Sunday, May 25, 2025
Blog Page 154

Oxford joins partnership to explore a new method for creating fusion power

Jakub Trybull
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Oxford joins partnership to explore a new method for creating fusion power

The University of Oxford has joined Imperial College London and the University of York in a £12 million industry partnership to explore a new method for creating fusion power.


The project, funded by First Light Fusion, a company behind the new approach, and UK Research and Innovation’s Prosperity Partnership scheme, will see researchers from the three universities work together to develop a new type of fusion reactor.


Fusion power is a promising source of clean, safe, and abundant energy. However, it has been difficult to achieve fusion reactions that produce more energy than they consume.


First Light Fusion’s approach to fusion is based on using high-power lasers to compress small pellets of hydrogen to the point where they fuse. The company believes that this approach could be more efficient and cost-effective than traditional fusion methods.


The Oxford team will contribute expertise in areas such as materials science, computational modeling, and experimental physics. The team will also work to develop new methods for measuring the performance of fusion reactions.


“This partnership brings together the expertise needed to address this grand challenge,” said Dr. Nick Hawker, Engineering Science alumni and co-founder and CEO of First Light Fusion. “We are excited to work with the world-class researchers at Oxford and York to develop a new type of fusion reactor that could one day provide clean, safe, and abundant energy for the world.”


The project is expected to last for three years. If successful, it could lead to the development of a new generation of fusion reactors that could be deployed to generate electricity on a commercial scale.


The project is one of a number of initiatives that are underway in the UK to develop fusion power. In 2022, the UK government announced a £222 million investment in fusion research and development. This investment is part of the government’s commitment to making the UK a global leader in fusion power.


The development of fusion power has the potential to revolutionize the global energy landscape. Fusion could help to reduce our reliance on fossil fuels, especially in light of the Ukraine war which saw a blockade on Russian gas raising household energy prices in Europe. If successful, this could be a major step towards making fusion power a reality.

Famous Lewis Carroll boat ride re-created

Martha Smith
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Famous Lewis Carroll boat ride re-created

The famous boat ride on which Lewis Carroll is said to have first shared the story of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was re-created this past week. Multiple cruises took place with participants including the Lord Mayor of Oxford, Lubna Arshad; broadcaster, Gyles Brandreth; members of the official Lewis Carroll society; and two of Lewis Carroll’s great great great nieces.  

The day started at 12 noon as the passengers met at Folly Bridge, followed by two hours of sight-seeing along the Thames. To finish the day of festivities the Lewis Carroll Society installed the first Lewis Carroll plaque in Oxford. The plaque reads “on the 4th July 1862 Charles Lutwidge Dodgson [Lewis Carroll] first told the story of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland on a boat trip that began near here [near Folly Bridge]”. 

Carroll’s inspiration for the story is said to have come from his time working as a mathematics professor at Christ Church college. This is where he met the daughter of fellow professor, Alic Liddell. Liddell would go on to inspire Carroll’s own Alice. Carroll along with Reverend Robinson Duckworth and the three young Liddell sisters went out on what was described by Carol in a poem in the preface of the novel  as the “golden afternoon” on which he first told Alice’s tale. 

The boat ride was intended to honour this “golden afternoon”. Oxford River Cruises offer the ‘Golden Afternoon’ Tea River Cruise package upon request. The afternoon tea remains on theme with treats decorated with ‘eat me’ labels like the ones Alice encounters in Wonderland. The cruise is said to trace the very journey which Carroll, Duckworth and the Liddell girls took.  

The impetus and organisation of the commemorative trip came primarily from the Lewis Carroll Society. A society of volunteers founded in 1969 which, according to their website, is committed to “encouraging research into the life and works of Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)”.   

Vanessa Tait, great-granddaughter of Alice Liddell, took to Twitter, writing, “amazing that Lewis Carroll has not been commemorated with a plaque before in Oxford. Here I am with [Gyles Brandreth], the Lord Mayor and relatives of LC himself” 

Brandreth also expressed his excitement on Twitter: “I had lunch with the great-granddaughter of the original Alice in Wonderland and the great-great-niece of Lewis Carroll… I know how lucky I am!”

The F1 cartel: do the Big Three have too much power in Formula 1?

Jacob Reid
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The F1 cartel: do the Big Three have too much power in Formula 1?

CW: strong language

Last year, Mercedes Formula 1 team boss Toto Wolff wanted a rule change to stop drivers’ backs hurting from high-speed bouncing. But Christian Horner, his Red Bull counterpart, told him, “If you’ve got a problem, change your fucking car then.” Without his consent, the rules did not change. 

