Thursday 10th July 2025
Blog Page 193

The Paradise Bangkok Molam International Band – Planet Lam review

Flora Bigham
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The Paradise Bangkok Molam International Band – Planet Lam review

Bangkok, the mid-2000s; sifting through crates of cheap, second-hand vinyls in record shops in Chinatown, one of the oldest parts of Bangkok, Chris Menist and Nattapon ‘Nat’ Siangsukon, aka DJ Maft Sai, came across the traditional Thai folk genres of Molam and Luk Thung. After falling in love with the genres, the two formed The Paradise Bangkok Molam International Band. The experimental band blend influences from traditional Thai folk music to psychedelic rock to Afrobeat grooves, exemplified at its best in their 2016 album Planet Lam. 

Molam and Luk Thung originated in the north-eastern Isan region of Thailand, and Laotian and Cambodian borders in the 17th century. It is characterised by the khaen, a bamboo mouth organ which provides a warm, all-encompassing sound, underneath a vocal melody. This melodic style moulds to the tones of the lyrics, particularly effective as Thai is a tonal language. The most common additions in instrumentation are the phin, a lute-like stringed instrument, drums and bass. The genre underwent a shift in the 1970s as American GIs were stationed in the region, and they brought with them American popular music, from psychedelic funk to rock’n’roll. As musicians in the region entertained the soldiers, they picked up on these styles and began incorporating them with traditional elements.

Sitting in my room in Oxford on a dreary Tuesday afternoon seems worlds away from this thriving Bangkok music scene, which Menist vividly describes when I speak to him over zoom. He details his move in the early 2000s, as his wife found a job there, and he ‘did what I always do when I go to a place I’m not familiar with, I look for music’. The power of music realised, dare I lean into the cliché, as Menist elaborates on the connections he made with the record collecting community, including meeting ‘Nat’, the music scene in Bangkok and familiarising himself in this new setting. ‘Every country has their creativity and that manifests itself in music, literature, film, art’ and so on, he tells me, ‘people create out of who they are, that’s what they do … a populous is communicating to people, this is who we are, this is what we’re about, so if I can try and connect with that, then I think you’re connecting with something that’s very true about an environment’. 

The band emerged gradually, beginning with ‘Nat’ and Menist’s Paradise Bangkok nights in 2009, at which they DJed, playing a ‘wide variety of music’ Menist elucidates, ‘we’d play our new discoveries basically’. They then established Studio Lam, which describes itself as ‘a home for creative new music’, and in attempts to form a kind of house band, they got in contact with some of the established Luk Thung and Molam musicians, evolving into the band as it is now: Piyanat “Pump” Chotisathien, the former bassist of the Thai Indie Rock band Apartment Khunpa, Sawai Kaewsombat on the khaen, Kammao Perdtanon, described as Thailand’s answer to Jimi Hendrix, playing the phin, Phusana “Arm” Treeburut playing drums and ‘Nat’ and Menist on percussion and production. Menist is careful to point out, however, that it was not as simple a process as it perhaps appears. Bringing together musicians from ‘musically speaking more rural background[s]’ and ‘from the city background’ was ‘not that easy’, but as they continued to rehearse and work together, they ‘really started to gel’. 

The revival of this “forgotten” music has re-established the virtuosos Kaewsombat and Perdtanon. Perdtanon describes that after seeing Isan people holding phins and khaens whilst begging on the Bangkok streets, he felt inspired to ‘make all Thai people appreciate the phin’. All of this has been prominent in re-situating perspectives on the genres, once disregarded by middle-class urban Thais as ‘taxi driver music’, and has contributed to people feeling ‘less ashamed of Isaan-ness’. It is not only Thai people whom the band have inspired; artists from Mick Jagger to Damon Albarn have displayed their support, and the band have toured across Europe, including a set at Glastonbury, which Menist describes as a ‘tipping point … [it] definitely shifted some people’s perspectives’.

Menist is careful to highlight that the band’s music is, however, solely ‘our take on it’, they did not come to the genres with ‘an academic or aesthetic approach’, instead wanting ‘a band that would represent the type of Molam that we had played at the club night but a slightly more updated version’. They are in no way ‘suddenly representative of … the pure art of Molam’ which is ‘rooted linguistically, historically and geographically in the Northeast’. Some listeners from more traditional backgrounds ‘don’t like what we do … it’s something different’, Menist elaborates, ‘that’s fine, that’s ok …so in the same way that the music choice is very subjective … the band’s creations are very subjective as well … we wanted something that felt suited with the general stuff we were doing and that’s why it sounds like it does’. 

Their 2016 album Planet Lam encapsulates this crossover, providing an introduction into the sound world of Thai traditional folk music, whilst blending an international range of styles. The album opens with one of the defining instruments of Molam and Luk Thung, the khaen. Described by Jotikasthira as ‘surreal’, it is this sound which provides Molam with its psychedelic feel. The journalist John Clewely emphasises the amazement expressed by foreigners when they first hear the instrument, in awe of its ‘big cathedral chords’. Surrounding the listener with warm, glowing harmonies, Kaewsombat opens the track, ‘Lai Wua – Chasing the Cow’ with an improvisatory-like riff on the khaen before establishing a tempo which the percussion gradually joins in on, followed by the bass, supplying an addictive groove. The adaptive ability of the khaen is exemplified on this album, as it binds syncopated cymbals and funky bass lines. Some may recognise the instrument from when it went viral on Tik Tok in 2020. Sampling Hal Walker’s ‘Khaen Rock’ the producer Llusionmusic paired it with a cloud rap beat and slowed and reverbed Playboi Carti vocals from ‘banakula’ which proved immensely popular, the sound used on around 129.6k video posts and played in the background of videos with millions of likes and tens of millions of views. 

