★★★★☆
Four Stars

Somewhere between that spine-tingling sense of déjà vu and severe clinical paranoia lies the tone for Denis Villeneuve’s Enemy, which draws its plot from José Saramago’s O Homem Duplicado – literally, “The Duplicated Man”.

The bleak, morose feel of Richard Ayoade’s doppelganger dark comedy, The Double, is here, but Enemy is less interested in the comic, and more concerned with some Orwellian sense of a society controlled by fear. Jake Gyllenhaal is Adam, a history professor of tragic isolation (despite a seemingly long-term relationship with Mélanie Laurent). Gyllenhaal is a masterful chameleon, and the reserved, introverted subtlety of Adam is as far from the seedy, electrically creepy Lou Bloom from Nightcrawler as you could imagine. The role is doubly juicy for the actor because – as the original title suggests – Adam meets his doppelganger (a charismatic actor named Anthony Claire) and Gyllenhaal of course plays him too. It’s a delicious role for any actor to play two contrasting figures – two sides of the same coin, to exhaust that cliché – within the same space, as Nicolas Cage demonstrated so aptly in Adaptation and Jeremy Irons did in Dead Ringers.

Adam first spies his apparent clone when watching a film on the recommendation of a colleague. It’s a double-take moment, and he pauses the screen to get a closer look. Immediately, as one might expect, he googles the actor in question and is flabbergasted to find that they appear to be exact carbon copies of each other. But the story doesn’t end there for Adam. This isn’t going to become just some anecdote he tells to people at work (he doesn’t really talk to many people anyway). He becomes bent on tracking down this actor – this mirror – and seeing for himself whether they truly are identical. Adam has no plan, he has no grand vision of what he’s going to do when he finds Anthony, but he knows that this is something he has to do. He later explains to the actor what motivated him when they finally do meet: ever so simply, it was that he “needed to know”.

It’s a harrowingly entrancing scene when Adam and Anthony come face-to-face for the first time. Aside from sharing the same face, they have the same voice, they even have identical scars on their abdomen. It’s as if they were separated at birth, but they weren’t. They are a completely coincidental phenomenon. Anthony, hot-headed and lecherous, is elated by the prospect and wants to use this unique opportunity to arrange a sexual liaison with Adam’s girlfriend, Mary (pretending to be Adam). Adam offers little resistance and proceeds to break into Anthony’s apartment and lie with his girlfriend, Helen (Sarah Gadon). Adam isn’t interested in sex. He just wants to know what it’s like to live in another person’s shoes.

Villeneuve doesn’t get hung up on trying to tell us what Adam needed to know, or why he needed to know it so badly. Adam’s actions require no logical coherent trail of thought because he isn’t dealing with a logical coherent situation. We’re not supposed to just happen upon our doubles in the middle of our everyday lives. We’re not supposed to feel like there’s somebody else living in the exact same body that we are. We have grown up in a society that has repeatedly told us to value and accept our individuality, because we are all different. Clearly, our society is not one Villeneuve is interested in exploring – not literally, anyway.

The central irony is that Adam – a history professor, supposedly an expert on totalitatian governments – cannot see the web within which he entangles himself so deeply. He lectures about how totalitarian states execute their authority so well because they censor any means of individual expression. Isn’t that what’s happening to Adam? By encountering his doppelganger – his exact replica – he is now the furthest thing from “individual” a human being could be.

It wouldn’t be right to talk about this film without mentioning the ubiquitous spiders. Yes, spiders. They continuously crop up throughout the picture. At the beginning of the film, we see a naked woman on the verge of crushing a live tarantula with her stiletto. At another point, a monumentally huge spindly spider crawls across the Toronto skyline. These arachnids come and go with seemingly no purpose, and certainly no explanation. I won’t spoil the perplexing final shot, but yes – as you’ve probably guessed – it involves a spider. So why spiders? Are they a symbol of something? What do they represent? It’s probably got something to do with webs – metaphorically – and how Adam doesn’t realise just how sticky the totalitarian webs of his society are until he is well and truly stuck in them. In any case, the spiders make for an intriguing, if at times distracting, symbol.

