Sunday 6th July 2025
Blog Page 519

HS2 Shows the Tories Don’t Know the North

Deia Russell-Smith
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HS2 Shows the Tories Don’t Know the North

The question of how the Conservatives would keep their new Northern voters has troubles allies and critics alike. For Labour, it seemed that if Johnson decided to inject cash into the North, Labour’s ‘red wall’ of support would inevitably crumble down. The plan to ‘level-up the North’ with HS2 linking both halves of England – a new backbone, in Johnson’s rhetoric – therefore poses problems for the opposition.

The project is expected to create up to 30,000 jobs and link London to the Midlands and Northern cities like Sheffield and Leeds by 2040. However, Johnson has somewhat backtracked on connecting to those Northern cities, revealing the project will initially only extend to the Midlands. There are fundamental issues as to why this would not work. Many Northern cities are ill-connected with the South and London, but more importantly with each other. The primary use for transport via train is for commuters, and this leads to over-crowding on trains in and out of Northern cities.

While decongesting London stations is an ambitious project, this is not what the reality of HS2 suggests. The projects’ primary stations from London would be Euston and St Pancras; while Euston is the least-congested station in London, the issue of filling such high-capacity trains even in rush hour seems improbable. A YouGov poll found that trains from Euston to New Street were on average only three-quarters full. The St Pancras station too seems to be ill-advised, when the station will not be the pre-existing one but one half a mile outside. How will “two St Pancrases” work?

This symbolic connection between North and South thus seems a hazy project at best. It does not include freight; thus the quicker movement of goods from North to South, and vice versa, is ruled out. Whilst the project hopes to reduce carbon emissions, it will therefore have little impact on freight, which will still be carried by lorries.

Moreover, the creation of HS2 will itself impact negatively on the environment due to the huge infrastructure construction it requires. Many feel fobbed off by the lack of interest in making the project green. Originally projects such as the Lincolnshire Crowder’s Nurseries, projected to plant 7 million trees and shrubs creating 650 hectares of green land, were popular, but the momentum behind similar projects elsewhere has all but dried up.

Up to seven nationally protected areas of land are affected by the project, some which have endangered species in them which could suffer without an effort at rehabilitation. In South Cubbington Woodland there were fierce protests against the destruction of their protected and treasured space. It fell on deaf ears. The Kenilworth Gold Club, which clearly couldn’t survive without its 18th hole, was spared by the government. This lack of care is indicative of the government’s whole approach to the project.  

As with the idea it aids the North, any environmentally-conscious elements of the project are window-dressing. The ramping up of the costs of the project, and the willingness of the Tories to put up with it, shows their myopic self-interest in their ambition to save a project they think will benefit them electorally, despite the incoherent case for it.

In a recent YouGov poll, voters in the North and Midlands were against the project. It shows the government is tin-eared. They don’t really care about connecting the North up for commuters. Their environmental plan will do more harm than help. But it’s in their interests and London’s, so why not chuck another £100 billion on the bonfire?

It’s certainly not a popular project on the Tory benches. We might find before too long that Johnson’s new backbone of Britain is what comes along and breaks his.

Lose Yourself: A Sign of the Times

James Hawkins-Hooker
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Lose Yourself: A Sign of the Times

If you want to feel the sensation of your skin crawling, watching Eminem’s unexpected performance of ‘Lose Yourself’ at the Oscars should certainly do the trick. There was something distinctly off about the biggest names in Hollywood singing along to Eminem’s gritty hit. One of the only appropriate reactions came from 77 year old Martin Scorsese. He was sporting the face of someone two and a half hours through ‘The Irishman’, only to discover there are still sixty minutes to go. Much like Scorsese, maybe we’re all getting tired of figures like Eminem, who seems to represent the omnipresence of stars past their prime.

Eminem’s name was in the news recently when lyrics from his new album distastefully referred to the Manchester Arena terror attack in 2017. He has never shied away from edgy opinions in the past, but that attitude feels decidedly uncomfortable nowadays. We have our own controversial social-commentary-spewing superstar in the form of Morrissey. The ex-Smiths frontman has courted rage and fury for his statements on immigration, politics, and Brexit; so much so that artist Verity Longley introduced a range of tote bags sporting the slogan, “Shut up Morrissey,” for when bigmouth inevitably strikes again. Just why do so many artists resort to inciting outrage; is it the prospect of irrelevance and waning fame, or nothing but artistic integrity?

Particularly in music, the nature of consumption by streaming necessarily splinters influence, as anyone can now listen to anything, down their own rabbit-hole of algorithm-inspired exploration. It is easier than ever for an artist to get lost in instant streams, with the small amount of income being starkly contrasted with previous generations. The rapidity with which something can be consumed also dulls its impact: an album listened to and forgotten within 40 minutes, and little lasting sign that that ever took place. 