The album proceeds with the upbeat rock-like cut, ‘India Chia Muay – Thai Boxing Re-fix’, commencing with a phin solo. Influenced by ‘the urgency and drive’ of The Stooges, the cyclical phin weaving around the infective drumbeats, with tempo changes coming midway through, captivate the listener. The Stooges influence can again be heard on the fast-paced ‘Adventures of Sinsai’. If you find yourself running late to a lecture, I recommend listening to this on repeat, you will find yourself subconsciously speed-walking along to the track, albeit with some perplexed stares from those you pass. I probed Menist on this range of inspirations, wondering what the creative process looked like, whether influences were conscious or subconscious? ‘it’s subconscious’, he replied, ‘I think most music is made that way … no one can play like The Stooges except The Stooges of course’. He elaborated that this ‘side’ comes from his and ‘Nat’s ‘sensibilities’, the wide variety of records they play whilst DJing seeping into the band’s compositions.

More experimental, electronically focused tracks can be found in ‘Exit Planet Lam’ and ‘Exit Dub’. Combining dub, reggae, and industrial ambient classical influences, the sparse arrangements showcase producer Nick Manasseh’s stamp on the work. Fortunate that they are not under pressure to appeal to listeners on streaming platforms, Menist and Manasseh mix and master the recordings to reflect the band most authentically; ‘we’re not going to compress it to death just so it appeals to a Spotify scroller’. Menist does mention, however, ‘one funny thing’ as a track from their first album 21st Century Molam has far more streams on Spotify than any other, as a famous Game of Thrones actress (he can’t remember her name) mentioned it on her Instagram story. A ‘very surreal’ moment, but ‘nice obviously’, the power of social media and celebrity demonstrated once again. 

‘Studio Lam Suite’ is the band at their best, an eleven-minute culmination of traditional and electronic influences. It launches itself with a trance-like phin solo, the free tempo providing an improvisatory feel. This evolves into chordal strumming, establishing a clearer tempo, with emphases on the 2nd and 4th beats. After five minutes of enthralling phin playing, showcasing the instrument at its most versatile, an electronic drone takes its place. Phasing in and out and complemented with samples of street noise, percussion organically emerges. Menist explains these samples come from a field recorder he used as he walked around the area of Bangkok where the Studio Lam Club is situated, recording ‘street [and] ambient noise’. The track was then mixed in London with himself and Nick Manasseh, and ‘took ages’, he describes, hinting at the complexity of combining acoustic recordings with electronic influences. A warm, introspective sound is constructed, comparisons ranging from Aphex Twin to Sade as the funky bassline and laidback groove come to the fore. 

Although of course planning and rehearsing are essential parts of the creative process, Menist explains that their recordings aim to reflect ‘how we were at the time’, trying to make it ‘as organic as we can’, all aspects must be ‘real’. That being said, they are a live band, and ‘there’s a reason why we’ve played ‘Studio Lam Suite’ only once’, Menist comments. This balance between practicality and creativity is something that, to Menist, ‘all art is in the end governed by, the balance between that which is creatively possible and that which is economically feasible’. Recalling production decisions and the pressures of streaming platforms, Menist acknowledges that the focus on creative freedom is a kind of privilege, as the band does not form the main part of his, nor the other musician’s, livings. Ultimately, what is most important is that the recordings showcase the artistry of the band, without getting too hung up about perfection, ‘that’s a bit of a dead end … just because something is perfect, it doesn’t make it interesting or inspiring’.

Listening to 80s house hits such as ‘Missing You’ by Larry Heard last Sunday as I frantically tried to complete an essay on eighteenth century opera, my mind drifted to Planet Lam, and I couldn’t help but be bemused by the transgressive power of music. How is it that my brain connects this house groove from a Chicagoan producer to a band based in Bangkok? How is it that the khaen’s drone-like role in parts of the album remind me of Celtic folk instruments, such as the hurdy-gurdy? Perhaps it is simply an untrained ear finding similarities where there are none, but I can’t help but be enraptured by the globality of music, bringing people from across the world together. I asked Menist about this connection, who assured me I was not alone, recalling the moment someone came up and said they ‘loved this Irish music you’re playing’, although it was in fact Molam. He concluded, ‘I just think that is coincidental’, agreeing ‘there is something there’, but ‘what makes that connection I really can’t tell you … because those tropes exist in so many music forms’. Sometimes you can trace a sound, but with ever increasing globalisation, such sounds are ‘too widespread to know exactly where [they] began’.

