Just one coat and my lashes are big and bouncy, without any of those dreaded clumps. For my everyday look I prefer the black/brown version, which gives you luscious lashes without looking overdone.

And we both couldn’t live without:

Benefit High Beam RRP £18.50

Whether it’s the day after the essay crisis of the night before, or you’ve simply had one too many at the bop, there are times when everyone’s skin needs a bit of a pick-me-up. Benefit’s High Beam is like radiance in a bottle – just a drop on the top of cheekbones with a smidge under the arches of brows and this highlighter creates a pearly glow.

5 Minute Tute – The future of the newspaper

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How much truth do you think there is in speculation that print newspapers will cease to exist?

I think there’s a newspaper market which has stayed alive because lots and lots of newspapers create a big audience when you put them together. So when people talk about newspapers dying, I think newspapers as a concept will die, and we’ll be left with newspaper brands.  The Sun, for example, delivers to more people in a day than the X Factor does, so in advertising terms it’s bigger than ITV. So actually, you’ll have newspaper brands that manage to survive while others will be forced into closure because the economics don’t work, and the premium brands will probably be migrating faster into digital formats.  I think there are 3.4 million iPads in the UK at the moment, but there are only 1.6 million quality newspapers sold every day. The ability for the quality brands to have a newspaper and an iPad version is there already. So then, even though they may not exist in print form, they may well exist as papers on iPads. The bottom end will probably go out of business, but The Mail and The Sun and some free newspapers will probably be alive for a long time. The fact that you’ve got a mobile phone and an iPad isn’t going to stop you picking up a free newspaper and reading it on the way home, which is very convenient. At The Evening Standard, we print 800,00 papers a day and every single one goes.


Will the switch to other, cheaper and more rapid forms of news transmission affect the quality of information in some brands?

I think the really, really wealthy newspapers will be fine – Manchester United will carry on playing good football with amazing stars, where some of the others will have to compromise, meaning the quality won’t be so good and they’ll have to close. The key thing is where you decide to make the call, and where you compromise quality, because you might decide you’re not going to turn up and have journalistic football matches, you’re just going to take content from other places. There’s a body called the Press Association, which will sell you content, so instead of having your own journalists, you buy the information off them. You can choose to have it written for  you, or you can repurpose it and sub it yourself. So many people are buying in feature based stuff and review type stuff – the free newspapers especiallly do a lot of that (not the Standard but Metro and a lot of others).  So, you’ll find an erosion of quality in certain areas but its probably areas that readers aren’t that fussed about. The amount of money that is put into editorial quality is still astronomical. 


How much does advertising revenue affect the editorial content of a paper, and how might this change in the future?

People will always talk about editorial independence, and they’re absolutely obsessive about it – this is why we talk about the ‘church’ and the ‘state’ when we talk about the split between the editorial and commercial side of a paper. People insist that the commercial side, who buy the advertising, cannot influence the newspaper editorial – that’s something that is certainly more rigid in some papers than others. There’s obviously a bit of blurring in certain newspapers, where you can see brands have infiltrated areas where they wouldn’t naturally have done so.  An example is sponsorship. It happens in sport especially, because people are used to sports brands; it’s the Natwest Series and the Barclays Premiership. It would be unfair of me to name these papers, but there are certainly proprietors, editorial teams and certain newspapers who are blatantly much more prepared to write articles on behalf of commercial people. There are lots of others that are absolutely steadfast and wouldn’t compromise their editorial for anything – there might be a headline about Tesco doing terrible things or Marks and Spencers doing terrible things, and they are jeopardising losing all advertising revenue by writing that, but they will, and actually advertisers respect that. They respect the fact that the editorial can’t be influenced.