F1 is a cartel, which is bad for smaller teams and fans, as it makes the racing less competitive and more predictable. Not only have the Big Three teams – Red Bull, Mercedes and Ferrari – won 198 of the 201 races in the last 10 seasons, but they control what happens off the track as well. They have the power to veto the both decadal Concorde Agreement, which sets the terms of competition between teams and F1 management, and the entry of new teams (who must then pay a $200 million entry fee). Some rule changes only need five of 10 to consent, but smaller teams often “vote against their own interests to satisfy the agenda of their A team,” according to Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren, a mid-ranking team. Red Bull, for example, owns the AlphaTauri team (previously named Toro Rosso, Italian for “Red Bull”); Mercedes provides engines to three competitors. “To protect their own competitive advantage, [the Big Three] are effectively holding the sport hostage from what’s best for the fans and therefore the sport at large,” Mr Brown argues. 

The Big Three’s power has been especially evident lately. Ferrari opposed introducing more sprint races, a new format that adds excitement to race weekends. Red Bull resisted harsher, sporting penalties for exceeding the budget cap, a limit on how much teams can spend each season (which they then exceeded). Now, Mercedes is blocking Andretti Motorsport’s bid to enter F1. They would improve the competition (Andretti is successful in the American IndyCar series), give young drivers more opportunities (with only 20 spaces, talented youngsters often miss out) and increase the sport’s American appeal (where it has long struggled). Yet Mr Wolff claims they might not “bring in more money than it’s actually costing”.

Sauber and Force India, two smaller teams, formally complained to the EU in 2015, describing the sport’s division of revenues and rule-creation as “unfair and unlawful”. But they withdrew the complaint after it made little progress. Contrastingly, Britain’s government promised to “put everything on the table” – including competition law – to stop the footballing European Super League proposed last summer. Regulators seem disinterested in people who they think simply drive around in circles.

Nevertheless, F1 has tried to reform itself. Ferrari no longer gets $100 million for simply showing up. And persuading the Big Three to accept a cost cap – cutting their budgets by two-thirds – was a coup by Liberty Media, the sport’s new owners. But they should go further. Secret ballots would free smaller teams to vote against their technical partners; such collaboration could be outlawed entirely, perhaps in favour of standardised components like engines.

However, people rarely replace the system that brought them to power. If smaller teams want to win, changing the sport’s governance will be slow going. As Mr Horner taunted, they will just have to improve their cars.

Image Credits: RickDikeman //CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

“Heartwarming, enjoyable, and refreshingly different”: A Review of Sisyphus House

Katie Peachey
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“Heartwarming, enjoyable, and refreshingly different”: A Review of Sisyphus House

‘Sisyphus House’ is an original rom-com by students Abbie Nott and Megan Bruton. The show intersperses scenes following two different relationships (which take place in the same house); one set in the Tudor times between two noblemen, and the other in 2023 between a university student and a young council employee. In both eras, the would-be romantic interest attempts to make a claim on the house (for ownership in the Tudor era, and to seize it for the council in the modern day), which is emphatically opposed by the respective protagonists. Predictably trope-y? Yes. But this is fair enough given the writers made it clear the story should emulate YA fiction: and it certainly did so. 

The charm of the production was in the idea that the titular house had been witness to all sorts of burgeoning relationships throughout its tenure, and this was sweetly conveyed through Nott and Bruton’s writing. Particularly impressive was the dialogue between Arthur (Joshua Gray) and Francis (Alex Bridges), which felt very period-appropriate. Rowena Sears’ costumes for the two tudor leads were delightful, yet the all-black (and very modern) costumes of the ensemble were slightly jarring at times. Eliana Kwok’s set design was minimal but effective, with the entire story set around a table in a particular room of the house. At times I was left wondering if the tube of pringles were intentionally left on stage during a scene between two tudor nobles, but I suppose this added to the ‘time-bending’ nature of the production. 

Special mention must go to Carys Howell, whose performance as Kit injected a livening burst of energy into the show. Howell’s performance was believable and comedically well-timed, providing harmony to Kate Harkness’ Robin. Another particularly enjoyable performance came from Phoebe Winter, whose occasional asides as Francis’ absentee (and adulteress) wife were funny and well-choreographed. This was another instance of good staging from directors Jake Dann and Matilda Kennedy. 

The overall aesthetic of the show was pleasing to the eye, no doubt thanks to the lighting design from Rei Ota, which helped mark a shift between the Tudor era and the modern day (though it would probably be hard to miss given the costumes worn by Gray and Bridges).  Equally enjoyable was the sound design from Teia Currimbhoy- while the scene depicting a party in Sisyphus House was mildly awkward, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was underscored by a song by The Strokes. 

The ‘rom’ element of the rom-com was, at times, left to be desired. The script relied on inference rather than physical or verbal confirmation that either of the couples were actually together, and while an audience should not have to be spoon fed plot-lines, I think more could have been made of the relationships between the respective couples. Robin and Ben, for instance, in 2023, spoke about being ‘friends’ at the very end of the play, which was puzzling. Equally, the chemistry between Gray and Bridges as potential secret lovers was mostly lacking. 