The Paradise Bangkok Molam International Band “rooted in tradition, with an eye to the future”, seem to have just that, Menist revealing to me there is another album in the works which will “hopefully come out this year”. An exemplary of the international force of genre-bending, experimental music this album represents a kind of music in which boundaries are transgressed and influences intermingled, creating an intensely enjoyable, diverse listening experience. ‘Good Shit’, as the journalist Aaron Steine wrote, in a review of the album. If you are interested in listening to more of this kind of music, I am by no means well-versed enough in the genres, but I would recommend listening to ‘Nat’ and Menist’s compilations Sound of Siam Volume 1 and Volume 2, alongside the 2011 compilation Thai! Dai? featuring tracks by the Thai rock legend Sroeng Santi. Thank you also to Ome, a 4th year biologist at Magdalen, for introducing me to the singer Rasmee Isan Soul from the North-East of Thailand who combines Molam Jariang cultures with Western and African music, terming it ‘Isaan soul’.

Naval Warfare: A review of Oxford water polo

Tom Farmer
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Naval Warfare: A review of Oxford water polo

Oxford B v Cambridge B February 8

The Oxford squad huddle as Hertford spectators converge on the poolside. Cambridge? Absent… but soon the mint shorts emerge. Loss will put Oxford bottom of the league. A win: third. Unsurprisingly, coach Tom deals tactics with his fingers nervously retracted up his sleeves. This Varsity match counts and there is extra attention when fingernails are measured – contact is expected.

20:00. The teams charge on the whistle. Oxford win possession and elicit a save from Alex H, the Cambridge keeper, controlling for 2-and-a-half minutes. That’s until Warren Handley can score from distance for Oxford. 1-0. The poolside tension is broken by grins and cheers. Cambridge surge to draw 1-1 within 20 seconds, and spectators’ faces refocus. Cambridge dribble, pass and press to trouble Oxford’s keeper, Joey Weinbren. Play is close until a penalty lets Will H score for Cambridge with 75 seconds remaining in this quarter. 1-2. Oxford’s tip-off leads to mixed play until Cambridge’s Kai shoots from afar. 1-3, worried faces grow. 45 seconds of purposeful Cantabrigian play break with Oxford’s counter-attack. 2-3. Yet, Oxford overstretch leaving Ryan K unmarked. 2-4. Cambridge’s next two efforts require intervention from the post and then Joey himself, who is applauded. A few tense seconds then half-time.

Oxford have the numbers once Kai is sin-binned and Matt Courtis scores. 3-4. Then Cambridge’s rapid attack lets Henry S-T put one beyond Joey’s reach. 3-5. In retort, Alex W, threads a wondrous ball beyond the Cambridge keeper’s right hand and into the net. 4-5. Clapping erupts. James, Oxford’s wing, makes an ambitious effort and smiles return to the poolside as shouts and whoops reverberate. 5-5.

13 seconds later, a Cambridge penalty is converted, but faces don’t fall this time. 5-6. Play is unremarkable, except a few speculative attempts, until Oxford romp on in the dying seconds. Time intervenes and the score remains 5-6 to the flatlanders.

8 minutes remain in the game and the first two pass with increasingly dangerous attacks from both sides. Decisive play offers Oxford a chance, and the crowd erupts. 6-6. Jakob Timmerman bowls it cleanly into the Cambridge goal and the supporters spring up, cheering. 7-6. Advantage Oxford, in style.

Jakob with a casual lob, places Alex C in prime position. 8-6. The win’s within reach. Kai, cap hanging loose, cannons a shot at the top corner but Joey rises, literally, to the occasion, maintaining Oxford’s lead impressively. A time-out with the shout ‘1,2,3 Cambridge’ has little effect. Joey finds Matt, the furthermost Oxonian, who lifts it over Alex H easily. 9-6. Surely it’s over.

Cambridge stretch Oxford, centre it and score, ending their 6-minute dry spell. 9-7. 162 seconds left, with Oxford dominating 24 before Ben Wharton shoots. 10-7. A clinical Oxford attack scores quickly. 11-7.

Cambridge, snatch a shot, earning nothing, but soon break, probe forward and score. 11-8. With eight seconds remaining, Jakob is in place. The shot is saved and play fizzles out. Final score. 11-8.

Oxford rise to third. Cambridge, fourth. The mint mermen have a long, late, journey home.

Dahl in the Dock; or, the publishing industry and its consequences 

Luke Dale
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Dahl in the Dock; or, the publishing industry and its consequences 

“Don’t you ever stop reading?” complains Mr Wormwood to his daughter in Roald Dahl’s much-loved novel Matilda. Snatching the book from her hands—a novel by Steinbeck—he asks her: “What is this trash?” And in spite of her insistence on the work’s merits, it’s clear that he has already made up his mind: “Filth. […] If it’s by an American it’s certain to be filth. That’s all they write about.” The scene reaches a climax as an enraged Mr Wormwood rends the volume’s leaves from its spine: thus prejudice and philistinism conspire to cut Matilda’s long story short.

Dahl’s characters are invariably hyperbolic. Matilda’s negligent parents, James’ ill-proportioned aunts and The Twits all share a quality of fairy-tale villainy, where evil rears its head without subtlety and is painted in grotesque colours that evoke overheated childhood imagining. It is thus justly presumed that the critique forwarded by Dahl in Mr Wormwood’s personage—led to destroy a book out of ignorance—was, at the time of composition, wholly of the author’s invention. But even his instinct for the outlandish has proven to be no match for the excesses of the 2023 activist class. Mr Wormwood, whether he knew it or not, was but a fictive forbear of the modern publisher, who, armed only with Tipp-Ex and a perverse disregard of authorial authority, blots blithely at the literature sworn to his protection.