When Adam, curious, subtly asks his mother (Isabella Rossellini) if he ever had a twin, she replies very assertively: “You are my only son, I am your only mother”. But this isn’t about mothers and sons. This isn’t about blood relations. This is about our relationships with strangers – people we have never met, people who we’d assume couldn’t be further from us. Villeneuve brandishes a society wherein to meet one’s identical double is not the most fascinating or bizarre thing to happen, but to be happy, to be self-contented and to have no desire to want to exchange places with and live for a moment as that double – that would be a very unusual thing indeed. 

The cast has only two characters: Richard Parker 1, and Richard Parker 2. Poor Player Productions’ Richard Parker, directed by James Watts, and starring Jake Boswall and Ieuan Perkins, is a play about two unfamiliar men with the same name thrown together on the deck of a ship at sea. Their chance encounter is one part in a chain of events linking the two Richards. Being stranded at sea for without food or fresh-water, the two undergo an intensely cathartic and revelatory ordeal with their relationship exploring the links between fate and coincidence.

Jake Boswall as Richard Parker 2, with his wearied cabin-fever and voice of sanity, brilliantly complements the frivolous and enigmatically nonchalant Richard Parker1. We, the audience, can identify with Boswall’s physically and emotionally drained character, prone to panic and melancholy, whereas Perkins’ Parker offers an extremely watchable and comically immature characterization in the face of palpable hardship. Both characters are steeped in writer Owen Thomas’s comic style, an incongruous surrealism in wild and uncomfortable crises. Such a style is exemplified in Parker 1’s melancholy lament about his first experience of death, which he wistfully explains was when he poked a piece of chicken down a plug hole. Parker 2’s ignorance of his own character flaws, and his inability (or is it refusal?) to grasp the gravity of the situation lends his character to some hilariously absurd moments of normality and calm in the storm.

Such conflicts of character give rise to a black comedy which releases itself in the intensity of the situation. Ieuan Jones aptly described his relationship with Jake Boswall’s character almost being “domestic” at times. There’s much truth in that, despite the two being relative strangers to each other; their physical and psychological isolation forces them to clash and meld their personalities, much to amusement of those watching. There’s an evident rapport between Boswall and Jones which makes this two-man play first and foremost about their fascinating relationship.

Central to the play is the clash between chance and fate, with Richard Parker 2 obsessed by fate and historical coincidence. The mystery of what has brought these two stranded namesakes together promises to hold a gripping attraction throughout the progression of the narrative.

The script itself is sharp and memorable, and I have no doubt it contains many a quotable line, and it crucially enhances the atmosphere of discord, tension, fear and thought. Under the direction of James Watts, the lines have been lifted to convince the audience very early on to invest in these characters and their relationship. This is best seen in an electrified moment in which Parker 1 deceives Parker 2 by dramatically claiming to see a shark in the water, in order to eat the last sardine of Parker 2’s tin – which he absurdly refuses to share with the deliriously starving Parker 1.

The play is going to be performed in the intimate – to recycle its overused epithet – Burton Taylor Studio, whose minimal design and space should definitely contribute to the claustrophobic restlessness and to the personality clash over the mundane and existential which should make this show a raucously laugh inducing treat of black comedy.

Richard Parker will be performed from Tuesday to Saturday of Second Week at the Burton Taylor Studio, at 19:30.

Into the Woods has just hit UK cinemas, offering a silver screen take on the much loved Stephen Sondheim musical. Starring big names like Meryl Streep, Emily Blunt and Johnny Depp, there’s a big chance that at least one actor you might like is starring in it. At first glance, this might seem like a box office gimmick but in fact it’s very much the performances of these much acclaimed names that makes the film such a delight. The film follows much of the original musical’s plot: we take the well known stories of Cinderella, Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk and Rapunzel, and cross them over in a story focusing on a childless couple that is offered a bargain by a witch. We see the consequences of each of the characters’ desires, whatthey must go through to get their happy ending and, of course, what happens after that…

Of all the things that first hits you about the film (aside from the constant music, of course), is its colour palette and tone. Draped in dark blues, murky golds and blacks, this is no fluffy Disney story. Into the Woods is called that for a reason – the woods are dark, dangerous and conjure up all manner of things. Aside from the bright glowing red of Red Riding Hood’s cloak, Rob Marshall has evidently gone for a specific tone for a reason, and it works beautifully. 

