The OUDS new writing festival showcases four new pieces from playwrights across Oxford. Optimistically over-estimating her free time, but with an insatiable thirst for theatre, your favourite (I’m assuming) Cherwell reporter set out to review all four of them.

First up is Take Off by Lamorna Ash, the story of an astronaut about to go on a four year flight who first has to break up with his girlfriend (“I just need space!”). The dialogue is amusing and naturalistic, the sibling relationships particularly sweet and wellobserved, but the premise wears thin over the course of the play. Choosing between your girlfriend and interplanetary travel isn’t (as yet) a very relatable problem, and the piece was amusing but not truly thought provoking.

Next is Adam Leonard’s A Sense of Falling, a play about trains, CCTV, and mental illness. The play’s three characters are clearly defined, the actors and script evidently bringing out the best in each other. There’s a genuine sense of mystery, which is resolved to a certain extent, but not as neatly as I would have liked, or felt the narrative required. One of the three characters, Kingsley, was undeniably well-written and acted, but seemed to have no place in the play. Is he a really sinister estate agent? Is he a criminal? Is he just a device to further the plot with no purpose of his own? I really couldn’t say, and the lack of resolution in this respect didn’t feel like a tantalising enigma, it felt like a cop-out.

Lads by Mallika Sood is the third stop on my theatrical journey. Leo and Seb, a gay couple and absolute lads, make a bet as to which one of them can “nail a straight date”, although not, theoretically, in that way.

The play is engaging to watch, but struggles from the start against the unlikeliness of its central plot point. I can’t understand why anyone, regardless of gender or orientation, would form a one-sided emotional connection with someone as a bet – it seems beyond cruel, and doesn’t endear the audience to Leo or Seb, for whom we’re supposedly rooting. Jokes about revulsion at the idea of vaginas and about women being “bitches” or “lesbians” because they won’t date one of our dynamic duo also seem somewhat misjudged. Misogyny and cis-sexism aren’t any more appealing coming from gay lads than they are from straight lads. The dialogue shows promise, but it’s funniest and most engaging when the characters talk about issues peripheral to the problematic plot. I left wishing the author’s talents had been better utilised on a plot less riddled with unfortunate stereotypes.

Finally, Twin Primes by Flo Read. Among the plays on offer, Twin Primes alone uses the potential drawbacks of a small stage, small cast, and time constraints to its advantage, and does so with elegance and intelligence. A cast of two act out a variety of small but perfectly formed scenes with utilitarian titles like ‘The Business Meeting’, ‘The Beach’, and ‘The Football’, each of which is almost a miniplay in its own right, but with thematic links to the others. The play is like a short story collection in which the author never ran out of ideas. It’s spectacular and I am in awe of the writer, but also of the actors charged with performing a variety of very different characters.

What new wisdom have I gained from my travels? The plays all show great promise; catch a couple if you can, but if you can only see one, see Twin Primes. You won’t regret it.

The shows are running at the Burton Taylor Studio from Monday 16th February until Saturday 21st February.

A plethora of bemasked animals crawl upon the stage. Cue ethereal didgeridoo music as the fool contorts himself in the middle of the performance space, daring not to touch the pure vessel of Cordelia. From the opening tableaux, the sensory and animalistic tendencies of the players are made blatantly obvious.

If the production wished to emphasise carnal, base qualities then there is no better character to choose than the Fool, played by Alex Wickens. He remains a constantly tortured presence at the corner of the stage, writhing in anguish, with his manic speech and frantic body language slightly Gollumesque. Director Stephen Hyde explains to me that the Fool is a spectral presence, an “imp of the mind”, a cancerous tumour upon the ever unfurling wits of Lear, which is designed to fit in with the sensory, interior exploration of the production. Wickens’ performance is charismatic and the idea innovative, but I struggled to see how it would be clear to the audience without similar explaining.

A performance which cannot be faulted is that of James Aldred’s Edgar. His doubled performance as France may have been somewhat flat and lacking, but his Edgar owns the stage. As he emerges half naked onto the stage as Poor Tom, his use of physical theatre plays the character’s faux-Bedlam madness to a tee. His crazed eyes and ramblings as he throws himself around the stage captivate the audience in a blissful concoction of empathy, fear and laughter as gibberish pours unstopping from his mouth. Quite simply, he allows himself to become the character.

Sadly, a less successful instance of the suspension of disbelief evoked by the theatre is that of Lear himself. I could not quite put my finger on it, but I was simply not convinced by Lear’s characterisation. Although the production suggested that they wished to emphasise mental anguish over the effects of ageing, I’m not sure that Lear can ever be played youthfully – although James Hyde gives it a good shot.