The facts of the case have by now been much discussed. It began with an investigation by The Telegraph, bringing to light hundreds of changes made in Puffin’s latest editions of Dahl’s novels. These omissions, reformulations, gender-neuterings and wholesale reversals of meaning constitute a great slew of edits, whose professed intention—per a brief introductory note—is to “ensure that [the novels] can continue to be enjoyed by all today.” To take one example: no longer is the larger-than-life Augustus Gloop “deaf to everything except the call of his enormous stomach”; rather, he is simply “ignoring everything”. No longer do the Oompa-Loompas versify his fate as a “pig” who will “gorge and guzzle, feed and feast”; he is merely characterised as ‘vile’—an adjective which appeals to sensitivity readers in its useful ambiguity that makes no reference to weight. Elsewhere, it is difficult even to identify the cause of offence: faces are no longer “white with horror” but rather “agog”; and “crazy with frustration” is now rendered as “wild with frustration”—apparently relegating ‘crazy’ to a mental health-related slur.  Predictably, the scalpel taken to Dahl—wielded by a hand far less skilled than that of the author himself—has left the text in a sorry state of mutilation.

But this time, the woke brigade wasn’t going to get away with it. Galvanized by The Telegraph and perhaps spurred on by glazed memories of pram-borne pheasants, pigtail-flung pupils and giant peaches, the adults in the room got talking. Sir Salman Rushdie—the cancelled author par excellence, who at one time had an entire Middle Eastern state hankering for his hanging—condemned Puffin for “absurd censorship”. David Mitchell, the stalwart humourist of the Guardianista set, made the high-status, anti-capitalist argument for opposing the edits—which to his credit is not unconvincing. In what was presumably a desperate act of damage control, Puffin promised to publish the original texts alongside their updated cousins, an announcement largely drowned out by the thunder of Britons fulminating against the evils of the anti-Dahl axis in pubs across the country. This is no mere exaggeration: I had politically disengaged friends roused to anger over what was seen as an assault on their childhood culture. And outrage is a sentiment Dahl would have shared: he once warned that if his posthumous editors should change so much as a comma, he would—from the grave—“send along the ‘enormous crocodile’ to gobble them up.” It must be conceded that a crocodile of such proportions would make short work of a puffin.

But perhaps it’s case closed? Compromise achieved? The pre-operative texts are, after all, now bound for the printing press. Sadly, critics who close the book on this affair so readily fail to see its broader significance. Because it was not long ago that works of literature were treated with a kind of reverence, a protestant-adjacent radicalism that emphasised the inviolable text. The author was a kind of sacred idea, not wholly accessible to the reader, but nonetheless the spirit that gave unity to any written work; if possible, every pen mark or key-stroke was to be preserved in amber. As much became evident to me when studying Of Mice and Men early in secondary school, where liberal teachers, from a department more keyed into the social implications of their work than any other, suddenly had students read aloud the most offensive passages of that book. The offence was of course discussed, analysed and contextualised—but never omitted. It was part of the book, and that was that. Of course, there are differences between what is discussed in a classroom of twelve-year-olds, and what is given to the child at the age of eight for personal reading. But the point stands: better surely to let helicopter parents ban Dahl to protect their fledglings from the possibility of offence, than to rob the whole corpus of its authenticity. Once a precedent for edits is established, the books will, one imagines, enter a state of perpetual flux, until eventually—like a latter-day Ship of Theseus—there will be no signifier of the past society in them, no relic that might (Heaven forfend) summon up traumatic visions of the old ways.

Thus the tyranny of the now seems to exert an irresistible gravitational pull. Modern editors aim to unanchor texts from their historical moorage—crudely replacing, for example, a reference in the Witches to women working as secretaries with a new sentence about their employment as ‘top scientists. We are left with Frankenstein texts whose fabric remains inalterably baked into the culture of their time and place, adorned with the limbs and digits of a different era, as incongruous as those of a different species. 

The sensitivity reader has fired a warning shot. So deludedly emboldened to so crudely desiccate the writings of an author so recently passed—they have placed their cards on the table. We can be certain that they will befoul all the more readily older texts whose values are even further from those of the current moral order. And it’s a process the authorities abet: just last month, in a Prevent research document, Tolkien and C.S. Lewis numbered among an illustrious company with the dubious honour of being listed as red flags for white supremacist terror. These trends seem likely to worsen as a younger generation—for whom the cardinal sin is prejudice—come to dominate publishing and government alike. To the book-lover there is only one course of action available: buy the books you love, and stow them away under your mattress. At least then the greatest risk of desecration comes from a disgruntled Mr Wormwood-character, whom you can fight off with your hands, and not a great faceless publisher of which you know nothing and in the face of which you are powerless.

Phones have taken over. Can we switch off?

Jack Twyman
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Smartphones have revolutionalised the way society is experienced, spatialized and performed. Never before in human history has information been shared so quickly and freely across the globe and within local and international communities. 

The way we work has shifted, sped up by the pandemic, and engrained into the fabric of society, with work from home, remote learning and online team organisers taking a newly dominant role.

Here at Oxford, we earnt our place through academics alone, with no social profile needed to help secure our place. But here at Oxford is where that path comes to an abrupt end. How do we transition from academic excellence into real-world success stories? Sure, some will see academia as the end goal, but the vast majority of us see Oxford only as a stepping stone to going out and making a productive difference in the World. 