Pop stars no longer have the experience of fame they did in the 20th century, as the idea of pop itself has changed: the defining culture diverged into individualised experiences. While the 60s had the Beatles and ‘Free Love,’ the 2010s and 20s may be known as the years of Netflix and Spotify. This sheds potential light on why Eminem may have to resort to statements of headline-grabbing contentiousness. As evidenced by the reaction, this loudmouthed approach at attention-seeking certainly works; Eminem’s song ‘Lose Yourself’ underwent a 217% increase on streaming sites.

Another alternative for the method to Eminem’s madness is resorting to things that worked before in an attempt to please old fans. We’re in a cultural moment of ‘same old, same old,’ with endless prequels, sequels, and remakes consistently outperforming and suffocating any strands of genuine creativity. Scorsese himself might not be in a position of superiority in this regard; ‘The Irishman’ uses the well-trodden gangster trope and even reaches so far back into the past that it stars digitally “de-aged” versions of De Niro, Pesci, and Pacino. Meanwhile, we’re faced by the terrifying prospect of concerts with holograms of dead musicians like Tupac or Roy Orbison on stage. 

One of the trends of the final years of the decade was a flurry of British-pop-rock-musical-films with Rocketman, Bohemian Rhapsody and Yesterday all coming out in the space of nine months. “I took a walk with my fame down memory lane, never did find my way back” sang Oasis, a rather appropriate reflection of a modern state of nostalgia. Lauryn Hill explained after her long hiatus that ‘I realized that for the sake of the machine, I was being way too compromised’, and it looks as though the machine of pop-culture industries are still compromising artistic individuality for the sake of security.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but an obsession with past trends might stifle creativity. The stratospheric rise of artists like Billie Eilish and Stormzy of course counters this line of argument, but a defining movement is yet to appear, and some would say grime’s time is already up. At the Oscars, instead of performing her monster-hit ‘Bad Guy’, Billie Eilish sang a fifty-five year old Beatles song, and we were treated to an Eminem track from 2002. Undoubtedly, as a result of new forms of media-consumption, there are more opportunities for variation within art but as a consequence there is division, a series of subcultures.

So then what to do, as a musician whose peak years are behind them? Perhaps, it would be better if some hung up their instruments. This would give a chance for a new school to fully develop and their own presence would be maintained eternally in playlists around the world. Walking the line of controversy is often a negative and unpleasant method that manipulates the state of current discourse, and can tarnish one’s reputation. There is the approach of The Rolling Stones; morphing into some-sort of self-tribute act who make little to no attempt at producing anything new. David Bowie’s Blackstar (2016) managed to conquer this issue, creating a fantastic album that was new and experimental. Unfortunately, few artists demonstrate the self-awareness and experimental nature of Bowie, but if more of them could follow his example, the music-world might be a better, more interesting place. Despite everything, Eminem’s performance was social media’s most talked about moment of the night. It overshadowed the genuinely exciting awarding of Best Picture to a deserving Parasite, the first international film to ever hold this title. We should be focusing on the new: the Parasites of this world, rather than the Eminems.

Review: Caging Skies and Jojo Rabbit

Elijah Ferrante
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Review: Caging Skies and Jojo Rabbit

When depicting the world and ideology of Nazi-Germany, the theme of childhood or the child-like figure is quite a well-used one. Key examples include Günter Grass’s Oskar Matzerath in The Tin Drum, to Kerr’s When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. The state of innocence implicit within childhood lets us appreciate how insidious and jarring the changes within society, ideology and political life were in World War Two. Especially considering the centrality of the Aryan family unit – its dominance, its perpetuation within the Nazi’s racial-hierarchical world-view. A grim example is in Hans-Peter Richter’s Friedrich, in which the course of a German-Jewish childhood, friendship slowly degrades and dissolves against the current of world war two, and the protagonist ends the novel meeting his best friend. He dies outside the communal air-raid shelter stretching out his hand for help.

Christine Leunen’s Caging Skies and Taika Waititi’s subsequent film adaptation JoJo Rabbit explore this theme of childhood in contrasting ways. Both tell the story of little Johannes (or Jojo), growing up in mid-war Austria. Jojo is a little ten-year-old growing up wanting to be an Aryan war hero until his plans are foiled by a terrible accident. In the book, this comes as a result of an air-raid, and in the film, it’s a hand-grenade at a Hitler Youth summer camp. Recuperating, he becomes aware of his mother’s secret activities as a resistance activist and her hiding of a Jewish girl (‘Elsa’) in the attic. The subsequent portion, in both the film and book, charts the relationship between JoJo and Elsa. 

Both veer around exploring the absurd and comic in what would normally be an intensely disturbing and tragic state of affairs. In the film, Taika Waititi plays a quite camp and wacky Hitler who exists in the mind of Jojo. Playing the imaginary friend lets us see the absurdity and childish fanaticism that he has grown up with. Contrasting this with his love-hate relationship with Elsa after he stumbles across her in the attic, the two relationships chart his shifting allegiances. Throughout the film Jojo is gradually changing in his world-view, falling at last to his mother and Elsa’s constant appeals to sensibility, when they observe that: “You’re not a Nazi Jojo, you’re just a little boy who likes to dress up in uniforms.” Something to be remembered as he narrowly escapes a firing squad by slipping out of his uniform. The shared depiction of child-soldiers in both book and film provides one of the most harrowing examples of how childhood is perverted in a state of war.