Despite this, though, the show was heartwarming and enjoyable, and the cast and crew should feel proud. It was a refreshingly different production, in terms of both writing and staging, and a very pleasant experience. 

“A successful exploration of the play’s tension and comedy”: A review of Macbeth.

Kian Moghaddas
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“A successful exploration of the play’s tension and comedy”: A review of Macbeth.

The Pilch is a dark and gloomy place. One day I went in there at 9am, and when I came out at midday it was like seeing daylight for the first time. It’s an appropriate place for a heavy tragedy about murder and betrayal. The world of Macbeth is effectively constructed by letting the bare darkness of the Pilch do the heavy lifting, augmented by the powerful lighting and sound, both of which remained interesting and effective throughout.

This was a production of Macbeth that brought out the tension and the humour. As Macbeth (Leah Aspden) returned from the murder, the audience listened in stunned silence at the horror of his immediate regret. When Lady Macbeth (Juliette Imbert) urged him to return the daggers to the scene, I felt a sudden and ill-timed urge to sneeze, but I couldn’t ruin this moment. “I’ll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done,” I heard in one ear from Macbeth. And from myself in the other: “Don’t sneeze, Kian. For God’s sake, don’t sneeze.”

But it was also funny. The comedy of Macbeth was, to put it one way, taken seriously. The porter (Oliver Tanner) gave an admirable performance, and the audience loved it. “I pray you, remember the porter”, I was warned, and don’t worry: I have. I also remember Macbeth raising laughs throughout the play in unexpected but appropriate places. Then there was the less appropriate laughter, perhaps, in response to Malcolm (Ethan Bareham) telling Macduff (Hetta Johnson) that ‘there’s no bottom, none, in my voluptuousness’, which had many of us chuckling away, me included, I confess, even by the word ‘bottom’.

In general I think the flaw of the production is that there was humour at some points where there shouldn’t have been. No one should be laughing when Malcolm discovers that his father has been murdered. If that is happening, the tone of the scene needs to change. I don’t mind the ‘very bare stage’ (which is in fact a completely bare stage), I don’t mind the odd email notification going off (you can never escape Oxford, eh?), but laughter at points of pathos ruins them, and that I do mind.

Andrew Raynes’ production of Macbeth is a successful exploration of the play’s tension and comedy, and the cast and crew should be congratulated on bringing that out. The production succeeds in creating the world of Macbeth, and is blessed with some very talented actors which help bring it to life (and I apologise to those whom this review does not mention). It is punctuated by the odd blip, where the comedy seems to go too far, but it is overall a play well made, and a job well done.

Kesha ‘Gag Order’: A review

Marlon Austin
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Kesha ‘Gag Order’: A review

“All the doctors and lawyers cut the tongue outta my mouth,” Kesha says. Her once-playful talk-singing now sounds  raw and vulnerable over the trembling piano chords of Fine Line. The song is calmly venomous in its disdain for those who have wronged her, and is loaded with references to her almost decade-long ongoing legal battle against former producer and label head Lukasz Gottwald on her aptly-named album Gag Order. Although it is the final release under the record label of her alleged abuser, the album is all Kesha, a meticulously crafted and finely tuned testament to her prowess as a songwriter.

With her claims of sexual assault and emotional abuse dismissed back in 2016, and a counter-suit for defamation approaching trial in July 2023, Gag Order eschews the optimism and hope of Rainbow and High Road for the cynicism of someone forced to fight against her will. “There’s so many things I said that I wish I left unsaid,” the embattled star sings on the final song Happy, “I’ve gotten used to the fall.” 

Other songs are even more deeply personal, describing her difficult journey in grappling with trauma. “You don’t wanna be changed like it changed me” is ominously repeated amidst the grip of claustrophobic synthesisers in Eat the Acid.  This is purportedly a warning given to her about the dangers of LSD, but it takes  on a new meaning in the context of Kesha’s story. The music video shows her face trapped amongst a cacophony of probing hands. This parallels with the uncomfortable album art that shows her imprisoned within a plastic bag, an embodiment of the suffocating loss of control echoed throughout the desolate landscape of the songs within. 

“The bitch I was, she dead, her grave desecrated,” she declares over a cash-register beat on album highlight Only Love Can Save Us Now, before transitioning into the gospel-infused chorus. The death is musical as well as lyrical:  frenetic synthesisers and drum machines are swapped for spoken interludes from spiritual leaders. Produced by the inimitable Rick Rubin of Johnny Cash, Beastie Boys and The Strokes fame, the album is a sonic departure for anyone with even a passing knowledge of her discography. Though the dollar sign in her name has been gone since 2014 and the irresistible auto-tuned hooks have been sparse since Warrior, Gag Order is still a remarkable turn into the world of alternative pop. 

Synthesisers crouch in the shadows instead of forcing songs forward and acoustic instruments fill the space between them; the piano line in Too Far Gone is reminiscent of Halsey’s Nine Inch Nails-produced If I Can’t Have Love I Want Power. The real star of the album, however,  is Kesha’s voice, the oft-doubted star showing once and for all that she truly needs no auto-tune to shine (though how anyone could doubt her after the high note in Praying, I have no idea.)