When we think of the most successful University-aged figures in the World, Greta Thunberg, and Malala Yousafi, are some activists that come to mind, yet the vast majority are new influencers and celebrities like Billie Eilish, Olivia Rodrigo, TikTok’s Charlie D’amelio and Millie Bobbie Brown. Sure, it does derive from how you determine success, but having a celebrity platform today is vital to many roles, including philanthropic ones, that were more accessible in the past.  For these roles having a presence on social media is vital, none the more so for anything political or involving civil society. 

Jobs like journalism, business, media, investment, diplomacy, and more are all dependent on networks whose growth is fostered through social media. Whether it be Twitter for journalists or LinkedIn for business the impossibility of switching off is very real. Add to this the hundreds of daily emails. Messages and reminders once only received in person during work hours are now inseparable from our being with mobile phones glued to our hips. 

But it’s not just in the workplace that devices have changed our world. Social media has become the main source of entertainment for countless young people. Gone are the days of playing with toys, in are the smartphone apps and screens. This revolution occurred during our childhoods – while I may have had my first phone at 12, many today are getting devices much younger – think 5 years old for iPads. 

There’s an interesting psychology around phones that is alarming. In 2021 the average UK adult spent 4 hours on their phone. Half of all Americans agree with the following statement: “I can’t imagine a life without my phone”. Shockingly, nearly 1 out of every 10 American checks their phone during sex.

Catherine Price’s book ‘How to break up with your phone in 30 days’ is a great starting point for combatting this issue of modernity.

She outlines how our phones are designed to addict us with feedback. So the argument goes, if the brain learns that checking your phone usually results in a reward and subsequent dopamine release, the brain wants to check it more often. Dopamine is central to motivation and causes excitement. To captivate attention social media apps rely on intermittent reinforcements which always means new and surprising content shows up on your feed. They also harness FOMO to ensure we feel the need to be constantly updated. And tap into our human need to be loved, by making us want to be more popular on social media. 

Social media is using the population as free labour, collecting our data after we produce it for free and then bombarding us with paid advertising that further generates revenue. We gain nothing but a shorter attention span. By interfering with our short-term memory, we are at risk of forgetting most of life’s experiences and being unable to fully experience the present moment. 

So the effects are explicit, but how to balance this knowledge whilst simultaneously growing a career, maintaining a social life, and unlearning the habits of social media all while resisting the urge for constant phone-checking? Sounds pretty difficult, right?

Price maintains that you can improve your concentration, rebuild your attention span and improve your memory. The first step through mindfulness is to be more present. Then the next step is the ‘technology triage’ to understand your personal usage and take action. Price recommends deleting social media apps entirely and only accessing them on a laptop or iPad. However, what social media has done so well is integrate forms of communication within an entertainment app – think Snapchat, which focuses on communication, but has Stories, Tiles and Reels all waiting to draw you in – Instagram is the same. 

Price then suggests coming back to real life and taking up a hobby or past-time you never had the time to do and taking up a sport. All this by week 1? 

Week 2 focuses on changing habits like notifications, deleting apps that steal your time and changing where you charge your phone. Setting no-phone boundary zones means a complete detachment. And one that many of us in Oxford are guilty of: ‘phubbing’. This is when you interact with your phone whilst in an active social engagement. 

Week 3 focuses on reclaiming your brain through mindfulness practice, an evermore conventional way of combating the freefall of time in the current age. This week concludes with a trial separation of 24 hours from your phone. 

The final Week 4 includes a ‘Phast’ when the phone is turned off at particular times and events, and a ‘digital sabbath’ with phone-free weekends. 

That all sounds lovely and convincing when on paper, but how feasible is it? I fear that in this modern age we have passed a threshold from which there is no return at an individual level. To isolate oneself digitally means to disadvantage oneself. Taking back control from social media and smartphones will require a concerted effort, but one that is unlikely to materialise. 

So the key then is finding a balance. Resisting the TikToks and Instagram apps of the World. This is more straightforward. I for one have stopped scrolling Instagram feeds and limited screen time for my apps but I still find myself on my phone. Wherever one time-wasting app is curtailed, another develops. 

Over the vacation, I will try the 30-day plan, and see how successful it really is. Will you?

Image credit: Marko Verch/CC BY 2.0 via Flickr

The Source, HT23, Week 5

The Source
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The Source, HT23, Week 5 
Erasure

in the stagnant silence between sips of gin,
stunted syllables sit on our lips like
battery acid and dissolve our skin.
so instead we’ll pour our thoughts into that which can’t reply;
into the night sky curling back against the rising sun,
arching her spine as the day unfurls its soul.
we’ll listen to the drag of the ocean,
seduced by a masked moon,
and wonder if waves could wash our words 
away into one clean hum.
we’ll let the unsaid float
on ripples of light,
on the echo of a gull’s cry,
on the clouds dipped in violet dye
and then stand by as 
one 
        by
              one
                      those sentences sink.