Where the film diverges from the novel is in the treatment of the corruption of childhood. The film allows Jojo to at least gain awareness of his childhood, whereas the novel does not afford him that luxury. Here, we see him becoming the mouthpiece and conduit for the Nazi Party to tear the family apart. From echoing propaganda at the dinner table and causing arguments with his father – ‘“My father admitted that sometimes he forgot it was me he was arguing with—he felt more he was talking to ‘them’”, to causing multiple Gestapo investigations and his father’s death. The novel takes a darker turn. Jojo is left as the only person knowing Elsa’s secret existence. His love-hate relationship has taken on something of a strange obsession, and the two are trapped together in a web of lies- physically and figuratively. At first, he conceals the fact of the war ending and her existence to the outside world, she is trapped with him for decades. The two are stuck together, stunted socially and intellectually through the loss of their families and Nazi persecution, all they have is the wreck of their own lives.

There is an element of clunkiness within both works. Jojo Rabbit, with its aim at achieving ‘arthouse-comedy’ quirkiness, struggles to balance its use of light and darkness. Compared to his handling of Hunt for the Wilderpeople, adapting Barry Crump’s Wild Pork and Watercress to a suitable blend of pathos, light irony and comedy, Jojo Rabbit struggles to maintain this balance. Similarly, the sudden dark turn spins this reflection on childhood within a totalitarian state into something resembling a crime drama. Experiencing both in parallel is definitely to be recommended though. Gaining an insight into what has been borrowed, what’s been abandoned, what’s been radically changed – these differences are interesting to tease out. The good-natured humour and quirkiness of the film and the drama of the novel are quite fun to contrast, and both are impactful in their own right.

Bumpy roads to the top: The future of African cycling

Finlay Dove
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Bumpy roads to the top: The future of African cycling

Africa is not known for its cycling. Despite the continent’s domination of endurance running for generations, the surface of global professional cycling has only been scratched by African cyclists. This is largely a result of two key issues that face development more generally on the continent; a lack of resources and widespread corruption in government. However, African runners have been able to dominate the world stage with access to very limited resources, so why should African cycling not do the same? 

Cycling culture has been around since colonial times and the large quantity of resilient, talented and determined athletes, combined with the high altitudes on the continent, should have resulted in African cycling being at least a force to be reckoned with. It seems that the resources required to be a successful cyclist may be the deciding factor, making it more difficult to be a world-class African cyclist than a successful runner. Despite this, there is good reason to expect improvements in the future. 

At the heart of African cycling is Eritrea. The Horn of Africa nation was an Italian colony from 1890 to 1947 and was established as the Italian industrial centre for East Africa. Whilst the story of Eritrea’s Italian occupation, known by many as ‘the new Roman empire’, is a typical one of exploitation, violence and damaging political leadership, it left behind a rich and passionate cycling culture. Italian settlers brought their passion for cycling to Eritrea, taking their road bikes with them and establishing a vibrant racing scene. Eritreans took up a wild enthusiasm for the sport and after the end of Italian occupation in the 1940s they took ownership of the cycling culture, training and competing hard in races and learning how to maintain the road bikes left behind by the Italians. Though some had very little, most households took pride in having a bike and local races became a very frequent a popular occurrence across the country. The staggering altitudes, which exceed 3000 metres in the central highlands, combined with the rich national culture of endurance running certainly supported the growth of Eritrean cycling. 

Fast forward to the 2000s and Eritrean cyclists had finally made their breakthrough onto the world stage. Leading this charge was Daniel Teklehaimanot, who had dominated the African continental championships as well as picking up GC wins at African stage races like the Tour of Rwanda. Despite having to overcome numerous difficulties, including often being unable to obtain visas and lacking sophisticated equipment and support, Teklehaimanot was able to become competitive at the highest level, becoming the first black African to ride in a grand tour by competing in the 2012 Vuelta a España. In 2015, he and his compatriot Merhawi Kudus wrote history in becoming the first black Africans to compete in the Tour de France, marking a significant moment in Le Tour’s vividly rich history. In addition to this, Teklehaimanot took a special liking to the King of the Mountains classification, which he successfully targeted, wearing the coveted polka-dot jersey for four days. This felt like a turning point in cycling’s history, with Teklehaimanot’s team Dimension Data pledging to deliver the first African winner of the Tour de France by 2020. 

Unfortunately, the impressive performances of Teklehaimanot and other Eritreans has not marked a significant turning point as black Africans remain very poorly represented in the ranks of the professional peloton today. Dimension Data as a team does not exist after having to change sponsor following a disastrous 2019 which saw them at the bottom of the global rankings. Furthermore, there is significant evidence pointing to a decline of African cycling in recent years, despite the massive potential contained in the continent. In 2018, after a year at the bottom of the rankings, Dimension Data decided to reduce the number of African riders on their team in an attempt to keep their status as a world tour team. Black African riders clearly are not yet ready to ride competitively against those cultivated in resource-rich European cycling centres such as the UK, Italy and France. 

