★★★★☆
Four Stars

Marion Cotillard stuns as a woman fighting for her job, her mortgage and her sanity in the Dardenne brothers’ latest, Two Days, One Night,  a socially conscious drama of one woman’s struggle to return to work after a bout of depression. The film is terrifically acted and astutely observed, a morality tale pitting empathy and human connections against the pursuit of profit in a tidily constructed capitalist critique.

Cotillard has always excelled at playing characters caught between extremes – the professional highs and personal lows of Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose, the loss and recovery of her amputee whale trainer, Stéphanie in Rust and Bone – and here she excels herself, her Sandra capable of summoning a fierce determination which can collapse into a hopeless abyss without hitting a false note. It is a testament to Cotillard that Sandra’s polarised emotions never feel like two separate characters, with the performance anchored in a captivating brittleness. She holds the screen with every flicker of the eye, every twitch of a finger. We watch for any indicator that she’s about to break. It’s an incredibly restrained performance which somehow manages to tell us everything.

The film’s repetitive structure – Sandra must see her 16 co-workers individually throughout the weekend to convince them to sacrifice their bonus for her job – is systematic, designed to subject our protagonist to the same cruelties and social humiliations over and over again. Whilst this could have easily made for an unengaging narrative, the Dardennes turn the repetition into a virtue, with the film’s tapestry of repeated phrases and familiar arguments reappearing in new ways, showing us the gathering strength of our protagonist through their different applications.

Furthermore, the structure rarely feels too forced, as the richly drawn characters and human stories at the forefront of each interaction are so believable and engaging. Unfortunately, the truthfulness of the human stories fails to save the plot’s final twist from proving a contrivance too far. Whilst the twist engineers a satisfying resolution to Sandra’s emotional journey, its tidiness undermines a certain amount of the previously created realism by laying bare the machinations of the script.

The Dardennes wisely keep these blue collar character’s arguments pragmatic; the immorality of their decision is almost never debated, with the characters instead attempting only to weigh their needs against Sandra’s.The film’s naturalistic style, lacking a musical score or elaborate camerawork, provides little insight into Sandra’s internal life, instead offering us only the emotions Sandra allows to play across her face.

The depth of her emotional concealment often wrong foots the viewer, whose connection with her can be easily upended by an erratic turn in her behaviour, and yet the Dardenne brothers offer just enough to make Sandra engaging – she loves her children, needs to keep her house and wants to stay off the dole. This combination of distance and intimacy allow us to empathise with Sandra without viewing her bonus favouring colleagues as adversaries.

The almost faultless supporting cast use their scenes to flesh out the multitude of responsibilities pulling at their characters, even if a few actors fail to take us on a believable emotional journey.Through these people we experience the constant distractions of modern life. Everyone’s existence  is divided, their loyalties, their multiple jobs, their families. It’s there in the constantly ringing phone, in the blaring traffic, in the bass line of a distant radio, in a car’s wailing seat belt alarm. We feel these people’s exhaustion, even as we will them to endure more hardship.

The film is ultimately an examination of the human costs of a financial system which doesn’t account for them. It’s a hopeful portrait of a bleak situation. It’s wonderfully acted and delicately told. It’s a simple film about big things. It’s a film of highs and lows, and it’s absolutely worth the journey.

News that a touring production of Othello will usher in this year’s winter programme at the Oxford Playhouse is hardly a bolt out of the blue. Shakespeare’s verses gracing our stage once more is about as predictable as death at the end of a tragedy, while any buzz surrounding this performance’s ‘unique’ selling point – lo and behold, it’s a modern adaptation! – is likely to be the portentous murmur of disgruntled audiences, threatening,Oth “So bloody help me if it’s another all-female cast!”

Of course, it wouldn’t be the Playhouse, or perhaps any other self-respecting UK theatre for that matter, if a slice of Shakespeare weren’t on the menu from time to time. Despite the debates and dissertations about the ethics of adaptation, it appears as if our favourite tragedies and comedies without all that Elizabethan malarkey, are as much part of our staple diet as they are in their original performance conditions. But, in the case of Frantic Assembly’s six-year-old production, is our bellyaching about a surfeit of Shakespeare truly warranted? 

Both the qualms about too much Shakespeare and those protesting his disappearance into the mists of 21^st century re-workings are shortly to be silenced. Bringing to the fore both adapted and original scripts, Frantic Assembly is a leading physical theatre company whose founding directors and choreographers, Graham and Hoggett, are devoted to a practice that incorporates movement, design, visuals and storytelling, pushing each element to its limit. I first saw Frantic’s Othello when it toured in 2008, and the stubborn purist in me was seduced by this dynamic style of theatre from the word, ‘Tush!’

It would be no great feat to gush about the visual compulsion of the performance, the intensity and brutality of the conflict that unfolds amidst the warmth and vibrancy of a northern English pub, as top-dog Moor (a not so subtle nod to the Moor of Venice) takes on his rivals, the Turks. High-paced bar-room brawls are punctured by moments of balletic tenderness, underscored by streams of electronic dance music and the spinning lights of a slot machine. The production is a hot-blooded feast for the eyes, ears and heart, but what else would you expect when a dance-based company takes on a drama that pulsates as much in verse as in raw emotion?

Those who recoil from the likes of Hamlet, Macbeth, and Julius Caesar will be comforted to learn that Frantic’s Othello has an Iago-like mastery of deception in its manipulation of the original text.  Trickery and deception is there in every touch, every shape, every push and pull: seduced by the sheer immaculacy of the piece, enamoured by death and tragedy, against our will brutality becomes beauty. This is an attraction that disturbs our moral compass, and one that Shakespeare knew well to play with. His original wit and insight is still there, and somehow in action speaks louder than words.