The Modern Communication Breakdown

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David Cameron now has a LinkedIn profile, and frankly I find myself wondering why. I’m pretty sure that a CV is trivial once you’ve governed a country (if you need any proof of that then just look at Tony Blair). Apparently the page ‘lists his jobs to date in Parliament, and before entering politics, then mentions his wife and kids’, and so just seems to be part of the latest offensive in the Tories’ new plan to rebrand themselves and woo the electorate before 2015.

avid Cameron now has a LinkedIn profile, and frankly I find myself wondering why. I’m pretty sure that a CV is trivial once you’ve governed a country (if you need any proof of that then just look at Tony Blair). Apparently the page ‘lists his jobs to date in Parliament, and before entering politics, then mentions his wife and kids’, and so just seems to be part of the latest offensive in the Tories’ new plan to rebrand themselves and woo the electorate before 2015. 
This isn’t a bad thing – the humanisation of politicians and ongoing pedestal-felling which is taking place, influenced by the unstoppable growth of online media such as Twitter, is in my opinion vital to the development of national and international conversation. On the other hand, politicians must ensure that they do not begin spending more time considering the medium of conveyance than the content of the message itself.
Technology certainly has its benefits in terms of the efficiency with which we can now communicate internationally. When we replaced the sluggish system of physical post with email, we unlocked a world of communicative opportunity at both the personal to a global level.
 As time has gone on, however, we seem to have lost sight of the original purpose of digital communications, and have begun to consider them as activities in their own right. This shift in attitude which is not only unhealthy for productivity, but is also leading to a very warped view of what it means to interact with our fellow hominids. Just ask yourself how much time you’ve actually spent using Facebook as a utility over the past week. It’s all well and good for us to send a quick message to a mate, but when we then browse the latest low quality and somewhat embarrassing bop photos for hours on end, and combine this with organising a party and wishing your second-cousin-twice-removed a superficial happy birthday, we’re obviously getting sidetracked.
Intel and CSIRO have themselves recognised the dangers of email and begun to experiment with ‘no-email’ days. This is a great idea (as long as the next day doesn’t become a ‘double-email day’), as internal email is a largely pointless feature in modern open plan offices, and only serves to reinforce the peculiar view these days that digital communication is actually more effective than having a real conversation. The fact is that two intelligent and articulate humans will accomplish far more in a face to face meeting than they ever could in a drawn-out and broken email correspondence. Add to this the observation that white collar workers often have the habit of not replying to emails after their first reading, and the picture becomes an even more ridiculous caricature of human interaction. Imagine a meeting where everyone takes 15 minutes to respond when they’re spoken to. It’s absurd, but it happens far too often these days via email. Furthermore, I don’t think any of us can pretend to believe that these traits we see in business correspondence are not to some degree apparent in all of our lives.
This is a serious issue which we must all be aware of, particularly politicians, in a time when every week seems to bring a new international crisis or scandal. There simply isn’t the time to be faffing around with narcissistic image mongering and hiding incompetence under a thrice gilded techno-lily. We must not allow the next generation to enter the world of work with such a warped idea of human interaction, or the world, and specifically the West, will grind to an embarrassing conversational halt. 

This isn’t a bad thing – the humanisation of politicians and ongoing pedestal-felling which is taking place, influenced by the unstoppable growth of online media such as Twitter, is in my opinion vital to the development of national and international conversation. On the other hand, politicians must ensure that they do not begin spending more time considering the medium of conveyance than the content of the message itself.

Technology certainly has its benefits in terms of the efficiency with which we can now communicate internationally. When we replaced the sluggish system of physical post with email, we unlocked a world of communicative opportunity at both the personal to a global level.

As time has gone on, however, we seem to have lost sight of the original purpose of digital communications, and have begun to consider them as activities in their own right. This shift in attitude which is not only unhealthy for productivity, but is also leading to a very warped view of what it means to interact with our fellow hominids. Just ask yourself how much time you’ve actually spent using Facebook as a utility over the past week. It’s all well and good for us to send a quick message to a mate, but when we then browse the latest low quality and somewhat embarrassing bop photos for hours on end, and combine this with organising a party and wishing your second-cousin-twice-removed a superficial happy birthday, we’re obviously getting sidetracked.

Intel and CSIRO have themselves recognised the dangers of email and begun to experiment with ‘no-email’ days. This is a great idea (as long as the next day doesn’t become a ‘double-email day’), as internal email is a largely pointless feature in modern open plan offices, and only serves to reinforce the peculiar view these days that digital communication is actually more effective than having a real conversation. The fact is that two intelligent and articulate humans will accomplish far more in a face to face meeting than they ever could in a drawn-out and broken email correspondence. Add to this the observation that white collar workers often have the habit of not replying to emails after their first reading, and the picture becomes an even more ridiculous caricature of human interaction. Imagine a meeting where everyone takes 15 minutes to respond when they’re spoken to. It’s absurd, but it happens far too often these days via email. Furthermore, I don’t think any of us can pretend to believe that these traits we see in business correspondence are not to some degree apparent in all of our lives.