Kesha is something of an anomaly in that despite writing some of the greatest pop songs of the 2010s, she has never been looked upon as a great songwriter. Her lyrical sarcasm was mistaken for sincerity and Praying was the first time many truly listened to what she was saying. Her previous songs, despite their lighter subject matter, were in no way worse for using synthesisers over Steinways. Regardless of your feelings on her “vapid” party anthems or their authenticity, the quality of Gag Order is enough to prove any doubters wrong.

We all know the iconic opening line of TiK ToK, with Kesha’s knack for brilliantly memorable one-liners and songwriting one of the only constants across her discography. The pre-choruses of C’Mon and Crazy Kids are pop perfection, as is the desperately lonely autotune (along with the endlessly fun pun) in c u next tuesday. “I’m gettin’ sued because my mom has been tweetin’ / don’t fucking tell me I’m dealing with reason” she screams – her lyricism made all the more powerful by the struggles she has publicly endured for so long. 

Meeting the President’s Husband: An Interview with Peter Kessler

Gregor Gajic
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Meeting the President’s Husband: An Interview with Peter Kessler

Peter Kessler is the creator and curator of Magdalen Monday Movies, which features a different film theme each term. It’s free, it’s open to everyone, and over the last two years it’s become one of Oxford’s cult hits. I meet up with Peter Kessler on a Wednesday morning. He is an affable fellow and immediately offers a cup of coffee. The rays of sunlight flicker over the various artefacts scattered around the Magdalen presidential lodgings. Peter’s study is not untidy, but it shows signs of a mind at work. His BAFTA is proudly displayed on the cabinet of his own make and a signed poster of The Wicker Man is hanging on the wall. We are periodically joined by the several four-legged occupants of the flat. They trample over my recording equipment, but I am just able to reconstruct fragments of this cinematic conversation…


Do you remember the first time you went to the pictures?

I can remember the first play I went to see because I didn’t know how I was supposed to behave in the theatre. It was at the Southport Little Theatre and at one point, Noah was having an argument with his wife on the ark and went “I can say what I want on my own boat, can’t I?” And I just went “Yes!” And he went “Thank you!” And my mother had to explain that you’re not necessarily supposed to just reply to the actors on the stage.

How did your relationship with film evolve through the years?

I read English at Merton, 1982 to 1985. But I’m fascinated with everything else about our culture, apart from English literature, such as theatre, film, TV, comics, and graphic novels. I’m amazed that none of these things can be studied by undergraduates at the University of Oxford. I’m a very slow reader so it’s easier for me to consume cultural output that does not have to cover hundreds and hundreds of pages. A film or a play takes the same amount of time for everybody to consume, so I think I’ve gravitated towards these things because they are, in terms of audience response and reaction, “levelling” and that appeals to me.

How did you get involved in television?

Like most English students, I had no idea what I wanted to do but I was definitely interested in theatre and in particular comedy. I remember watching the Monty Python team win the BAFTA Award for Best Comedy and thinking “That is what I would like to do one day.” When I was here, I ended up doing various comedy activities with people who have gone on to be very, very successful, like Patrick Marber, Armando Iannucci, and Dave Schneider.  After leaving here, I started a little theatre company but after one production, I joined up with a comedy double act, with Patrick Marber and Guy Browning, which was called Dross Bros and was active on the mid-1980s alternative comedy scene. At that point, I got a job with Granada Television as a junior researcher working on comedy programs which led to my being a comedy producer in television. 

What was the idea behind Magdalen Monday Movies?

I became more and more interested in cinema since I retired in 2005. I found myself exploring it in the reverse chronological order which was an interesting way of discovering where ideas have come from. I began to feel that there was an extremely accessible and exciting world of culture unknown to most people. I’d show these films to my family and friends, and everybody would become completely dedicated to it because they loved being shown things which made them go “That’s so brilliant, why didn’t I know this existed?” And there were loads and loads of films like that. I think that’s the key appeal for me.

So you could say there are two intentions. One is to give people an outlet which gets them away from their studies. Students nowadays work much harder than we did in our day. In my day, if I wanted to go to work in the Radcliffe Camera, I could walk in there any time of day and sit anywhere I wanted. Now, if you get there after 9.45 in the morning, you will not get a seat. And there’s far more seats in there now than there were. People are much, much more serious. There are fewer societies now and those societies that there are seem to be primarily career-focused. In our day, there were tiddly-wink societies and dangerous sports societies. People were more ready to have a go. Even in the drama scene, the drama that’s going on now is outstandingly good. But it’s done by far fewer people in university. It’s done by a core of students who are really interested in drama. In our day, there was much more of it going on and there were a lot of people who were just having a go. 