There is little doubt that the lack of resources and governmental support in Africa is the main reason for the continent’s lack of success, although this is not necessarily a result of most African countries being undeveloped economically and politically. Whilst being a resource-poor country with low Human Development Index (HDI) scores, Columbian cycling has been hugely successful in recent years, perhaps best exemplified by Egan Bernal’s stunning Tour de France victory at the age of 22 last year. The key difference between Columbia and African countries is that the cycling culture is so rich, reaching every corner of the nation, with the government placing cycling at a high priority. This culture, combined with the high altitude of the mountainous terrain, has allowed talented riders to get the attention of wealthy European and American teams in which they have been able to excel. In contrast, endurance running often competes with cycling in terms of resources and popularity in Africa. A lack of political will and widespread corruption in government has not provided enough support for cycling, as was sadly exemplified in December 2019 when Nicholas Dlamini’s arm was broken in an assault of excessive force by park rangers in Cape Town. Unlike Columbian cyclists, African athletes are not targeted by wealthy western teams, and Dimension Data, their sole representative, has been struggling with a lack of financial resources and poor results. 

However, there seems to be no good reason why African cyclists should not succeed and even dominate global cycling in the future, as they have done in endurance running for generations. Infrastructure across the continent is slowly improving, with more and more paved roads. The success of Eritrean cyclists like Teklehaimanot and the grand tour dominance of Kenyan-born Brit Chris Froome mean that increasing attention is being paid by the public and government towards the sport. Bikes are no longer so expensive and difficult to obtain, and much of the infrastructure and the high altitudes available for training runners can be applied for cycling. Across the continent, cyclists have been joining runners on training camps to access the accommodation, coaching and physiotherapists that they have long been denied. Even in Iten, Kenya’s ‘home of champions’ for endurance running, has seen increasing numbers of full-time cyclists training there with aspirations to appear on the global stage. It seems that it is only a matter of time before African riders will be competitive at the highest level, challenging the white hegemony that has dominated the sport since its birth. 

John Evelyn’s Diary: Hilary Term 2020, Week 5

John Evelyn
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John Evelyn’s Diary: Hilary Term 2020, Week 5

After a week of controversy and sedition, last week’s John Evelyn has been summarily executed by the Cherwell editorial team. Though Draconian, the crime was clear: writing a column of general interest. More in tune with the Evelyn ethos, your new editor returns to the deep, deep well of arcane and poorly-punctuated gossip generated by small-minded and vindictive individuals in Oxford’s most beloved institutions. This will subsequently be painstakingly checked by the Cherwell Editorial Team to ensure nothing of public relevance is included, and later greedily inhaled by its dwindling readership of seven. Sausages, laws, and John Evelyn columns.

What a week at the [insert name of institution here]! Bad news for all seventeen prospective slates for next term including Rupert, Monty, and Ciara, all of whom have suffered grievously this week’s attempted coup of Rupert from his position as Director of Performative Delivery. A group of individuals too unpopular to win elections on their own but who wish they were QCs or running a small corrupt state are planning a spiteful Rules Change to allow their Preferred Candidate free reign. Has the current prospective candidate spilt enough blood to qualify under Rule 19? At the right Public-Private Partnership Meetings? Mysterious things [but mostly forgeries] have happened to nomination forms. It is too soon to tell whether [former Presidential candidate desperately seeking parental relevance] will return, – but suffice to say prospective candidates might want to thumb over section (c)(i)-(viii) of the new rules, with reference to every sixteenth letter at the full moon, with the utmost care. As one outgoing President said to another in the Office, “it’s not a Bug; it’s a feature”: permission given? 54(b). (Could you understand this joke? If so, go outside! Get some sunshine!).

News also springs from that regular fountain of gossip, the Disciplinary Committee. If you seek the validation you did not receive as a child, you too could sit on (or before) one of these Hallowed Committees. Those who appeared before committees this week at various Oxford institutions included the following misdemeanours: financial irregularity, election misdemeanour, referring to a colleague as an “incel”, bigamy, possession of morals with intent to supply. Are you thinking of applying for Oxford Union Appointed Committee? If you are, stop. If you have not, rejoice that you are in a happy majority. In other news, a frankly bizarre incident involving a swimming pool and some intoxicants: the annual jaunt to Ascot ended in the two individuals (you know who you are!), clad only in their boxer shorts, floating beside one-another in scenes reminiscent of early Monet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do. 

Opinion | Introducing the Candidates: A Primer for 2020

Leo von Malaisé
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Opinion | Introducing the Candidates: A Primer for 2020

It’s that time again. With impeachment quashed and a bombastic State of the Union Address out the way, it’s full steam ahead towards November’s bumper election, which will see the presidency, the entire House of Representatives, 35 of the 100 Senate seats and 13 governorships contested. The most important and entertaining race will, of course, be Donald Trump against whoever the Democrats put forward for the highest office in the land.