This is a serious issue which we must all be aware of, particularly politicians, in a time when every week seems to bring a new international crisis or scandal. There simply isn’t the time to be faffing around with narcissistic image mongering and hiding incompetence under a thrice gilded techno-lily. We must not allow the next generation to enter the world of work with such a warped idea of human interaction, or the world, and specifically the West, will grind to an embarrassing conversational halt.

Review: Melancholia

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Fittingly for a film called Melancholia, Lars von Trier’s (I think the word is ‘controversial’) latest effort begins with the end of the world. Set to Wagner, of course. We see a pretentious and stunning procession of slo-mo apocalyptic scenes: Kirsten Dunst with some moths, a horse falling over, that sort of thing. Then the planet Melancholia crashes into Earth. (Honestly, who calls a new planet ‘Melancholia’?) It’s much more fun than Terrence Malick’s sub-Fantasia bit of CGI dinosaurs and classical music in The Tree of Life, in any case.

After that it’s largely an exercise in dramatic irony. ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world’, says Dunst’s new husband. Lucky you. At the wedding, rich people I don’t care about mope and bicker in a luxurious country house. The sense of doom drains from me like Kirsten Dunst urinating on a golf course. Maybe I wouldn’t mind if these people died in flames after all.
Trier (he made up the ‘von’) makes you feel melancholic. Melancholic as in when there doesn’t seem to be anything nice left in the world. When there’s nothing to miss except some squabbling over privileged people. The feeling of melancholia was captured for me in one marvellous sequence of a straggly haired Charlotte Gainsbourg basking uncomfortably in sunlight no longer warm and golden but sickly pale. ‘The Earth is evil’, or so Kirsten Dunst says. Maybe I was meant to be bored by the squabbling. So when the world finally ends it doesn’t seem all that much of a bother.

After that it’s largely an exercise in dramatic irony. ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world’, says Dunst’s new husband. Lucky you. At the wedding, rich people I don’t care about mope and bicker in a luxurious country house. The sense of doom drains from me like Kirsten Dunst urinating on a golf course. Maybe I wouldn’t mind if these people died in flames after all.

Trier (he made up the ‘von’) makes you feel melancholic. Melancholic as in when there doesn’t seem to be anything nice left in the world. When there’s nothing to miss except some squabbling over privileged people. The feeling of melancholia was captured for me in one marvellous sequence of a straggly haired Charlotte Gainsbourg basking uncomfortably in sunlight no longer warm and golden but sickly pale. ‘The Earth is evil’, or so Kirsten Dunst says. Maybe I was meant to be bored by the squabbling. So when the world finally ends it doesn’t seem all that much of a bother.

Review: We Need to Talk About Kevin

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Scottish director Lynne Ramsay returns to the screen after almost a decade’s recess with a deeply upsetting adaptation of Lionel Shriver’s prolonged waterboarding session of a book, We Need To Talk About Kevin. Thought provoking and emotionally draining, the film is a powerful rumination on the difficulties of parenthood in the face of tragedy. It focuses on the day to day life of Eva (Tilda Swinton) as she struggles with memories of her son from Hell and deals with the aftermath of his violent actions. If you’ve ever wanted to see a toddler express pure contempt, this is your film. 