Cordelia similarly failed to gain truly my sympathy. Her sisters (played by Georgia Figgis and Isobel Jesper Jones) are deliciously wicked and incestuous she-wolves vying for Lear’s blood and throne. Goneril’s smugness during the infamous love test makes you want to punch her in the face, whilst Regan’s enjoyment at Gloucester’s blinding makes your stomach churn. But Cordelia’s purity fails to shine as a contrasting foil to her sisters. The audience, like the Fool’s sapient advice, “are left darkling” and without comfort in the midst of wild beasts tearing each other asunder.

Despite this, the production is promising. Speaking with the director, it becomes clear how ambitious the project is. Complex fight scenes, soundscapes, and the heavy influence of the neo-noir promise delightful decay of Lear’s crumbling world. With some refinement and polishing, this jewel of a play could shine clearly again.

King Lear will be performed from the 25th – 28th February at the Keble O’Reilly.

Needle In A Haystack, Friday, 10-3am, The Cellar

Oh my, don’t you just fucking love Cellar? I bloody well do. And I just can’t wait for this: a club night that plays everything you want to hear. Featuring an eclectic mix of Motown, indie, new wave, ska and disco house with some guilty pleasures thrown in there to boot, what’s not to like? Apart from yourself, obviously.

Basshunter, Saturday, 10.30-3am, O2 Academy

 If you thought your life was deficient in annoyingly smug-looking Swedish popstars, fear not, Basshunter is coming to Oxford. Expect a set that covers songs from all of his six albums. Or, more likely, ‘Now You’re Gone’ on repeat for an hour and a half.

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St Hilda’s Gender Equality Festival, Tuesday-Monday, St Hilda’s College

The annual gender equality festival returns to St Hilda’s, with a roster of events ranging from a talk by Peter Tatchell, to debates and even a comedy evening. The week of festivities climaxes with a Queerbop on the Saturday evening.

The Duchess Of Malfi, Tuesday-Saturday, 7.30pm, Burton Taylor Studio

A bold reimagining of Webster’s Renaissance masterpiece, set in the cut throat world of tabloid journalism and celebrity scandal. A production that covers questions of gender, politics, and power, and the people trapped within them, it promises to be an innovative cultural higlight of 6th Week.

King Lear, Wednesday-Saturday, 7.30pm, Keble O’Reilly Theatre

This new production of King Lear takes a daringly original approach to Shakespeare’s grittiest tragedy. With a focus on sensory perception and immersion, the production incorporates a multimedia experience including the use of live filming and ambient soundscapes. Set in a post-apocalyptic world, prepare to experience King Lear as you never have before.

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Blood Wedding, Wednesday-Saturday, 7.30pm, St. John’s Auditorium

Apparently this is “a collaborative production of Lorca’s Blood Wedding, featuring contemporary dance, original music, and freshly baked bread”. Now I don’t know who Lorca is, or even what goes down at a ‘Blood Wedding’, but I can tell you here and now that if there is freshly baked bread going free then I will definitely be there. 100 per cent.

Blackwell’s Presents: Susie Campbell, Thursday, 7pm, Blackwell’s Bookshop

With a particular interest in prose poems and collage poems, Susie Campbell’s work has appeared in journals such as Smiths Knoll, Shearsman, Envoi, and Domestic Cherry. She will be reading from her collection, The Bitters, alongside a few of Oxford’s leading poets.

Broad Street Dancers: Dynamica, Thursday-Saturday, 7.30pm, The Old Fire Station

The Broad Street Dancers are an exciting student dance group established in 2010. Their new show, Dynamica, will feature conventional and traditional dance styles celebrated individually, but innovative opportunities to marry, fuse and clash them together will be explored alongside.

It’s strange to think in a world where gay marriage in the UK was only legalised last year, that the world of TV has been at the forefront of giving publicity to queer issues for decades. From having gay characters as leading protagonists, to same sex kisses, and pioneering coming out story lines, gay issues have been captivating viewing audiences for far longer than they have been on the political agenda.

US sitcom All in the Family was the first TV programme to have an openly homosexual character, expro football player Steve, all the way back in 1971, a decade before the AIDS epidemic in America catapulted LGBTQ issues into the mainstream.

It was also in the 70s, just six years later, that Billy Crystal would make his name in the world of showbiz by playing Jodie Dallas in Soap, amongst the first unambiguously homosexual characters on American primetime TV.

More famous than either of those cases was Ellen DeGeneres’ character coming out as a lesbian in the 1997 series of her eponymous sitcom. A time when art mirrored real life, DeGeneres herself had come out in an interview with Oprah Winfrey two months before the episode aired, and in the episode itself DeGeneres’ character came out to her therapist, also played by Winfrey.