Number two is that I think it’s astonishing that the university doesn’t have any way for undergraduates to study film. But the overwhelming response to MMM demonstrates that there is a desire to look at film. While I’ve been doing this, the Magdalen Film Society has also reawakened. It used to get maybe 4-8 people going along to their screenings but when I popped into their last one, there were 40-50 people there watching a Tarkovsky movie. I’m in the process of creating the university’s first film research programme but there are already a lot of post-graduates in the university who are working on film in different ways, who have no idea about each other. They have no way of communicating with each other, other than by chance. So under TORCH, I am creating a film studies network, which is allowing all these post-graduates, and indeed anybody who is interested, to come together with regular events, which will be talks and conferences and papers, which they can use to learn from each other and generate an academic side to the study of film.

What is the story behind the German silent film season?

I’d always heard of these famous films like Nosferatu and Metropolis. When I started to look at other films by Murnau and Lang, I found that some of the other films were, in my mind, much better than these two most famous ones. Murnau was much more emotional and poetic in his work if you look at Sunrise, Der Letzte Mann, Faust or Tartuffe. He had the ability to make staggering visuals which were completely absorbing. I started to see in his and Lang’s work things that I felt I’d seen in American films from much later, especially with Lang whose Metropolis has inspired an awful lot of science fiction films. Or looking at some other Langs, The Spiders is just like a 1919 Indiana Jones. I kept seeing this again and again. Lang made this enormous two-part epic called Die Nibelungen. It’s just mind-blowing as an experience, and the special effects are so ahead of their time. There’s one right near the start where Siegfried is given a sword by the dwarves who brought him up, and to demonstrate how sharp the sword is, this little guy blows a little feather into the air and holds the sword out, and the feather comes down, and as it goes over the sword, it splits in two. And the effect is just perfect. I have no idea how they did it but it’s just a moment of cinema that’s completely captivating. 

Before these people came around, cinema had no accessible language that we all understand. Simple things like what does it mean when the camera moves? What does it mean when you position a camera high or a low? What does it do to the audience who are learning to read these shots? They were creating an art form, and all of them set off for America and ended up in Hollywood. And so, what they started in Germany effectively ended up becoming the language of cinema as propagated via American money to the rest of the world. I thought, what an astonishing story. That’s why I called that season 1920s German cinema: the Hollywood that Might Have Been. If they hadn’t all been effectively chased out of Germany with the rise of Hitler, then Hollywood might have been Hanover. You’d never know, would you?

Are there any contemporary film artists or upcoming releases you would like to draw attention to?

I’m quite excited about the new Ari Aster that’s coming out, called Beau is Afraid. The trailer looks really interesting. I go to the cinema quite frequently and since my daughter is working part-time as an usher at the Battersea Power Station cinema, she occasionally says “Oh, you have to see this one.” Recently, I really enjoyed Triangle of Sadness, Living with Bill Nye which was based on Ikiru but is not as good,  Till about the murder of Emmett Till…

(Peter’s daughter Katie appears inside the door frame)

Katie: Hello!

(to Katie) Hello. Is there any emerging trends or directors that one should be looking out for?

Katie: Elevated horror?

What does that mean?

Katie: Ari Aster.

I just said Ari Aster! But what’s elevated horror?

Katie: Elevated horror is the slightly contested name for the version of horror that’s pioneered by The Babadook and then basically just like psychological horror but with a new name. It’s horror about trauma but it’s not actually that scary. It doesn’t reply on jump scares and such.

Thank you, that’s given me something I want to say. (bids Katie adieu) One season that I haven’t done is horror. I don’t really want to do a horror season because everybody does them. There’s a good reason why because it’s arguable that horror is thegenre of cinema because it enables directors to bring things to the party that they can’t do in any other medium. It’s explored this fascinating psychological field of why people want to be scared. There are entire festivals given over to horror films that I almost feel like it’s too obvious a choice. But I do think there are some great horror films out there.

What can we expect in Michaelmas?

I’ve been toying with four possible ideas. I thought I might do a season called There’s More to Japanese Cinema than Akira Kurosawa. Another idea was to do one called Traumatic Animation, which is very non-Disney adult cartoons that raise the stakes in terms of subject matter and emotional involvement, such as The Plague Dogs. Another thought I had was to just to do a series of films that revolve around the Holocaust, but with different genres, like comedies, documentaries, dramas. And then the last thought I had, I think this might be the one I do. Since we’ve done a somewhat academic term this term, I might go non-academic next term and go for Seminal 70s. That would be nine ridiculously great films from this decade, which is the famous turning point of cinema. So we might have a special Godfather day, for example. We might even show Jaws. We might even get right out of The Wicker Man.

Why should people come to see documentaries this season?

Documentaries have provided some of the most thrilling films ever made. At their best, you almost can’t believe that what you’re watching is actual reality. We screened The King of Kong and it’s hard to believe that the world of competitive vintage arcade game playing could be this microcosm of society, but it is. Every single one of these documentaries make you reflect on what it is to be a human being.