The Story So Far

Trump’s renomination is de facto automatic. Having been cleared of impeachment charges by a party-line vote the Senate, he is seeing the highest approval ratings of his entire term at 49%. The excitement lies for the moment in the Democratic contest, which saw a record 29 candidacies announced. The field has narrowed to 11, among them three from ethnic minority backgrounds, three women, two veterans, two billionaires and one member of the LGBT community. You may or may not think that demographic point-scoring is remotely important, but many Democrats do, and it is mostly the support of registered Democrats that candidates need to secure the nomination. The system of presidential primaries (state-run elections by which the parties choose their candidates) is torturously complicated. Some states have closed primaries, in which only registered party members may vote, some semi-closed, in which unaffiliated voters may also participate, some open, in which voters may vote in any party primary. There are also semi-open and blanket prima…I’m bored too. Essentially, every state, every overseas territory and D.C. have an indirect election to determine how many delegates they send to the party convention in favour of each candidate, and the candidate with the most delegates becomes the nominee. The process lasts about the first half of election year, with candidates often dropping out after falling behind in early contests. Things kicked off last Monday with the Iowa caucuses (a caucus is like a primary except it’s a party-organised show of hands in a restaurant/basketball court/living room. A few, presumably nostalgic states, still have caucuses instead of primaries. I did say it was complicated.), but an administrative meltdown led to the full results being delayed almost a week, leading to an amusing situation in which practically every candidate took to the stage the following morning claiming they had won.

The Democratic Field

The next stop is New Hampshire, with voting taking place on 11 February. In this armchair pundit’s opinion, there are only two people who could eventually take the nomination. They are Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, who you might remember from 2016, and Vice President Joe Biden, Obama’s old running mate. Relevant for the time being are Elizabeth Warren, Michael Bloomberg and Pete Buttigieg (pronounced BOOT-edge-EDGE). Senator Warren is a friendly Massachusetts representative stuck playing second fiddle to Bernie in the democratic socialist orchestra. She is a former Harvard Law professor, known for her very public fight with Trump over Native American ancestry. At 70, she is in the nursing home bracket along with most of the serious candidates. Bloomberg, 9th richest man in the world, former Republican and another septuagenarian (triple threat!), is a three-term former mayor of New York City who spent $10 million on a Super Bowl ad endorsing gun control – not a winner with the beer and chicken wings crowd. He is a deep-pocketed man who has run an unorthodox campaign, forgoing early primary states to focus on ‘Super Tuesday’ in March, where more delegates are up for grabs than any other day. He is also self-funding his campaign – he won’t even let voters donate money to him. Donor criteria have prevented Bloomberg from qualifying for the televised debates so far, but the DNC changed its rules and Bloomberg was at the podium for the debate in Las Vegas on 19 February. His strategy has left a lot of people scratching their heads, but with $300 million (!) committed to political advertising so far, one does begin to wonder. The market for Republican billionaires, though, might just be too crowded already. Pete Buttigieg is a gay millennial combat vet (an actual triple threat) and the former Mayor of South Bend, Indiana, a city the size of Worcester. He edged out Bernie for a surprise victory in the Iowa caucuses, but turnout was low, and the state is overwhelmingly white and rural. His support among black voters is close to zero. He recently spoke in favour of late-term abortions, which may tarnish the centrist image so key to his electability.

Back to, as Trump calls them, Sleepy Joe and Crazy Bernie. Trump was the oldest ever president to be inaugurated, at 70 – both these two would blow his record out of the water. Bernie is 78 and suffered a heart attack in October. Biden is a spritely 77, nine months junior to Bloomberg (though I suspect Bloomberg has uploaded his brain onto a trading platform by now). Bernie is authentic – he’s been banging his drum on the left of the party solidly since 1991 – but polling shows his authenticity failing to appeal to moderate voters. Biden is more moderate and has credibility, especially among black voters, from his eight years in office alongside Obama. Weak debate performances have contributed to a decline in his polling numbers from a soaring peak of 41%, and the results from Iowa were, in the man’s own words, a ‘gut punch’. Joe’s campaign would benefit from the endorsement of President Obama, which has so far been withheld. Why am I so down on all the Democratic candidates? Am I a closet Trump supporter? No. The Democratic field is simply weak, and Trump is looking stronger than ever. 

What’s Going to Happen?

Bernie is America’s Corbyn – that tells you all you need to know. Biden has been breathing hard recently. Moderates in the party hope he hasn’t run out of puff. Critics have made much of the fact his son Hunter took a seat on the board of a Ukrainian gas company after the revolution in 2014, while his father was Vice President. Trump’s dirt-digging into this is what triggered the impeachment investigation. It is early days, but Biden needs to bounce back in the coming weeks and months to stay in contention. He will expect a boost from strong black turnout in South Carolina and beyond.

Trump has the wind at his back. The partisan impeachment vote in the House and subsequent acquittal, combined with a very strong economy, have given him the upper hand. Unemployment is its lowest in over 50 years, with his term-long average the lowest in history. Black unemployment is at its lowest ever level. Median household income is its highest ever. To even stand a chance, the Democrats need to put a positive case to the American people, and that’s something they haven’t shown they know how to do. Calling Trump ‘a pathological liar’ and ‘the most corrupt president in history’ might not be unfair, but it might also not be very smart. Much like Labour, the Democrats ought to spend less time fighting one another trying to be ‘right’ and more time trying to win.