                                                             i’ve resolved to speak to her in unsent messages, 
                                                             strings of sound that refuse formation
                                                             and hover on hold.

by Nicole Gibbons
only we remember

I think about the fall
of split-sky obelisks,
serapeum sultry with incense
boats sun-drowned and lotus-heavy
shards of the earthen pastoral,
the ruins of the mundane where
the child clutches his bird-amulet and
the women sing in the reeds
the past is a foreign country
remembered only in cipher,
set in rosetta
its indigenous ghosts linger
once-present and twice-lost
I think about what will be left
of us, remembered in
moon-bellied sunsets and
goosefeather on the lake
sharp-slick cities and
forever folded in frogspawn
loved in poetry, not in prose
I cannot conjure your smile, but
you smile anyway
now
god-kings lie silent in the valley
the sundial tells no time
the age of civilisation fades
and only we remember
so I think about the fall
the gentle frenzied fall
in love.

by Charlotte Lai

Dressing for the Job

Hannah Selig
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Dressing for the Job

What constitutes formal wear? The first outfit that comes to mind might be a neatly tailored suit or conservative dress, possibly involving a tie or blazer. Some Oxford students may even be thinking of sub fusc. Allow me to clarify my question: what constitutes professional attire? And why does it matter?

2023 seems to be shaping up to be the year of the revamped office uniform. Hot on the heels of Virgin Airways announcing last September that employees would no longer be restricted to gendered uniforms, this January British Airways unveiled a range of new uniform options for the first time in almost two decades, including a jumpsuit option for female ground staff and cabin crew. The redesign was more than purely aesthetical, with Business Insider reporting that “Engineers, for example, asked for easy-access tool pockets for when they’re working on aircraft, while ground handlers asked for touch-screen technology fabric in their gloves for use in cold weather.” A tunic and hijab option is also available to British Airways employees and equally so for HSBC bank branch employees earlier this very month, along with jumpsuits and – gasp! – even jeans.

It seems almost too easy to pin this development on the work-from-home policy of a certain recent global pandemic that I’m sure I don’t need to name. I propose another cause, evidenced by British Airway’s proud declaration that “More than 90% of the garments are produced using sustainable fabric from blends of recycled polyester” and HSBC’s use of “recycled polyester, dissolving plastic, ocean recovered plastic and sustainable cotton.” Modern companies are well aware of the power of social justice movements. By accommodating staff of all genders and religious minorities, and by combining practicality with sleekness and sustainability, these corporations signal that they have acknowledged and accepted their moral duty to create a welcoming workplace that places an emphasis on the well-being of its employees and customers.

Practical, stylish, inclusive, and strategic – these revamped uniforms are truly a display of twenty-first century innovation. But while it is admirable that companies are taking it upon themselves to give their staff more freedom with how they dress at work, it is also important to remember that we shouldn’t have to rely on corporations to agree to allow their employees to wear practical options. We deserve a standardised law that demands equality and consistency in the workplace instead of hoping that employers deign to allow comfortable, practical alternatives to old-fashioned suits and gendered dichotomies. Double standards in office dress codes were catapulted into the public consciousness after Nicola Thorp, a PricewaterhouseCoopers receptionist, was sent home on her first day of work in 2015 for wearing flats instead of two-to-four-inch-high heels. She subsequently created a petition that gained over 150,000 signatures calling for the government to make such workplace double standards illegal to no avail. Although the government did debate the motion, no existing legislature was changed to explicitly criminalise forcing female staff to abide by impractical and potentially physically damaging dress codes. The Government Equalities Office eventually produced a document in May of 2018 with the specific aim of providing guidance to employers and employees about what comprises unlawful sex discrimination regarding dress codes, an endeavour that was condemned as “bland and vague, failing to make it absolutely clear to employers that requiring heels, makeup and skirts will virtually always be unlawful sex discrimination”. The guidance’s determination that such rules would only be unlaw if no “equivalent requirement” is demanded of male employees fails to take into account that there is no ‘professional attire’ for men which inhibits their ability to walk and run or demands that they spend extra time applying cosmetics. The guidance document states that employees (rightfully) must accommodate disabled members of staff as well as transgender employees and those who wear religious symbols or garments, but no such binding provision is made to ensure that women are not required to endure discomfort and debilitation caused by impractical uniforms.

So, I ask again – what is professional attire? What makes high heels and makeup professional for women and not for men? In what context should some employees be mandated to sacrifice comfort for appearance whereas others are exempt? With this year’s cohort of finalist gearing up for one last vacation of revision before taking their final exams, let’s remember that while the dress-code aspect of office culture certainly appears to have made great strides in terms of inclusion and equality, corporate permission is no substitute for legal regulation.

And if anyone is considering restarting Thorp’s petition, know that my signature will be the first one on it. 

Oxford University to ban staff-student relationships

Cherwell News and Investigations Section Editors
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Oxford University to ban staff-student relationships

The University of Oxford has announced the implementation of a new policy regarding staff-student relationships, to take effect from 17th April 2023.

The policy, set to govern intimate or close personal relationships between staff and students, prohibits staff who have any responsibility for current students from entering intimate relationships. Furthermore, it “strongly discourages” any other close personal relationships which “transgress the boundaries of professional conduct.”

Failure to comply with the new policy will result in staff being disciplined in accordance with the University’s disciplinary procedures. With regards to existing intimate relationships, the University said: “Any appropriate protective steps taken in relation to existing relationships (reported after the policy came into force) will focus on avoiding conflicts of interest by ensuring the staff member ceases to have, or does not acquire, any responsibility for the student.”