Though I’m a fan of the original musical via the soundtrack, I’ve never seen it live in the theatre and therefore cannot offer a direct comparison. However, Rob Marshall’s translation of the many storylines onto the screen is successful. Some stories that are given more time in the musical are perhaps a little lacking: the ending and the development of Rapunzel’s story, for example. I don’t necessarily think it cheapens the points that are being made in the film, but in comparison to the musical, it makes it a little weaker. The scene changes are smart and snappy, whilst the choreography is cleverly done so that there’s no lagging time in which the audience can get bored. It’s easy to be held in rapture all the way through.

This brings me to my point about the performances offered in the film. With such a big ensemble cast it’s easy to lose some people along the way – I sorely missed what Christine Baranski and Simon Russell Beale could have brought to the table had they been given more time. But that’s just part and parcel of it. However, characters like Chris Pine’s Prince or Billy Magnussen’s Prince’s Brother fill up their limited screentime with incandescent performances that have more depth than other actors might give. It’s fair to say that the four main leads are formidable: Meryl Streep is untouchable but so are Emily Blunt, James Corden and Anna Kendrick, all veterans of musical and costume drama who we knew would be able to accomplish their roles when we heard they were cast.

Overall, there is much to like about Into the Woods. At first, I was worried about the running time, and how this might alienate those with no predisposition to musicals. Coming from a fairly musical-averse household, two hours was not met with enthusiasm. I felt that the sharp characterisations of Cinderella and the Prince amongst others were great enough to make the material compelling, enabling the time to fly by in a blur of excitement. For certain, the ending (and by that I generally mean, from the second half) is not as dark or brooding as the original musical. That being said, Into the Woods still manages to place itself in the better half of musical film adaptations thanks to a strong cast and just as strong production: see it if you have the chance. 

Amidst the swarm of collections and first week tutorials, you may find yourself wondering what all the academic toil and strife is for. Testament of Youth, based on the memoirs of Vera Brittain, gives us the perspective we need at this time of tears, presenting the tale of a fearless young woman whose brother has to insistently persuade her father to let her apply to Oxford. The First World War interrupts her dreams and she leaves Somerville
College to give, love and lose all in the War. Yet, somewhat surprisingly, this is a film of remarkable hope. Despite the fact that other, perhaps more beautiful, Oxford colleges posed as Somerville, it is nevertheless a thrill in the cinema to spot the streets that are well-worn by our feet. In the context of such bravery, however, it is humbling to think that we have the privilege to follow in the footsteps of so many students who have aspired to such great things.

The film offers insight into the challenges faced by women trying to break down the barriers of inequality. “Her degree won’t even be officially recognised by the University, you know,” Vera’s brother says to her father as he pleads with him to let her sit the entrance exam. Without formal tuition or schooling, Vera has a strong disadvantage. But nevertheless, with the face of bravery which she wore for the rest of her life, she remains determined. When staring at a Latin paper, which she was not expecting, she instead writes her entrance exam in German.

Swedish actress Alicia Vikander (Anna Karenina) stands out with her effortlessly graceful acting and enigmatic eyes, which captivate the audience’s imagination. In a Q&A at the British Film Industry on Monday, she commented, “It’s rare that a strong female lead comes up, so when you see one, you just grab at it,” and that this was a “female perspective I’ve never come across. As a woman, I connected greatly.”

Kit Harington (Pompeii, Game of Thrones), Colin Morgan (Merlin), and Taron Egerton (Kingsman), play her lover, her friend, and her brother respectively, all giving strong performances. Golden Globe nominated Dominic West (The Affair, Pride, The Hour) also brought charisma to the screen as Vera Brittain’s well-to-do father and mill owner. 

The director, James Kent, and producer, Rosie Alison, were present at the BFI event, along with Baroness Shirley Williams, the daughter of Vera Brittain. Baroness Williams astutely remarked, “Inspiring figures are those that are
not conventional.” The director hoped that the “glorious young men [of the film would] come alive again and [will] never be forgotten by the new generation.”

More than anything else, however, what truly brought Testament of Youth together was Rob Hardy’s incredibly moving cinematography, especially in his evocative shooting of landscapes and the perfectly capitulated chaos of the battlefront. Testament of Youth brings Vera Brittain’s searing memoirs of the First World War to the cinema in an ethereally crisp and cathartic manner. It is rare to find a tale so truthfully poignant and moving, and cinematography so flawlessly breath-taking.

Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669), a master of the Dutch Golden Age, was known for his extraordinary treatment of light and the psychological depth of his portraiture.

