I get heart palpitations when I look at DiCaprio’s Wikipedia page. When I realised he has an entire separate one for his glistening filmography, my mum had to resuscitate me (the doctors said I was technically dead for seven minutes). No other actor can boast a trajectory like Leonardo’s: Critters 3, The Quick and the Dead, J. Edgar, and The Glorification of Cocaine and Investment Banking: I Know He’s a Bad Person but Am I Still Allowed to Empathise with Him? – he’s has a perfect record, always moving from strength to strength, and hasn’t had a single duff movie in his career. He is, I don’t hesitate to say, an actor so good that he has become a cinematic aff ront to the supremacy of God.

What’s that I hear his detractors (both of you) say? “Oh, Mr Culture Editor, but he’s never won an Oscar!” you shriek with captious, selfsatisfied smugness, like a child who’s just become aware of his own genitalia and wants to show off about it. Well, here’s some news for you from the inside of the world of culture (where I live): the reason they haven’t given Leonardo an Oscar yet is because they’re going to rebrand the Oscars as ‘The Leonardos’ after he dies. Now shut up and cry at the ending of Titanic like the rest of us.

So just what is the secret to Leonardo’s success? How can someone be so admired, so consistently plied with awards, so universally adored, that the words “Do you like Leonardo DiCaprio?” have become an idiom synonymous with “Is the Pope a Catholic”? How can any one person have become so mega-famous they have had to devise a series of elaborate disguises to avoid the paps, including wearing ridiculous masks, hiding his entire upper body in umbrellas and covering his face with tissues (Google ‘Leonardo DiCaprio hiding from the paps’ and thank me later).

Now, in a Cherwell exclusive, I wish to share with you a theory I have developed over the last few years working in close collaboration with the Film Studies department at Columbia University, as well as the Phrenology Department here in Oxford (surprisingly the only one remaining in the world), about the truth behind Leonardo’s juggernaut-like career.

Much like Samson’s hair, Leonard’s power lies entirely in his head – and not just in the sense that if you cut it off he will die. Through a careful comparison of the size of Leonardo’s head across his entire movie career, we can see a defi nite trend: Leo’s head has grown constantly as his career has developed, always in direct proportion to his acting ability. Soon, our researchers predict, his head will in fact become wider than his shoulders – it is at this point, the research indicates, that Leonardo will deliver an acting performance so powerful that merely watching the opening sequence could prove fatal, as anyone who watches it will shed so many tears of both joy and sadness their body will become dehydrated and hyponatremic, and they will shrivel up into a raisin-like shell of a person.

The more apocalyptically-inclined proponents of this theory have on occasion expressed their concerns that Leonardo’s head will one day become so large it may in fact cause a global disaster, as if the moon or another planet-sized extraterrestrial body were to collide with the earth. But even should this happen, there is always a silver lining: one man’s apocalypse is another man’s hope for a long overdue von Trier-DiCaprio collaboration. So there you have it: Leonardo’s continued success can be assured so long as his body continues to deposit fatty residues on the sides of his skull. Much like Gatsby, we live in hope.

Do you remember the end of that summer before you came to university? You leave school behind and with it all the people and friendships you have forged since you don’t know when. Yet you were looking forward to a new chapter and – dare I suggest – you might have even felt like setting off on a journey to find yourself. And amidst all those high thoughts and expectations lies the naked truth that things will change. 

In Valuables, Ben Ray picks up on exactly this. Wales, today: four more-or-less close friends are on the verge of what comes after school. And he cuts right to it: what are the valuables? Is it, as Daniel would have it, the beauty and eternity of poetry, for which it is worth getting entangled with research into a supposedly Shakespearean folio he finds in an Oxfam bookstore? Is it, as the insecure but good-hearted Nye discovers, religion? Or is it, as the worse than lay-about Richard has to learn, drugs and all that comes with them? As so often in life, the boys are all wrong, and so it is a girl who supplies the fourth wheel to this wagon of self-doubt. Emma, as she is called, keeps the threads of their friendships somehow together.

It is she who sets the pace of action in this play and so she deserves special attention. Her character is always on the verge of the stubborn nine-year-old while at the same time portraying a forceful realism that pays tribute to the immense advantage of maturity that – let’s face it, boys – girls often still have even at our age. In dialogues of often cunning comedy, she keeps Daniel in check when it comes to his obsession with poetry and it is she who always rebuilds the bridge between the boys when they are about to lose each other. 