My gut predicts Bernie’s consistency carrying him through to the nomination, but an eventual loss to Trump. Washington outsider Buttigieg might be able to beat Trump, but I don’t see him beating Bernie. I wouldn’t mind being wrong on that though – an Oxford PPEist in the White House would be no bad thing.

Review: Kafka’s Dick

Daniya Jawwad
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Review: Kafka’s Dick

When one mentions the play, Kafka’s Dick, needless to say, it raises a few eyebrows (at least in my experience). Though the title has some relevance to the play, Alan Bennett’s 1986 work also explores fame and its ever-shifting nature, placing Franz Kafka at the centre. Prefontaine’s rendition of this absurd play is fast paced, energetic and hilarious. 

Kafka’s Dick takes place in the 70s, in the living room of an English couple, Sydney (Callum Coghlan) and Linda (Hannah Brock). Sydney, an insurance man, likes to believe that he is enlightened because he knows the nitty-gritty details of the lives of great intellectuals, like W.H Auden and Franz Kakfa, yet in reality he’s never read any of their works. Linda, a nurse turned housewife, tries to engage in meaningful conversations with her husband but is constantly snubbed. Then, out of the blue, Max Brod (Lorcan Cudlip Cook), Franz Kafka’s best friend and publisher of his work, appears, despite the fact that he’s dead. It comes as no surprise then that Kafka (Barney Johnson) himself follows suit, much to the pleasure of Sydney and horror of Linda. This is further complicated by the fact that Kafka doesn’t know that Brod published his work after his death, despite the fact that he made him promise to burn his work, and has consequently become a European literary giant. Once Kafka discovers his fame, one would think that’s where the story ends but audiences are then shocked with the appearance of Kafka’s notorious father, Hermann K (Basil Bowdler).

The actors in this absurd play shine through with their performances, perfectly capturing the essences of their respective characters. Kafka’s self doubting and despairing outlook on life is betrayed through Johnson’s mannerisms and soft, eloquent tone. This sharply contrasts with Kafka’s best friend, Brod, who comes off as ‘rough’ and at times, overbearingly confident. Interestingly enough, all of the actors put on a Northern English accent which not only made it comedic (given the fact that Brod and Kafka were not English) but reflects the era in which the play takes place in. Linda’s performance as the frustrated, snubbed housewife who represses her feelings is demonstrated through her subtle displays of emotion. Sydney played the role of the self important, ignorant husband so well that the audience couldn’t help but get irritated at him, like the other characters in the play. In the case of Hermann K, one could feel his power and influence on Kafka on stage. Though we saw very little of him, Father’s interjections added to the overall chaotic atmosphere and was a hilarious addition to the play.

Lighting and sound were minimal but served to focus attention on the acting, which was incredible. The backlighting drew attention to the props used to capture the essence of a 1970s living room and the spotlights added a dramatic effect to the entrance of certain characters; Hermann K’s entrance at the end of Act 1 was foregrounded by a single cold spotlight, adding to the atmosphere of tension and fear. In regards to the props used, I must say the highlight was the stuffed turtle (I won’t say anything else on the matter, as you have to watch the play to find out…). 

Kafka’s Dick is a comedic and delightful spectacle, with amazing actors and an absurd script, guaranteed to make you laugh. It is a sure-fire way to beat fifth week blues so get on down to the Pilch to watch Kafka’s Dick!

Review: Billie Eilish’s ‘No Time to Die’

Tumi Olufawo
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Review: Billie Eilish’s ‘No Time to Die’

After taking the international music scene by storm, eighteen year old Billie Eilish can now add writing and producing the new Bond theme song, ‘No Time to Die’ to her long list of achievements. 

Billie has joined the likes of Adele, Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones in producing this song for the acclaimed series, providing a refreshing take on the classic theme. Her sombre tone gives it an eerie and lullaby-like feel, which marries beautifully with the simple piano instrumental. As the song continues, the iconic electric guitar riffs, played by former Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr who was involved in creating the song’s score, can be heard. At the climax of the song, a full string orchestra conducted by Hans Zimmer joins her, producing the familiar crescendo that we know and love, before reverting back to her single voice and piano for a chilling end.

Releasing her first track, ‘Ocean Eyes,’ produced, written and recorded in her bedroom at fourteen, Billie Eilish has steadily risen to a much deserved level of critical acclaim. Now eighteen, she has become the youngest person to write a James Bond theme tune, take home wins for Best New Artist, Album of the Year, Song Of the Year, and Record of the year at the Grammys, not to mention being named Billboard’s ‘Woman of the Year’ 2019. Her debut album, When we Fall Asleep, Where Do We go? recorded in the same bedroom she grew up in, shot to the top of the charts. Her older brother Finneas is also incredibly talented, and has written and produced many of her hit songs including ‘Bury a Friend.’ 