The National Gallery is staging a landmark retrospective in his honour and it is a barrage of masterpiece after masterpiece. But breathtaking though this is, it is not what makes The National Gallery’s latest exhibition so captivating. The exhibition is much more than a spotlight on the greatness of Rembrandt’s work, it is a trip into the shadows that stalk his masterpieces. What is offered to the viewer is the tragedy behind the triumph: the broke, widowed, rejected and dejected Rembrandt. The dim first room (“self scrutiny”) feels like a church. The crowds, heaving though they are, soon become still and silent on entering. Sad and distant eyes peer worriedly back from the paintings. Before us: Rembrandt in 1659 (figure 1).

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Three years previously he had declared bankruptcy, a year before his beloved art collection fetched almost nothing at auction, and that same year the Amsterdam Painters’ guild enforced a rule that banned him from trading. In the year to come, he was to be forced to sell his home and move. By 1669, Rembrandt’s eyes look resigned (figure 2). Since his last self-portrait he had experienced the humiliation of being out-commissioned by his former students and the grief of living through the death of his son Titus. Seeing the tenderness of the late works against the background of Rembrandt’s personal tragedy made for an utterly compelling view of the artist.

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The second room (“experimental technique”), however, offers an alternative, with Rembrandt rising before the viewer looking forebodingly in control (figure 3). In this self portrait, two circles enigmatically shadow him: a calculated show of defiance; where the painter is down but not out. Among other professional fiascoes, Rembrandt had gone out of fashion. His loose brushwork clashed with the tight realism that was then in vogue. Accused of aging self-indulgence, Rembrandt chose to paint himself with these two mysterious circles behind him, referring to a legend that the Italian artist Giotto had such technical command that he could draw a perfect circle free hand. Rembrandt stands before us painted in defiantly loose brushwork, with perfect hand drawn circles behind him. His face almost dares his critics to say he’s lost it.

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Just before Hilary term comes crashing down on us like a ton of disillusioned first years, we get our first glimpse at the comedic salvation that will be on offer for our weary and work-worn selves in later weeks. The first Audrey of term offered sketches, stand-up and songs, and if you missed your chance this time, fortuitously we are able to give you all the inside information, as well as hints of what to expect at later Audreys and in one-off shows from the Revue.

There are plenty of familiar faces, with Georgia Bruce, Will Hislop, David Meredith, Jack Chisnall and Barney Fishwick putting in predictably strong performances, but their contributions are balanced by other equally capable comics at varying stages of their careers, from seasoned performers to relative newcomers.

The sketch comedy is, on the whole, stronger than the stand up, and provokes bigger laughs from the audience. This might be in part due to the change of venue to the Old Fire Station, where the more theatrical atmosphere gels more easily with the sketch comedy that is the Revue’s forte . This isn’t to say there aren’t some great solo performances – I can’t truthfully find fault with anyone who, as George McGoldrick does, tells me a whimsical, Gruffalo-inspired story about the deep web – but what’s notable about the successes is the ways in which they push the limits of what you might expect from traditional stand up, one example being Alex Fox’s guffaw-inducing piece about a dysfunctional upper class family in which he plays, well, everyone. As well as offering us something new, these examples also seem to fit with more ease into the Audrey format, possibly due to their more sketch-like, less traditional, nature.

The show is almost exclusively new material, which, whilst conceivably disappointing for anyone who has a favourite sketch, must overall be seen as a massive point in the Revue’s favour, as it demonstrates that comedic invention is in far from short supply. There’s also something for every sense of humour, ranging from the surreal, to the observational, to the satirical – there’s a fantastic #notallmen sketch which earned some enthusiastic woops from women in the audience.

As far as I could tell from my subjective experience of events, the audience seemed to be having a wonderful time, everyone finding this early offering from Oxford’s comedians as side-splittingly enjoyable as their previous endeavours.

Based on the initial signs, the comedy forecast for Hilary term looks exceptionally good – great news in this most grey and miserable of academic seasons – and if you haven’t had the chance to experience the Revue in action before, I’d definitely recommend it, although make sure to get in early – there weren’t any tickets available on the door at the point I arrived, and people were being turned away.

Historically, the Footlights might have had more of the fame, but with the talent of the current Revue members, I honestly would not be surprised if that were to change some time in the near future.