The change in policy comes after many months of development and consultation. It overrules the previous policy, where intimate relationships were strongly discouraged (and required declaration to a line manager), rather than prohibited.

The Hackathon to Cabinet: How the Oxford Union shapes Britain’s political culture

Anna Ashkinazi
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The Hackathon to Cabinet: How the Oxford Union shapes Britain’s political culture

CW: sexual assault

It’s no secret to anyone who reads the news that British politics begins in the cloisters of Oxford (and, to a lesser extent, Cambridge) — but, for many of the thirty Prime Ministers our university has produced, this is only part of the story; more specifically, their road to Downing Street started on the leather-clad benches of the Oxford Union’s debating chamber, and in the cushy armchairs of its bar. Three of Britain’s post-war Prime Ministers — Boris Johnson, Edward Heath, and Harold Macmillan — held one or more of the Union’s four highest offices in their time at Oxford, and many more, whilst not elected to high-ranking offices, were well known in student political circles. The Union’s grip on real-world politics, however, doesn’t end here; to get a flavour of the role the society has played in producing the country’s ruling class, one need only take a closer look at the cabinets of the past 12 years, as we will do later in this article.

A common argument made by defenders of Oxbridge’s hegemony in Downing Street goes something like this: surely it’s not a bad thing that the country is run by educated people who graduated from its two most prestigious universities? Similar logic can be applied to justify the disproportionate influence the Oxford Union has exerted over British politics by supplying future cabinet ministers — surely it’s not a bad thing that our politicians not only are well-educated, but have experience in politics and an illustrious record of political achievements that go back to their time at said universities? Having seen much of the culture of Oxford and of the Oxford Union — with the near-termly headlines about yet another scandal and the indiscriminate hack messages that pour in before every election, the Union is inescapable even to non-members — I feel extremely skeptical about both of these statements. To me, as an outsider, everything about the Union, from the £300 membership fee to the exhausting slate drama on Facebook and the allegations of sexual misconduct that seem to have limited social repercussions for the abuser, has always signalled an extremely toxic culture that’s hardly an environment you’d want the people running the country to have spent the formative stages of their career in. Still, due to a lack of personal experience, I felt that I couldn’t be completely certain in my judgement. That changed last week, when I sat down with two former Junior Officers, KD and RM (initials have been changed for anonymity), to have a chat with each of them separately about their experiences with the Union.

KD is a woman of colour who served on committee before being elected to a Junior Officer post; RM is an ex-state comprehensive school student who served in appointed positions before his term as an elected JO. Both felt that conscious and unconscious biases against the marginalised groups they identify with had a big impact on how their Union careers played out. KD said that, when she served on the Standing Committee, the way she and the other women on the committee were treated by male members had clear misogynistic undertones — their ideas were not taken seriously and often ignored, but when others proposed largely the same things, their suggestions were taken on board. Whilst officers take care not to make overtly sexist or racist comments to avoid getting ‘cancelled’, implicit behaviours that make the Union a hostile environment for women and people of colour are still commonplace; casual comments about ‘incompetence’ are mostly targeted at women, she told Cherwell. This sentiment was echoed by RM: “When I ran for President, at scrutiny you could just see the hatred directed at my representatives who were women of colour that wasn’t present towards the other slate”. 

Another deep-rooted issue within the Union which contributes to a culture of male privilege is reported to stem from members’ and officers’ attitudes to sexual misconduct, which women are overwhelmingly more likely to face in social settings. In the past, KD was sexually harassed inside the Union building by an ex-committee member — she recalled that, she felt nervous about calling out the perpetrator, fearing that others might assume her to be “electioneering” with reputational ramifications. According to KD, all the usual issues that survivors of sexual assault face are exacerbated in a Union context, where everything inherently has a political subtext: “When someone comes forward about sexual assault or sexual harassment, people usually feel bad for the person who’s being accused, and oftentimes they gain more support. Victims are often labelled as ‘psychotic’ or are assumed to be ‘trying to ruin someone’s reputation’, in part because there have indeed been cases of fabricated SA allegations, and women who want to come forward often need male support to be taken seriously. In general, there’s a culture of staying quiet about most things, and when someone has done something problematic, you feel uncomfortable calling it out because it puts the target on your back and you want to keep the peace.” 

The culture within the top ranks of the Union seems to leave limited hope for change; as KD remarked, women and people of colour elected to Officer positions usually try to avoid “feeding into stereotypes” and rarely feel comfortable focusing too much on feminism or antiracism because they anticipate backlash.

Perhaps unsurprisingly for a debating society which charges £300 for membership (£178.50 if you’re eligible for its access membership programme), many instances of classism among members are still reported.

According to KD, access is widely seen as a joke and candidates who care about it are looked down upon as “naïve”. “I’ve known former Presidents,” she said, “who cared about access before being elected but, whilst in office, felt uncomfortable making any real changes because they’d be seen as radical superwoke superlefties. Others have no actual care for access and only put it on their manifestos to tick a box.” 