Scottish director Lynne Ramsay returns to the screen after almost a decade’s recess with a deeply upsetting adaptation of Lionel Shriver’s prolonged waterboarding session of a book, We Need To Talk About Kevin. Thought provoking and emotionally draining, the film is a powerful rumination on the difficulties of parenthood in the face of tragedy. It focuses on the day to day life of Eva (Tilda Swinton) as she struggles with memories of her son from Hell and deals with the aftermath of his violent actions. If you’ve ever wanted to see a toddler express pure contempt, this is your film. 
Exploring maternal ambivalence and mental disturbances, Ramsay’s aggressively rendered narrative is bathed in scarlet symbolism, using the colour red as both sign and signifier – a harbinger of danger, a portent of the blood that will inevitably be spilled and an indicator of both shame and sheer rage. The colour seeps through the fabric of the film in almost every scene – during a mass public tomato fight in Spain, a paint bomb attack on a white house, Kevin’s making of messy jam sandwiches, and the presence of Warholian soup cans in the background during an unnerving encounter at the supermarket. In this regard, it feels like a student film – no offence to any readers – with its over the top metaphors becoming running jokes for the audience. A film that’s already so bold in so many other ways doesn’t need to be so heavy handed.
Nevertheless, Tilda Swinton more than compensates for this fault. It’s her most empathetic yet exhausting performance thus far, manifesting every feeling with subtle physicality and humility. Each muscular twitch and contraction of her pupils conveys the fear and distress stirring within her as she lives with what has happened. Ezra Miller’s portrayal of the elder Kevin is not as potent or perfectly pitched, seething perhaps with a little too much malice, whilst father-figure John C. Reilly gives a performance of consummate John C. Reilly-ness. I didn’t quite get the sense of a plausible family here, but maybe the casting represents the alarming ambiguity and domestic dysfunction that’s at the heart of the novel. Tilda Swinton certainly wipes the floor with them all – unsurprising given that the film appears to be playing out inside the dark recesses of her own mind through nightmarish visions and half remembrances. At times it’s like being shown the most miserable family album in human history. 
It’s too early to tell whether this film will attain the cult resonance of Ramsay’s earlier films (Ratcatcher and Morvern Callar). Maybe it’s too blunt, too on the head, too hermetically sealed to require repeat viewings. That said, We Need To Talk About Kevin is still a powerful beast. This is a thrilling and frequently discomforting piece of cinema which proves beyond a doubt that Ramsay is one of the more original film talents that the UK has to offer, and I certainly don’t want to have to wait another ten years to talk about her next film.

Exploring maternal ambivalence and mental disturbances, Ramsay’s aggressively rendered narrative is bathed in scarlet symbolism, using the colour red as both sign and signifier – a harbinger of danger, a portent of the blood that will inevitably be spilled and an indicator of both shame and sheer rage. The colour seeps through the fabric of the film in almost every scene – during a mass public tomato fight in Spain, a paint bomb attack on a white house, Kevin’s making of messy jam sandwiches, and the presence of Warholian soup cans in the background during an unnerving encounter at the supermarket. In this regard, it feels like a student film – no offence to any readers – with its over the top metaphors becoming running jokes for the audience. A film that’s already so bold in so many other ways doesn’t need to be so heavy handed.

Nevertheless, Tilda Swinton more than compensates for this fault. It’s her most empathetic yet exhausting performance thus far, manifesting every feeling with subtle physicality and humility. Each muscular twitch and contraction of her pupils conveys the fear and distress stirring within her as she lives with what has happened. Ezra Miller’s portrayal of the elder Kevin is not as potent or perfectly pitched, seething perhaps with a little too much malice, whilst father-figure John C. Reilly gives a performance of consummate John C. Reilly-ness. I didn’t quite get the sense of a plausible family here, but maybe the casting represents the alarming ambiguity and domestic dysfunction that’s at the heart of the novel. Tilda Swinton certainly wipes the floor with them all – unsurprising given that the film appears to be playing out inside the dark recesses of her own mind through nightmarish visions and half remembrances. At times it’s like being shown the most miserable family album in human history. 

It’s too early to tell whether this film will attain the cult resonance of Ramsay’s earlier films (Ratcatcher and Morvern Callar). Maybe it’s too blunt, too on the head, too hermetically sealed to require repeat viewings. That said, We Need To Talk About Kevin is still a powerful beast. This is a thrilling and frequently discomforting piece of cinema which proves beyond a doubt that Ramsay is one of the more original film talents that the UK has to offer, and I certainly don’t want to have to wait another ten years to talk about her next film.

Pictures speak louder than words

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I went to see Drive recently, arriving at the Odeon on George Street in Oxford excited and ready, only to be told in a ‘just so you know’ way that the screening I had selected would be subtitled. Puzzled, I asked why. The staff informed me that they had to show a few subtitled screenings a day now, and one told me that it was no big deal – it just meant the dialogue would be written at the bottom of the screen.