Billie performed ‘No Time to Die,’ for the first time at the 2020 Brit awards, accompanied by her brother Finneas. The two were joined on stage by a string orchestra as well as an electric guitarist. The dark staging and outfits added to the spine-chilling-meets-sultry ambience of the performance, of which she spent a large proportion of the time seated. This is true of a lot of her performances of her slower songs, enticing the audience with the simplicity of the production – her talent speaking for itself.

The singer-songwriter is constantly being commended for being a breath of fresh air within the industry. Billie disrupted the pop music scene with her intensely personal and dark sound – there is no doubt that we will see many other artists replicating her at times disturbing, yet relatable and stunning style. The painful candour of her music has connected with many, as she’s championed a shift from the repetitive sounds which have filled the pop scene for years. In a recent interview with her on The Tonight Show, Jimmy Fallon gushed about how her music has changed the pop landscape forever, and this individuality does not go amiss in ‘No Time to Die’. Billie has done a brilliant job of bringing her own dark but beautiful style together with such a classic, and left us all more than excited for the film’s release in April. 

Ignoring the International

Isabella Colletta
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Ignoring the International

Parasite must surely be one of the most remarkable films of this year’s awards season. Director Bong Joon Ho’s anti-capitalist satire and thriller has raked in award after award, and deservedly so. His speech at the recent Golden Globes ceremony, as Parasite picked up yet another award for Best Foreign Language Film, demonstrated a true optimism for the future of international film, promising ‘once you overcome the one-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films’. The Academy has also shown its appreciation, recognising  Parasite with nominations across six categories, including Best Director, Best Original Screenplay and, of course, Best Picture. It is this final nomination which is truly weighty, as the film now becomes the fourth international film since 2000 to be nominated in this category. Yet of these four, none have won. It’s an astounding fact, especially when you consider the “good but not outstanding” quality of many of the biopics and regurgitated war films that are stuffed in the Oscar nomination categories. However, when it comes to the Oscars, the shock factor is limited. It’s hardly surprising foreign films are often alienated in the “Best Picture” category; it’s really just a reflection of the ceremony’s antiquity.

At least this year the Academy has shown some awareness of the dire need for it to change its outlook and treatment of international films. It’s latest quick fix for this particular issue has been a hollow PR revamp. The previous Best Foreign Language Film category has been renamed to now hold the title of Best International Feature. Larry Karaszewski and Diane Wyermann, co-chairs of the International Film Committee, issued a statement expressing their understanding of how the title of “Foreign” could create notions of othering, and saying of the new title, “We believe that International Feature Film better represents this category, and promotes a positive and inclusive view of filmmaking, and the art of film as a universal experience.”

These sentiments are all well and good, but a new title and expressions of good intentions does little to actually change the way in which international films and film-makers are represented by the Academy. The rules of Best Foreign Language Film and Best International Feature remain exactly the same. Under this new heading, Academy rules continue to dictate that in order to qualify for nomination within the category, more than fifty percent of the film must be in a non-English language. Countries may also enter only one film, which must be selected by an approved board – a regulation that prevented highly lauded films, such as South Korea’s The Handmaiden, from being nominated for an Oscar in 2016. The name change of the international film category is nothing but a lazy afterthought, and only serves to highlight the Academy’s inability to thoughtfully tackle the implicit issues of its historical treatment of foreign films.

At the current centre of the debate surrounding the Oscar’s international precedent is Lionheart, a Nigerian film that was submitted as the country’s first ever entry to the category. Yet it was disqualified by the Academy for the reason that, whilst characters in the film occasionally conversed in Igbo, the majority of the film’s dialogue took place in English (Nigeria’s official language). The notable hypocrisy in the decision and in the very rules of the Academy in its definition of “International” was pointed out by American director and film-maker Ava Du Vernay, who took to twitter to pointedly ask the committee “Are you barring this country from ever competing for an Oscar in its official language?”. She asked an important question, and one the Academy has clearly failed to consider in their empty re-evaluation of foreign films. Under the current criteria for the International Feature category, Barbados, Singapore, Ghana, Jamaica and the Solomon Islands would all be similarly disqualified from nominations if they were to submit a film in their official language. Lionheart’s own director and star, Genevive Nnaji, also spoke out against the disqualification of the film, pointing to the national unity the film embodied through its use of the English language: “This movie represents the way we speak as Nigerians. This includes English which acts as a bridge between the 500+ languages spoken in our country; thereby making us #OneNigeria.”

This year’s snubbing of Lionheart feels particularly important, especially in light of the way in which the Academy has historically tended to laud predominantly western films. This year’s nominations for the Best International Feature are no different; Poland, North Macedonia, France and Spain are all nominated to take home the trophy, with Parasite being the only non-European film to make the category this year. This highly Eurocentric list is no different to much of the award’s past. Out of the seventy foreign films that have been awarded in this category, only fourteen of them came from non-European countries. If Lionheart had been nominated by the committee, it would have faced an unwelcome precedent as historically African countries have only won the award three times in the award’s history (1969, 1976 and 2005). Evidently the Academy’s current regulations for judging international films are insufficient, and they operate in a manner which both alienates and penalises non-Western film-makers.