EastEnders was the UK’s pioneering television programme for homosexual issues, when the first gay kiss on British television took place in 1989 between characters Colin and Guido. Of particular importance was the normality with which that kiss occurred; instead of taking place in the idyllic, picturesque set of a sitcom entirely divorced from reality, it was grounded in the gritty realism of Albert Square. 90s soap Brookside was another torchbearer, being the first programme to screen a lesbian kiss, significant because it was broadcast before the watershed.

In the more recent past, American comedy Will & Grace, though initially panned for what some claimed were stereotypical leading gay characters in Will and Jack, quickly became an important milestone in taking gay issues into the mainstream.

Not only a critical success, winning 16 Emmys over the course of its eight season run, Vice-President Joe Biden claimed the programme had done more to educate the American public about homosexuality “than almost anything anybody has ever done so far”. High praise indeed.

It is true that these milestones in television’s depiction of homosexuality have been divisive within the gay community as to whether they are celebratory or exploiting homosexuality as a novelty (often for comedic effect). But at the very least, these moments brought homosexuality into the public consciousness, often at times when contemporary attitudes to queer issues were ambivalent at best.

If you’ve been within five metres of someone with a Netflix account, you’ve probably heard of Orange is the New Black. You’ve probably heard it very highly praised, and rightly so. In addition to being, you know, good television, the show tells us the stories of the kinds of characters which are often silenced (if they appear at all) in mainstream culture. The vast majority of the cast are women. A significant proportion are women of colour, or queer, or both, and Laverne Cox’s character is incontrovertible proof that portrayals of trans characters will be a lot more engaging and accurate if, you know, actual trans people play them.

However, even in a show so lauded (justifiably) for its representation of marginalised identities, there are still some getting shortchanged.The show’s main character, Piper Chapman, has had romantic and sexual relationships with men and women. Much of the attendant discussion of Chapman’s sexuality within the show is framed as a decision between heterosexuality and homosexuality, despite there being in existence not one but a number of terms to describe people who are attracted to more than one gender.

The word ‘bi’ is used once in the whole of the show’s two seasons, and then not with any certainty. Pansexuality (or omnisexuality) doesn’t even get a look in. This is made especially bizarre by the fact that Piper Kerman, on whose experiences the show is based, openly identifies as bisexual, a sexual identity not apparently shared by any of the women in the show to have had relationships with the same and different genders.

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Why does bisexuality have such a bad rep that even in a show with what is on the whole remarkably good representation, it remains a dirty word? It probably doesn’t help that as a society we’re committed to erasing the identities of bisexuals who live and walk among us. Lady Gaga is often spoken of as if she were heterosexual. Madonna’s sexual and romantic interactions with women are seen as sensationalising or else pandering to a male audience. Both have publically identified as bisexual. When Tom Daley announced in December of 2013 that he was in a loving relationship with another man saying, “I still fancy girls, but at the moment I’ve never been happier,” the headlines screamed, “Tom Daley comes out as gay!” or, not quite as inaccurately, but still somewhat misleadingly, “Tom Daley in gay relationship”.

Culture has the power to show more advanced attitudes and nuanced depictions than in the media more generally, and to break boundaries. A genre with, in theory, great opportunity to do this, would be science fiction – the future might be a fairer place after all. Sci-fi has form in the field of depicting progressive attitudes – the original series of Star Trek had a remarkably diverse cast for the 60s, as well as featuring the first ever interracial kiss on American television.

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However, the sci-fi writers of today seem less committed to trying to represent human existence at a more advanced point than society as it is at the moment. Steven Moffat of BBC’s Doctor Who, when asked why his shows don’t feature more bisexual characters, responded, “We don’t acknowledge you on television ‘cos you’re having FAR TOO MUCH FUN. You probably don’t even watch ‘cos you’re so BUSY!”

Later, Moffat did declare the character River Song to be bi, but this was never even hinted at in the show, where she’s preoccupied exclusively with the Doctor. As far as representation goes, this is a cop-out. Most people won’t know about this throwaway remark, and, as it’s not on the show, most people won’t care. There seems to be a pervasive attitude that representation of bisexual or pansexual characters doesn’t really matter in the same way as representing monosexual people does.

In response to a plotline in which one of Glee’s characters wondered if he might be bisexual before concluding he was gay all along, the show’s creator Ryan Murphy declared, “The kids need to know he’s one of them.” Bisexual kids apparently just aren’t on the show’s radar. There doesn’t seem to be a sense among creators of the media we consume that seeing bisexuality or pansexuality represented in an overt way is at all important.