I thought about it for about a minute, and decided that, no, it was in fact a big deal. Imagine reading the dialogue on the screen as you then hear it delivered. All the drama would be sapped out of the cinema from the constant pre-emption, and any prospect of tension surely obliterated from the beginning.
Of course, when it comes to foreign cinema this is somewhat inevitable. Often you will discover a crucial plot development not by watching a Spanish character tragically deliver the news that she’s got cancer by moving her own mouth, but instead, quite jarringly, by reading the words, ‘I have cancer’ two seconds earlier. Nobody would deny that this is a pain, and it definitely detracts from the pleasure potential of foreign cinema in an unfortunate way. But at least, given that you are unable to discern all the emotional nuances conveyed in the tones of voice anyway, the experience is necessarily an imperfect one. The subtitles just soften the blow by making any sort of comprehension possible. 
The reason it is intuitively worse when watching films in your mother tongue is that the opportunity is available for the full-blown cinematic experience, no strings attached. The subtitles would be unnecessary toxic baggage, and I don’t think I’d see my favourite English language films with them if somebody paid me to.
This is not, I must stress, to say I object to cinemas showing films subtitled. It is just to note that I could never watch them personally. Clearly the intention is to be hospitable to the deaf, and to this I can make few objections. 
My favourite films derive a significant proportion of their power from the audio – from GoodFellas’ soundtrack to The Social Network‘s rapid talking – but this doesn’t mean no worthwhile experience remains in stone cold silent cinema. If anything, I would think good reasons could be found for arguing that like the legal provisions now available for lifts, braille signs and disabled toilets, however few the number of people needing these may be, some films shown should have to be subtitled in the name of equality and social harmony, ensuring an already marginalised section of society is not excluded even further.
Having opted for a non-subtitled screening of Crazy, Stupid, Love instead of Drive, however, a trailer prior to the film alerted me to another possibility that was less easy to reflect upon and form judgements about. An Odeon advert informed me that, not only did they show subtitled screenings, but they also had versions of films with ‘audio description’ enabled. A clip from How To Train Your Dragon explained how this works: as the boy jumps on the back of the dragon and flies off, the film plays normally with sound and video, but over the top we also have a narrator saying ‘the boy jumps on the back of the dragon, and flies off.’
Now this type of cinema experience is unfathomable. There is no way someone with the gift of sight could stomach it. But a more interesting question is – would blind people even appreciate it? I don’t want to be so arrogant or paternalistic as to claim I would know what all blind people would enjoy, but something just tells me that to pay to sit in a cinema and listen to what is, to all intents and purposes, an audiobook, would be an exercise in absurdity. But, then again, if you have no conception of sight and, music aside, this is the purest art form available to you, perhaps it would not be so strange after all. It’s not like you would be thinking ‘Damn, I wish I could also see the film,’ however counterintuitive this sounds to our ears. And I suppose the same defences I made of legal provisions to secure inclusivity also apply here. Just keep me out of the screenings, and don’t tell me the experience would somehow be the same.

I thought about it for about a minute, and decided that, no, it was in fact a big deal. Imagine reading the dialogue on the screen as you then hear it delivered. All the drama would be sapped out of the cinema from the constant pre-emption, and any prospect of tension surely obliterated from the beginning.

Of course, when it comes to foreign cinema this is somewhat inevitable. Often you will discover a crucial plot development not by watching a Spanish character tragically deliver the news that she’s got cancer by moving her own mouth, but instead, quite jarringly, by reading the words, ‘I have cancer’ two seconds earlier. Nobody would deny that this is a pain, and it definitely detracts from the pleasure potential of foreign cinema in an unfortunate way. But at least, given that you are unable to discern all the emotional nuances conveyed in the tones of voice anyway, the experience is necessarily an imperfect one. The subtitles just soften the blow by making any sort of comprehension possible. 

The reason it is intuitively worse when watching films in your mother tongue is that the opportunity is available for the full-blown cinematic experience, no strings attached. The subtitles would be unnecessary toxic baggage, and I don’t think I’d see my favourite English language films with them if somebody paid me to.

This is not, I must stress, to say I object to cinemas showing films subtitled. It is just to note that I could never watch them personally. Clearly the intention is to be hospitable to the deaf, and to this I can make few objections. 

My favourite films derive a significant proportion of their power from the audio – from GoodFellas’ soundtrack to The Social Network‘s rapid talking – but this doesn’t mean no worthwhile experience remains in stone cold silent cinema. If anything, I would think good reasons could be found for arguing that like the legal provisions now available for lifts, braille signs and disabled toilets, however few the number of people needing these may be, some films shown should have to be subtitled in the name of equality and social harmony, ensuring an already marginalised section of society is not excluded even further.