Maybe Frantic’s modern adaptation isn’t all it’s predicted to be. Of course, surprises in Shakespeare are somewhat hard to come by, and debates surrounding his theatrical dominance are customarily heated. However, this October’s Othello has the potential to remind us of that blind passion from which ignorance is born. 

Frantic Assembly’s Othello will be performed at the Oxford Playhouse from the 21st to the 25th October.

When a friend first suggested trying out an international festival, and one in Hungary at that, I was more than a little skeptical. However, the impressive line-up, its location on an island in the Danube and critics’ claims that Sziget was an “European Glastonbury” soon had us parting with our money and scouring for cheap flights.

Sziget did not disappoint. A week long fusion of arts and culture, it featured headliners such as Blink-182 and Queens of The Stone Age (the sheer energy of the former rivalling the slick riffs of the latter), as well as The Prodigy, Imagine Dragons, and Outkast. These bands were interspersed with DJ sets from Skrillex and Calvin Harris, whilst The Kooks, Bastille and Jake Bugg performed more relaxed sets earlier on in the day

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The dominance of British and American bands on the main stage was a little bittersweet at first. Although the line up was fantastic, it did seem somewhat pointless to travel to Hungary to see bands that also graced the line-ups of British festivals.

However, the main stage did hold a few unexpected musical gems. Ska-P drew us in with an intriguing, but funky, blend of ska and punk. Their set further verged on the bizarre when serious political videos were set to crazy brass solos and a series of satirical characters began to populate the stage.

We could easily have spent the entire week at the main stage. Yet it was when we ventured further afield that we found the most exciting and alternative bands. Sziget’s World Village Stage lived up to its name, playing host to a range of bands hailing from Mali, Argentina and Jamaica amongst many others. Here, the standard nod and bob of the main stage turned into an impromptu conga, whilst mosh pits became circles of something which may have been Romanian folk dancing (either way it involved a lot of kicking).

The fantastic music was offset by a variety of art stalls and cultural events that took place throughout the week. The island was littered with art installations, meaning that a walk back to the tent often involved an encounter with some sculpture or another; the camping areas themselves had been decorated with fairy lights, paper jellyfish, flags and balloons.

Sziget represents an explosion of musical and artistic freedom following years of paranoia and repression under communist rule. It has it’s own dedicated LGBTQ area hosting talks, films, and music dedicated to queer culture, as well as an Afro-Latin area, where we learned an African dance before heading over to the Hungarian tent to try our hands at traditional crafts.

Sziget certainly lived up to the critical hype that surrounded it. I can’t wait to go back.

St Hugh’s – Journey to the Centre of the Earth

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Two places that have never had human eyes laid on them: the Earth’s core and St Hugh’s. So seemingly close yet in reality so unbelievably far away, it’s almost certainly easier to bore through thirty miles of igneous rock than it is to travel that far down Banbury Road. But that won’t stop intrepid explorers from trying (and then realising it’s just not worth the hassle).

St. Hilda’s – Shutter Island

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A strange, enclosed island where incredibly dangerous mad people are kept by equally sinister clipboard-wielding doctor types. But who are the patients and who are the doctors? No one enters, no one leaves, and no one is sure of its exact location. Reports of supernatural activity, cannibalism and loose satanic connections remain unconfirmed. 

University – Film

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You may never have heard of Film, Samuel Beckett’s only screenplay, but even if that is the case you know instantly what you’re dealing with as a result of the most self-explanatory name in the history of self-explanatory names. Univ’s founder, William of Durham, was evidently a similar fan of self-referential post-modern piss-taking.

Exeter – The Hunger Games

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A starved dystopia where legions of enslaved adolescents are forced to fight for the right to eat, Exeter is starting to resemble Suzanne Collins’ Panem a worrying amount after last year’s Hall price debacle. Let’s hope the revolution catches fire sooner rather than later.

St Catherine’s – The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

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Dark and Danish, Catz could have been The Killing. Or The Bridge. Or literally any of the other Scandicrime media that your parents have enjoyed watching over the last eight years or so. With that in mind, what could be more appropriate than the most perverse of the lot, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo? Everyone’s heard the rumoured horrors lurking in the dark basements of Arne Jacobsen’s industrial glass-and-concrete leviathan.

Balliol – The Thick of It

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Filled with wannabe Margaret Thatchers and Alistair Campbells, the corridors bristle with barely concealed political subterfuge and conspiracies coated in an inescapable sense of ineptitude and an inclination to enormous cock-ups. ‘Catastrofuck’, ‘omnishambles’ and ‘as useful as a marzipan dildo’ are regularly heard echoing around the JCR. 

Christchurch – Titanic

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The flagship of the fleet; a decadently gleaming monument to human ingenuity/intellectual achievement. A tourist attraction like no other, it draws visitors from far and wide. From the outside, an awe-inspiring monolith. On the inside, spacious, luxuriously furnished and with an elite clientele. But the decadent façade eventually ruptures. And all it reveals is a wreck at the bottom of the Atlantic festooned with Leonardo Di Caprio’s frozen corpse. 

All Soul’s – Psycho

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Just like the Bates Motel, All Soul’s is somewhere you’d never want to find yourself: a perpetually deserted labyrinth of abandoned rooms and eerily quiet quads, run by a secretive and frankly unnerving set of owners/tutors. And then before you know it, you find yourself being stabbed in the shower by a psycho dressed up in their long-dead mother’s clothes. Probably best just to stay away.