When shows have characters who have sex or relationships with more than one gender, they’ll either switch abruptly from being called straight to gay, or vice versa (for example, Willow in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Chapman in Orange is the New Black), or else they’ll say something along the lines of, “I don’t like labels,” or not give a straight – ahem – answer (see Thirteen in House, Hathaway in Lewis, or, yet again, Chapman in Orange is the New Black). Obviously there’s nothing wrong with people in real life not wanting to label their sexuality if they don’t feel comfortable doing so, but it would have been nice as a teenager to have known these labels existed. Labels allow non-monosexuals to be recognised by people who might not otherwise know we exist, but also to be recognised by each other and other members of the queer community.

Why are writers so hesitant to label characters as bisexual and pansexual? We’re here, we’re queer, and we just want to see people like ourselves on TV godammit.

This piece was originally intended as a kind of literary tour of Oxford’s bookshops – an inspiring, eye-opening write up that would have had you all breaking out of your college libraries in droves to rediscover the wonders of the book-buying process. In theory, it would have been a great article; Oxford has a larger-than-average selection of genuinely interesting stores, run for the most part by genuinely interesting people. There would have been more than enough material to fill a feature on the city’s hidden literary gems. Little did I know, however, that when I innocently ventured into the legendary (and admittedly amazing – you don’t get 4.7 out of 5 stars on Google Reviews for nothing) Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Jericho, my naive English student plans for a self-congratulatory article on the loveliness of Oxford’s bookshops were about to be thoroughly deflated – and I can’t thank the store’s wonderfully belligerent owner, Dennis, enough for it.

My chat with Dennis crystallised the reason for the expressions of polite bemusement I’d been met with at the bookshops I’d been visiting all morning: why is a student newspaper wanting to write about the bookshops its student readers are quite clearly not interested in visiting? I don’t mean to suggest that Oxford’s entire student body has turned its back on the printed word; clearly, there are a lot of people here who do really rather like reading (if their degree hasn’t yet beaten out of them any desire to look at a book ever again), and are doing a great deal of it in lots of different places. But, equally, we students are patently not doing that much reading – or buying – in Oxford’s independent bookshops. None of the shop owners I spoke to on my one-woman literary tour cited students as a significant contributor to their footfall, with one making the very fair point that the reason students aren’t in the bookshops is that they are in cafés on their laptops. There are, of course, a number of good reasons behind why we students, so vocal about the necessity of saving these shops, are not visiting them – one of the main ones, obviously, is money. The average Oxford student just doesn’t have the spare cash to spend £30 on Neil MacGregor’s Germany: Memories of a Nation, the top seller over Christmas at Summertown’s incredibly lovely The Book House. Indeed, the store’s owner was the first to acknowledge that he could only do such strong trade because many of his customers were “wealthy enough to be ethical”. The carefully selected variety and range of genuinely interesting stock (including a very strong history section) can only be appreciated because North Oxford is generally populated by people who can afford it.

And this is where I feel we need to get rid of our student Messiah complex about independent bookshops – one to which, until yesterday, I completely subscribed. Actually going into these various very lovely shops made me realise how wrong it was just to write another article exhorting you all to go and do the same; it would be just another piece we could read to reassure ourselves that, despite all the scaremongering, independent shops are alive and well and we can continue to go about our business of never visiting them. As Dennis quite rightly pointed out to me, I’d never visited the Albion Beatnik until I decided to write a piece on it.

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And that seems to sum up the problem; we’re perfectly happy to fetishise the independent bookshop, engaging in the collective condemnation of society when we hear (as announced on Wednesday) that another four UK indies have to shut their doors, yet we fail to acknowledge that we’re part of the group that isn’t visiting them. Just to be clear, I am in no way calling for us to turn our backs on the independent bookshop and write it off as doomed – but if we’re only ‘supporting’ it by lamenting their hypothetical demise, then that’s not really any kind of positive support at all.

So yes, to come to the end of my rather conflicted existential crisis about how we should behave towards the independent bookshop, I do think that we’re incredibly lucky in Oxford to have what we have. The Book House has been open for 36 years, and I could tell when I visited it that there would always be a member of staff in there happy to direct you to the perfect book. There is something special in that interaction that feels like more than just a transaction. Equally, The Albion is unlike anywhere else in Oxford, and if you’re genuinely serious about rediscovering the book-buying ‘experience’ then there’s nowhere better to do it – 392 blog posts from adoring tourists can’t be wrong. But let’s stop pretending that our virtuous praise of the alternative bookshop is always a good thing; treating it as something that needs to be saved means we look at it as something deserving of our charity. To do that is to denigrate the pure and inimitable pleasure we should feel when we’re buying a book.