Having opted for a non-subtitled screening of Crazy, Stupid, Love instead of Drive, however, a trailer prior to the film alerted me to another possibility that was less easy to reflect upon and form judgements about. An Odeon advert informed me that, not only did they show subtitled screenings, but they also had versions of films with ‘audio description’ enabled. A clip from How To Train Your Dragon explained how this works: as the boy jumps on the back of the dragon and flies off, the film plays normally with sound and video, but over the top we also have a narrator saying ‘the boy jumps on the back of the dragon, and flies off.’

Now this type of cinema experience is unfathomable. There is no way someone with the gift of sight could stomach it. But a more interesting question is – would blind people even appreciate it? I don’t want to be so arrogant or paternalistic as to claim I would know what all blind people would enjoy, but something just tells me that to pay to sit in a cinema and listen to what is, to all intents and purposes, an audiobook, would be an exercise in absurdity. But, then again, if you have no conception of sight and, music aside, this is the purest art form available to you, perhaps it would not be so strange after all. It’s not like you would be thinking ‘Damn, I wish I could also see the film,’ however counterintuitive this sounds to our ears. And I suppose the same defences I made of legal provisions to secure inclusivity also apply here. Just keep me out of the screenings, and don’t tell me the experience would somehow be the same.

Paying a debt to Greek tragedy

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WIth less than a month to go to the triennial Oxford Greek Play (Clytemnestra, Oxford Playhouse, 6th Week), I caught up with the director (Raymond Blankenhorn), translator (Arabella Currie) and lead actress (Lucy Jackson) to discuss the project’s progress so far

h less than a month to go to the triennial Oxford Greek Play (Clytemnestra, Oxford Playhouse, 6th Week), I caught up with the director (Raymond Blankenhorn), translator (Arabella Currie) and lead actress (Lucy Jackson) to discuss the project’s progress so far. The production of a play in ancient Greek may seem like one of Oxford’s more bizarre traditions but all three are Classicists and clearly passionate about the value to be gained from original language performance. ‘In the sound of words and in the metre there’s a kind of stage direction that’s been written in by Aeschylus, so getting to work so thoroughly with the Greek is wonderful,’ Raymond tells me. Lucy (who plays Clytemnestra) also talks about her realisation in rehearsal that ‘intonation and the sound of things changes what is meant.’ Rather than a dramatic oddity, the director sees finding a dramatic purpose behind the ancient Greek as his production’s central aim – it affects the pacing and rhythm of the production – but Blankenhorn’s Clytemnestra will still be very much a play, as opposed to the more operatic Agamemnon (the last Cambridge Greek Play).
That said, Raymond tells me that ‘there is a very in-depth musical soundtrack but it’s more like a soundscape, – this even includes the incorporation of dubstep into one scene. In this Greek Play, he assures me, ‘there is something for everyone.’ This sums up the inclusiveness that the production is trying to achieve – not all the actors involved had any prior knowledge of ancient Greek, in fact ‘three out of five people in the chorus don’t know any Greek’ and for some of the production crew the language ‘might as well be Klingon.’ For the audience, Arabella’s translation will be projected as surtitles, something which, she tells me, brought its own challenges: ‘I didn’t edit anything out of the Greek – it has to be pretty much word for word but the meaning has to be clear if people just glance up. We don’t want to detract from what’s going on onstage – so it’s actually made it more interesting because you’re writing for something visual.’
Being part of such a long tradition potentially opens up all areas of the production to scrutiny, but, for Raymond, ‘subverting the tradition is interesting’. He contrasts his production with the ‘more archaeological approach’ of his immediate predecessors – this play will use masks and costumes inspired by Japanese culture, with the chorus wearing Butoh-style make-up and Clytemnestra in ‘a costume which is not quite a kimono.’ The decision to change the play’s title (from the Choephori or Libation Bearers) may also be questioned by purists but all three agree that this is a minor deviation. ‘One of the most important things for the academic interest is respecting the text, so we’re not making changes to that – we’re performing the full text without any cuts – that will go some way towards justifying some of our departures.’ The project has also provided many challenges. Lucy talks about her approach to performing Clytemnestra: ‘When she speaks there are so many layers, so a lot of what I’ve been doing now is thinking and discussing – what are those layers? And, stepping outside the character of Clytemnestra, what is the meaning of the line in the context of the rest of the play?’ Raymond has been inventive in his use of the chorus – he tells me, the chorus members have come to view themselves as individuals when ‘at a conceptual level, they’re not characters – they’re not really human.’ In performance he has tried to give the chorus   a sense of playfulness: ‘One thing we’ve done is randomise the lines for certain sections so they all know the lines and they have to figure out who is going to say them.’
The production looks set to be an innovative and engaging take on a play which ‘is unjustly under-studied and under-valued’. For those who watched the previous (Oxford or Cambridge) Greek Play it should be a ‘mirror up against the Agamemnon, not just a continuation of the plot’ but it is also a stand-alone piece with ‘the journey of one protagonist’ (Orestes – Jack Noutch) at its centre. Aeschylus, Arabella argues, was ‘trying to do something new with Greek, something that had never been done before’, and an opportunity to hear this in the original is not to be missed.