Any final thoughts?

Come to Magdalen Monday Movies. You will not regret it. And whatever happens, you’re not getting your money back.

Magdalen Monday Movies take place in the Magdalen College Auditorium. Free tickets, including free popcorn, are available on Eventbrite.

Evil Dead Rise: Brutal, Bloody, Bonkers.

Piers Mucklejohn
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Evil Dead Rise: Brutal, Bloody, Bonkers.

“This evil”, a priest from 1923 warns over phonograph, “creates terror through total chaos.” The newest instalment of the Evil Dead horror film franchise (directed and written by Lee Cronin) embraces the sadistic madness Sam Raimi pioneered over forty years ago. Once Evil Dead Rise’s Necromonicon is inevitably discovered and read aloud, the audience is given little chance to rest as the violent mayhem comes thick and fast.

In a film so unabashedly gory and brazenly bloodthirsty (requiring 6,500 litres of ‘blood’), it would be easy for such minor details as character development and storytelling to play second fiddle to a cacophony of supernatural horrors. Spirits are unleashed, souls are possessed, and jumpscares are aplenty. Fortunately, strong performances from the cast, led by Lily Sullivan’s Beth, ensure that while the brutality comes first, there are at least some remnants of personality to be uncovered once all the blood is wiped away.

The film is not overly hasty in unleashing the titular ‘Evil Dead’, known as Deadites, and in this interval we are introduced to Beth, her sister Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland), and Ellie’s three children, teenagers Danny (Morgan Davies) and Bridget (Gabrielle Echols), and pre-teen Kassie (Nell Fisher). A name notably omitted is the franchise’s iconic Ash Williams, who is entirely absent from the film, though the groovy protagonist’s actor Bruce Campbell has a small audio cameo. It is not within the cramped confines of an isolated cabin in the woods that we become acquainted with these characters, though a brief prologue pays tribute to the series’ typical setting, but rather a condemned apartment complex in Los Angeles. It is probably inevitable that isolation is enforced upon the family involuntarily — through a series of architectural mishaps — though one can’t help but feel that the new metropolitan context is left woefully unexplored. Besides a singular passer-by, there is no real acknowledgement of the populous urban environment in which the action unfolds. How might the spirits have tried to prevent the police from being called? In what ways would they have avoided CCTV surveillance, or perhaps used it to track or intimidate their victims? Obstacles which the Deadites could have cleverly overcome are not engaged with but sidestepped altogether.

Long-time fans of the franchise will expect nothing less than the bloodbath which floods the film’s final act. The living are sent flying, stabbed, and otherwise assaulted in barbaric attacks (I may never look at a cheese grater the same way again). However, it is the undead who are subject to nearly-cartoonish levels of physical violence which perfectly fits this self-aware movie in a franchise which famously fails to take itself too seriously. Frequently, the cruelty inflicted by the film’s evil spirits pays homage to the franchise’s roots and this is not least evident in the deliberate use of practical effects; in fact, the audience’s first experiences of supernatural violence do not come in the typical form of computer-generated imagery but practical models. Cronin’s choice to employ practical blood effects strengthens the gritty realism of the film (simulated, artificial blood rarely looks convincing). The use of makeup, and avoidance of CGI disfigurement, when depicting possessed characters similarly imbues them with an unsettling resemblance to their human form and makes it much easier to empathise with them. The slightly uncanny nature of other props does not detract from the horror, however. Instead, they help to contribute to an eerie and other-wordly atmosphere and are a conspicuous nod to the techniques of the 1980s. Another sign that this movie is not intended to stray too far from its origins is the morbid humour which is a frequent occurrence, offering much-needed comic relief when the violence borders overabundance.

At times, it is clear that Beth channels the spirit of Ash Williams, but her well-defined motivations and personality nonetheless make her a unique lead who is both resilient and vulnerable. 11-year-old child actor Nell Fisher’s performance is particularly admirable, as Kassie responds believably to her horrible experiences. The rate at which some characters move beyond their tragic circumstances and accept their new absurd reality is not all that believable, but if the alternative is watching a group of traumatised wrecks all but offer up their souls to the hungering demonic forces around them, disbelief had better be suspended. It is also beneficial to approach the motivations and behaviours of the Deadites with a similar credulity — these awoken spirits fluctuate between impossibly-powerful predators who act with speed and clarity to fairly vulnerable and indecisive foes who can’t quite bring themselves to actually get the job done; this usually depends, understandably, on the significance of the character being targeted. This lack of rhyme and reason is no mistake: it is explicitly highlighted within the film. The explanation, of a deliberate chaotic terror being desired by the Deadites, may go some way to presenting a rationale but when there are so few clear rules or guidelines for the nature of Deadite behaviour and possession, the consequent randomness hinders immersion. Notwithstanding these limitations, Cronin’s take on the franchise, which is a staple of modern horror, offers a thrilling viewing experience from which, despite the gore, it is difficult to look away. Audiences expect a film from this family of frightful flicks to bombard them with blood — and in this regard it does not disappoint.