Yet it was more in the individual scenes rather than in its whole that the play was able to shine the most. Special commendation must go to the brilliant rendering of literary, theological, substantive (yes, as in drugs), and veterinary interests in an enticing quartet that showed how these seemingly contrary struggles with finding oneself all come down to the same risk and pleasure of losing oneself in something you really care for. 

The core cast, Leo Danczak as Daniel, Cara Pacitti as Emma, Haniel Whitmore as Nye and Turlough O’Hagan as Rich, must be applauded on a harmonious performance. Particular praise goes to Turlough O’Hagan for walking the fine line between tragedy and comedy on which the character of Richard forced him. Cara Pacitti displayed with passion her very coherent and convincing take on the crucial character of Emma, notwithstanding the occasional slip.

But just as much as individual scenes stand out, credit for which should be given to the direction of Mischa Cornelia Andreski, the evening as a whole couldn’t always live up to them. We witness a real spark of genius in a scene that has Daniel and Emma almost find their love for each other, when Daniel’s real ‘valuable’ – Shakespeare – tragically prevents this. But the enormous dynamic of this scene blows out, not least because of a lacking build up. Similarly, we seem to merely scratch at the surface of theology with Nye and Richard, whose relationship verges on the homoerotic and complicates the play with no particular purpose.

Valuables is not the least afraid to literalise – in a book, a crucifix, a chippie in south Wales – questions that are not easily grasped even in theory. What are we to make of the places we leave behind and what is valuable enough for us to move on with? As we should expect from a good play, we are never given a clear answer to this question. Instead the play ends on the restoration of the tranquilla ultima. It would be foolish to disclose the nature of this, however, because every one of us has their own experience of this ‘calm at last’, the point where we

★★★★☆

Director Clara Davis’ new production of Anna Jordan’s Freak is an energetic and touching study of female sexuality. We follow the cast of two, Leah (Emily Albery) and Georgie (Lily Erskine), as they attempt to build their own identities and deconstruct them through new sexual encounters. But when does sex make you human, give you power? And when does it make you less than that: inhuman, subservient?

It is forgivable to come to the show with dark forebodings of awkwardly ‘gritty’ discourse on ‘daring’ topics. However, Freak is not gritty, but rather messy in its tone – more naturally real than self-consciously realistic – and there’s something commendable about a show that isn’t trying to shock its audience with its subjects, choosing instead to examine them closely and honestly. Everything, including masturbation, the watching of pornography, pubic hair, wanting to be objectified, fetishes, and loss of virginity.

The play is structured by interspersing monologues from the characters. Our first glimpses of them – Leah’s angst-ridden dancing, Georgie retelling her hyper-sexualised dreams – establish their personalities immediately. The two were able to sustain a high level of energy despite acting alone for the most part, working with a great dynamic.

Both characters are instantly relatable – in particular, Leah’s more light-hearted travails in the cringe-making world of adolescent sexuality prompted all-too-knowing laughter from the audience. These moments of humour were well-timed and well-executed. With Georgie’s storyline taking a dark and melancholy twist, Leah’s was able to juxtapose in a way that gave the audience relief at more emotionally taxing moments. The resulting pathos left the audience with a sense of female companionship, and raised questions about sexual authority and the importance of intimacy.

The show’s concerns were greatly helped by dance and the often-ironic use of music. Meghan Trainor’s ‘Dear Future Husband’ and Jessie J’s ‘Bang Bang’ deftly juxtapose an image of female sexuality in popular culture – supine, man-dependent, eager to please – with the grubby reality of womanhood. Both Leah and Georgie dance to music at intervals, using the opportunity to explore their bodies and build their sexual confidence. The mirror-effect of both girls simultaneously dancing or undressing or making themselves up was created by the set; a double bed to share and two distinct styles of décor on each side gave the impression of two sets split-screened. Having both girls on stage, acting or silent, gave a real sense of companionship throughout.

The only criticisms that could be noted were that there were a few very good but ill-fitting metaphors that were perhaps a little too high-flown for the characters (however, even here it ought to be noted that Albery and Erskine pulled them off smoothly enough to be convincing). There was also a moment of broken-action quoting of Beyoncé that slightly pushed the performance into something more trivial and quirk-for-quirk’s-sake. But that’s it. My only two complaints. Which is not bad going for a two hour show. 

Freak is a refreshing play, approaching its themes in an authentically brutal tone. Its cast is captivating, its aesthetic solid and supportive, its plot dynamic and heart-breaking; a very well executed and satisfyingly well-meaning production