Amongst this controversy and blind-sightedness, there is a real sense that people are becoming irredeemably exhausted with the Oscars. Once again they have opted for ceremonious and self-serving quick fixes that do little to actually solve the issues at the heart of the organisation. Their inability to fully represent the International Film community is yet another example of the severe need for change across the Academy in general, alongside its failures to engage with gender and race diversity in its nominations. Issa Rae’s targeted quip “congratulations to all these men” upon announcing the nominations for best director embodies a collective fatigue with the continuous stagnation of the Oscars. The International film argument requires nuance and thoughtfulness, something the Academy board has shown a reluctance to do in previous years. Language and nationhood operate in complex ways, and there is a dire need to rethink the previous system of judging how “international” a film may be with such a static framework. Their current mechanism is simply not fit for purpose anymore.

Once Upon A Time in Hollywood Review

Sam Lapham
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Once Upon A Time in Hollywood Review

If you were to ask someone familiar with Quentin Tarantino to name the defining features of his films, they would probably mention the dialogue, the unique storytelling, the close ups of bare feet and his irresistible tendency to resolve narratives with copious amounts of bloody violence that some might deem excessive. It is to his credit then that Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (his ninth and rumour has it, penultimate film) manages to subvert these distinctive tropes and deliver what is undeniably his most human film yet. 

Staged against the backdrop of 60s and 70s Hollywood, Tarantino navigates the film with a subtle duality. It is both fantasy and elegy for a time long since past, both celebration and lament, both riveting and utterly uneventful, and this duality even extends to the film’s two protagonists, where Leonardo Dicaprio’s Rick Dalton struggles with the incessant need for recognition and validation in a changing industry, while Brad Pitt’s Cliff Booth remains liberated from the burdens of the world around him, anchoring the film with a carefree charm. With this juxtaposition, Tarantino infuses Once Upon a Time in Hollywood with a realism rarely seen in his previous films, treating the insecurities of his characters as simultaneously sympathetic and laughable. At lot has been made of Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate as a result of her historical significance to the story, but she is deliberately sidelined, a character who remarkably has minimal impact on the central narrative. And yet despite this, her presence is undoubtedly essential. Her frequent but brief scenes are dispersed throughout the story, preaching a simplistic love for life that energises the film with a sense of youth, adoration and innocence that neatly contrasts the two ageing lead males. 

There really isn’t much more to the film than that, so it’s a testament to Tarantino’s writing and passion for a nostalgic era of filmmaking that Once Upon a Time in Hollywood never grows stale. It is undeniably self aware in its slow pace, traversing the narrative landscape without any fear of the runtime exceeding the viewer’s capacity for attention, instead letting us cruise around the dusk streets of Hollywood with Cliff Booth or sit with Rick Dalton as he comically accepts criticism and schooling from a child actor. The plot seems to meander, when in retrospect there really isn’t anything to meander away from, making it lavishly unpredictable as the film never really achieves a clear direction. Instead, events simply transpire, replicating life’s tendency to unfold in spontaneous and unplanned ways. I really wasn’t sure which route this film would take, or indeed, what it was all building towards, if anything. But following the successful formula of Inglourious Basterds, which saw Tarantino’s merry band of Nazi hunters change the course of history by gunning down Hitler, Tarantino again decides to dismiss historical fact for the purpose of providing fictional closure to the Manson Murders that saw Tate and her unborn child stabbed to death in their Hollywood home. 

In an ingenious and oftentimes hilarious third act, Tarantino will have you on the edge of your seat as a drunk Dalton and drugged up Booth encounter the notorious Manson hippies in glorious, blood soaked tradition, marking a clear tonal shift as Tarantino’s signature style is restored for the film’s finale. Much of the director’s comedic timing is established by the obliviousness of the protagonists to the severity of the situations they find themselves in, and this makes the film’s violence attain both a heightened level of comedic value that is sure to garner some audible laughs, as well as genuine suspense that makes you realise just how much you want these characters to survive. It’s a tough finale to describe, and many viewers 

in the cinema on my first viewing failed to appreciate Tarantino’s artistic depiction of violence, but there is an irresistible satisfaction that occurs when both Dalton and Booth are no longer facing the internal issues of relevance and professional sustainability, but actual life-threatening encounters. 

While the film detours into routinely Tarantino Esque destruction at the end, the film’s constant is it’s soundtrack. The nostalgic hits combined with the cinematography create a suave synergy, oozing a coolness that makes Brad Pitt’s many driving scenes seem like a ride we never want to end. Culminating on a much quieter and nuanced idealism, Tarantino uses his violence sparingly to personify the inner conquering of his characters’ demons, leading to a satisfying tweaking of history that may just be the most rewarding conclusion we’ve ever had to a Quentin Tarantino narrative. While it may lack the sharp storytelling of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction or the diverse experimentation of Kill Bill, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood triumphs for feeling real, settling for an authenticity that evokes a melancholic but optimistic portrayal of life.

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