Evil Dead Rise is a strong addition to the cult horror franchise. The move from cabin to apartment complex and countryside to city, even if underexplored, offers a fresh direction for future instalments. Diehard fans of the series, and of horror more generally, are given various references to enjoy, whilst more casual viewers are presented with a movie which takes no shame in getting down to very bloody business. And as the dust (and myriad of body parts) settles, what emerges is an Evil Dead which has well and truly entered the 21st century.

Why Oxford’s Fashion Gala was better than the Met’s  

Monty Jones
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Why Oxford’s Fashion Gala was better than the Met’s  

The Met Gala, the event most consistently capable of bringing the richest and most famous together under one roof, is intended to embody and celebrate the very best of the fashion world. Yet on this year’s first Monday of May, its peculiarly toothpaste patterned carpet hosted a disappointing assortment of rehashed looks and virality-hunting gimmicks. This was certainly a revealing insight into the current state of an industry that has increasingly prioritised paying deference to established elites and promoting overconsumption over celebrating real creativity. Those with as dysfunctional a sleep schedule and as committed a penchant for self-punishment as I, who watched the entirety of Vogue’s coverage, may have begun the next day with a degree of pessimism regarding fashion’s value as a medium. However, Oxford’s very own Fashion Gala the following night presented an uplifting alternative, showcasing a medley of refreshingly original designs without requiring the Met’s exorbitant cost or starpower.

A lot of the varied success of both events should be attributed to their leadership. Anna Wintour, since taking command of the Gala’s operation in 1995, has prioritised a conservation of the status quo over championing new innovation, epitomised in this year’s theme “Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty”. Since he was a close personal friend and ally of Wintour’s, guests were invited to “honour Karl” in the gala’s dress code. Lagerfeld, a man whose past comments have ranged from fat shaming to islamophobia and covered a great deal in between hardly seems worthy of honour; the looks inspired by his legacy, and the vague nothingness of the “line of beauty” stimulus also failed to do so. The predictable nods to Lagerfeld’s signature aesthetic, in a steady stream of monochrome suits and ties peppered with ponytails, quickly grew old. The odd appearance of cats whether vaping, decapitated or naked and silver, whilst briefly amusing, similarly failed to deliver much of a lasting impact and managed to traumatise a poor dog in the process. 

  Alternatively, co-Creative Directors of Oxford’s Fashion Gala this year, Shaan Sidhu and Harvey Morris elected to celebrate another recently departed icon of fashion, Vivienne Westwood, through the theme “Buy less, choose well”. A quote from Westwood herself, its message sharply contrasts the level of excess the Met has increasingly encapsulated, whilst exemplifying Westwood’s lifelong commitment to sustainability. It also speaks to the intentionality of her designs, coupling visual spectacle and technical mastery with meaningful statements: in one of her own Met Gala appearances, she famously pinned a picture of activist and whistleblower Chelsea Manning to her dress, a degree of social consciousness sorely missed in this year’s lineup. That spirit of self-expression and innovation was powerfully captivated by the Oxford Fashion Gala’s almost twenty designers who worked tirelessly around work and exams to deliver an incredible variety of carefully crafted looks, from Miles Davis emblazoned trench coats to bare footed fairies (because why on earth would a fairy require shoes?). I myself had the great honour of wearing a suit by Tariq Saeed that has made me seriously question the inclusion of shirts in my wardrobe. Unlike the stylists to the Met’s stars, who crawled around on all fours adjusting lengthy trains and avoiding the cameras, these designers’ hard work was rightfully recognised with a final walk down the runway.

In the end, The Met Gala suffers under the weight of its own pomp and circumstance, readily apparent in its all-important media coverage. The line of reporters and photographers asking the same questions to uncomfortable-looking celebrities, who try to recollect why Lagerfeld was in fact their personal hero, makes for tortuous watching. Whilst interviews in Freud’s green room/kitchen may have been cramped, they at least captured a sense of occasion and personality; it is perhaps here where the Met falls most egregiously short. It fails to live up to its premise as a gala, intended at its core to be a celebration and what one might hope would be a good time. Yet watching the parade of A-listers awkwardly make their way up the carpeted steps, I couldn’t help but echo some of their own sentiments that they could sorely benefit from a drink. Perhaps next year they’ll give it a miss and grab one at Freud. 

Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying: Tracing the Atmospheres of the 1918 Influenza Pandemic

Leo Schimmel
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Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying: Tracing the Atmospheres of the 1918 Influenza Pandemic

In 1920, Edvard Munch painted his bleak Self-Portrait After Spanish Flu [Above]. It is temporally situated ‘after’ his recovery, and yet his face remains only partially pigmented, his sunken eyes still bearing the marks of trauma in their layered, faint concentric circles. The signs are there but only vaguely perceptible, sequentially conveyed by his unkempt hair and his anguished gaze – symbolic or real manifestations of the residues of illness.