The production of a play in ancient Greek may seem like one of Oxford’s more bizarre traditions but all three are Classicists and clearly passionate about the value to be gained from original language performance. ‘In the sound of words and in the metre there’s a kind of stage direction that’s been written in by Aeschylus, so getting to work so thoroughly with the Greek is wonderful,’ Raymond tells me. Lucy (who plays Clytemnestra) also talks about her realisation in rehearsal that ‘intonation and the sound of things changes what is meant.’ Rather than a dramatic oddity, the director sees finding a dramatic purpose behind the ancient Greek as his production’s central aim – it affects the pacing and rhythm of the production – but Blankenhorn’s Clytemnestra will still be very much a play, as opposed to the more operatic Agamemnon (the last Cambridge Greek Play).

That said, Raymond tells me that ‘there is a very in-depth musical soundtrack but it’s more like a soundscape, – this even includes the incorporation of dubstep into one scene. In this Greek Play, he assures me, ‘there is something for everyone.’ This sums up the inclusiveness that the production is trying to achieve – not all the actors involved had any prior knowledge of ancient Greek, in fact ‘three out of five people in the chorus don’t know any Greek’ and for some of the production crew the language ‘might as well be Klingon.’

For the audience, Arabella’s translation will be projected as surtitles, something which, she tells me, brought its own challenges: ‘I didn’t edit anything out of the Greek – it has to be pretty much word for word but the meaning has to be clear if people just glance up. We don’t want to detract from what’s going on onstage – so it’s actually made it more interesting because you’re writing for something visual.’Being part of such a long tradition potentially opens up all areas of the production to scrutiny, but, for Raymond, ‘subverting the tradition is interesting’. He contrasts his production with the ‘more archaeological approach’ of his immediate predecessors – this play will not use masks and costumes inspired by Japanese culture, with the chorus wearing Butoh-style make-up and Clytemnestra in ‘a costume which is not quite a kimono.’ The decision to change the play’s title (from the Choephori or Libation Bearers) may also be questioned by purists but all three agree that this is a minor deviation.

‘One of the most important things for the academic interest is respecting the text, so we’re not making changes to that – we’re performing the full text without any cuts – that will go some way towards justifying some of our departures.’ The project has also provided many challenges. Lucy talks about her approach to performing Clytemnestra: ‘When she speaks there are so many layers, so a lot of what I’ve been doing now is thinking and discussing – what are those layers? And, stepping outside the character of Clytemnestra, what is the meaning of the line in the context of the rest of the play?’ Raymond has been inventive in his use of the chorus – he tells me, the chorus members have come to view themselves as individuals when ‘at a conceptual level, they’re not characters – they’re not really human.’ In performance he has tried to give the chorus   a sense of playfulness: ‘One thing we’ve done is randomise the lines for certain sections so they all know the lines and they have to figure out who is going to say them.’

The production looks set to be an innovative and engaging take on a play which ‘is unjustly under-studied and under-valued’. For those who watched the previous (Oxford or Cambridge) Greek Play it should be a ‘mirror up against the Agamemnon, not just a continuation of the plot’ but it is also a stand-alone piece with ‘the journey of one protagonist’ (Orestes – Jack Noutch) at its centre. Aeschylus, Arabella argues, was ‘trying to do something new with Greek, something that had never been done before’, and an opportunity to hear this in the original is not to be missed.