Revised estimates place the number of deaths from the Great Influenza at five percent of the global population, and as many as 10 percent of young adults are thought to have died in the final months of 1918 alone. Even if one were to only consider the lower estimates, the event remains the single most deadly pandemic in human history. And yet, like Munch’s portrait, Influenza itself is almost nowhere to be found in the period, having to be recouped, as Elizabeth Outka puts it, in ‘gaps, silences, atmospheres, [and] fragments’.

When the pandemic hit Ontario, William Faulkner was a cadet in the Canadian Royal Air Force. Writing home to his parents, he would bemoan the lengthiness of his base’s lockdown, and the protracted sense of time it engendered. ‘The quarantine has not lifted yet’, he wrote, ‘my hair is so long that I am going to […] put a black satin ribbon on it […] life continues on […] days of eating and sleeping and full of egregious stupidity’. Hospitals were overwhelmed, prompting the mayor of Ottawa to concede that ‘[People] are not dying because we do not know about them […] we know where they are, but have nobody to send’. Morgues, meanwhile, couldn’t deal with the number of bodies: police assisted burials in Regina, and in Norway House, bodies were left on rooftops to be buried months later. In Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, the book-length burial of Addie Bundren speaks to these protracted scenes of domestic mourning.

Lying in her death bed, there is a sense that Addie is already dead; ‘her face is wasted away so that the bones draw just under the skin in whitelines. Her eyes are like two candles when you watch them gutter down into the sockets of iron candle-sticks’. These words might  remind us of the account of one flu doctor: ‘Two hours after admission they have the mahogany spots over the cheek bones, and a few hours later you can begin to see the cyanosis extending from their ears and spreading all over the face […] It is only a matter of a few hours then until death comes’.

Yet, this state of ‘living death’ is permeable, for the threat of her return lingers:

Anse kept on looking back, like he thought maybe, once he was outen the wagon, the whole thing would kind of blow Tip and he would find […] her laying up there in the house, waiting to die and it to do all over again.

Even within her coffin, Addie’s corpse is liminal, prone to returning once more to the bed ‘up there in the house’. Notably, the imagined reprieve is merely temporary: there is no escape from death, one merely ‘wait[s] to die and [have] it to do all over again’. Arnold Van Gennep contends that funerary rituals are tripartite; ‘separation’, (the body leaves the realm of the living), ‘transition’, (the liminal period between death and burial where the body remains a corpse), and ‘reincorporation’ (where the deceased is commemorated, ‘reincorporated’ within the collective consciousness of those who knew them). In As I Lay Dying, as in the pandemic moment, the omission of burial rites denies this consummation. The tripartite ritual remains permanently suspended in its ‘transitional’ state, and the family of the unburied victim denied closure. Mid-way through carrying Addie’s body, Darl comes to a realisation:

It is as though the space between us were time: an irrevocable quality. It is as though time, no longer running straight before us in a diminishing line, now runs parallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doubling accretion of the thread and not the interval between.

Time here becomes a material entity defined by such ‘transitional’ positioning; it no longer ‘diminishes’ but seems to proliferate in a manner suggestive of the variety of temporal experience. It is spatialised and extended, a simulacrum of the physicalised distance ‘between’ the characters. Its ‘looping’ coils, and its ‘doubling accretion’ connote a sense of elongation, as if time itself is maximally drawn out. Most significant is its conversion from linearity to ‘parallel[ism]’; time here is protracted, felt differently on either side of its ‘looping’ tucks and turns. Darl’s contention seems to resonate with Einar Whigen et al., who argue that the temporal technologies of epidemics necessitate the ‘synchronicity of the non-synchronous’. Many different timeframes co-exist here; one of the ‘living dead’, another of the living and the dead, and another still of the ‘liminal’ space between separation and reincorporation – the many synchronicities of the non-synchronous.

Darl’s use of the word ‘accretion’ is fixated upon in another way by Kathryn Olsen, who notes that it is an action that ‘often occurs through the bringing together of disparate fragments to make a whole—much in the way that the structure of [the] novel works’. Whilst significant, Olsen’s contention might be taken further to consider the manner in which accretion itself is a gradual process of accumulation. For time itself to accrete, it must first be segmented, be rendered strange and incomplete. Parallels might be drawn here with Christopher Pak who argues that pandemics themselves complicate temporal experience because ‘any discontinuity in the linear trajectory of chronological time engenders an epistemic and ontological reconfiguration of our (non)sense of time.’ Once time is ‘accreted’ it undergoes one such ‘epistemic […] reconfiguration’.

Reorienting these temporal disjuncts, the Great Influenza can now be found pattering expressively at Faulkner’s textual borders, silent but urgently present. For it is when we read for the pandemic that the pandemic begins to read for us.

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