RM, who got involved in Union politics after being ‘coffeed’ by someone he’d met before university, had many thoughts to share about the Union’s relationship with access. “There was a lot of informal social etiquette I needed to learn that I would already have been familiar with had I gone to a different school. Already as an appointed officer I felt a bias against state-school students. I didn’t quite fit the mould in terms of knowing how to give a performance, and it took me a lot of effort to be seen as a serious person. State schoolers have to go much slower and put a lot more work in if they want to run for office because they don’t have the network that people who went to Eton, Harrow, Winchester and other schools like that do from the get-go.” He shared KD’s view that people who come from economically disadvantaged backgrounds are pressured into feeling uncomfortable talking about access issues and making reforms that threaten the status quo. “When I said I was working-class, that was described as an “openly aggressive statement”, and talking about my life was labelled “weaponising identity politics”. The newspapers were also hostile; during my interview for the Cherwell, one of the questions went something like “you talk a lot about access, but how are you going to help all the other members?” and I wasn’t even surprised because I’m very used to answering to that criticism. Talking about your identity is seen as inherently aggressive and perceived as ‘wokery’.”

The former committee members also gave examples of nepotism that they’ve witnessed – the legacy of the Bullingdon Club appears to live on, if with an extra veneer of (often performative) diversity. “Outsiders” have a hard time breaking into the inner Union circles to begin with: “People with similar backgrounds tend to form cliques within the Union and it’s hard to get in. Culturally, people who went to private school fit in easily, whereas people like me don’t feel welcome in the Union and wouldn’t spend all of our time there. There’s also a lot of insider information passed down within private school circles – for example, I recall two people from the same boarding house being elected to the Union a couple of years apart. It’s common to have parents turning up to vote, and even within the student body, there are lots of people who never turn up to most events but show up to vote for the candidate who went to the same school with even if they don’t like each other,” RM said.

KD expressed a similar idea: “It’s not uncommon for people who are big in the Union to know top politicians personally, and even without those connections, people from wealthy families who went to private school have a much easier time getting elected. Slates play a big part in this. Most people who run for President place a lot of importance on ‘background checks’ when forming their slate: they make a long spreadsheet of names and then ask around within their college to find out what their reputation is, so if you haven’t got to know many people yet and can’t be background-checked, the slate leaders will usually go for someone else even if you’re a very strong candidate. Slating in Michaelmas is especially nepotism-based; there’s a large influx of new members who are eligible to vote creating uncertainty about the outcome of the election, so people try to find big names and go for people who went to Eton, Harrow, Winchester and St. Paul’s. It’s hard to get into Union politics for people who have few connections in the society; if you try to approach people as a non-insider, you seem like a try-hard, so the ideal way to get into the inner circle is to first get to know people casually by going to the same events – drinks, debates, hanging out in the bar – and only then try to get involved.”

On Union nepotism beyond Oxford, KD said: “People mostly get involved to network — it’s a good way to meet people who will be in power 30 years from now. Intergenerational connections are the way the people in power stay in power. Ex-Presidents often come to their Union even after university. Many of them continue to stay friends with other Union people long after graduation, they all move to London and socialise within the same circles. A lot of people get pulled into jobs by Union people they know. I feel that the Union network is a concentrated version of public school networks, and it’s still predominantly posh, white and male.” 

RM spent much of my interview with him emphasising how inaccessible the circles he entered through the Union would have been to him otherwise: “A Union career gives you a lot of privilege, but at the same time, being an officer isn’t an easy job and in many cases, it’s a challenge just to make it through your term. So I’m not saying ex-Union people don’t deserve to be in the jobs they land, they just had a lot of legs up along the way and they come to disproportionately dominate institutions.”

Zooming in on the makeup of the past few Cabinets puts these sentiments on a more solid historical footing. Amongst the members of Rishi Sunak’s cabinet are 3 former Oxford Union Presidents (Michael Gove, Secretary of State for Levelling Up, Housing and Communities; Mel Stride, Secretary of State for Work and Pensions; and Jeremy Quin, Minister for the Cabinet Office and Paymaster General), as well as 2 former Cambridge Union Presidents (Lucy Frazer, Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, and Andrew Mitchell, Minister of State for Development and Africa). As far as other Oxbridge political cliques go, Jeremy Hunt, the current Chancellor of the Exchequer, served as OUCA President in his time at Oxford; OUCA’s Cambridge counterpart, CUCA, boasts two former Chairs (Suella Braverman, Home Secretary, and Greg Hands, Minister without Portfolio — the latter also served on the Cambridge Union committee) in Cabinet. Thérèse Coffey, Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, is said to have been involved in conservative student politics to the extent that her time at Oxford was cut short by her academic performance being sabotaged by “extracurricular activities”. In Liz Truss’ short-lived cabinet — in addition to Coffey, Hunt and Braverman — Jacob Rees-Mogg served as Librarian of the Oxford Union before being defeated for the office of President, and Simon Clarke and Graham Stuart chaired OUCA and CUCA respectively. 

Somewhat unexpectedly, whilst Boris Johnson himself is one of the Union’s most notorious alumni, his premiership’s cabinets look almost like a hack-free oasis compared with Sunak’s. The familiar names Hunt, Gove and Rees-Mogg are joined only by Nicky Morgan, Baroness of Cotes, who served as Oxford Union Treasurer, but, like Rees-Mogg, lost her presidential bid later on. Johnson’s predecessor Theresa May appointed two former Oxford Union Presidents (Damian Green and Damian Hinds) and one former CUCA chairman (David Lidlington) to her cabinet. Going another Prime Minister back, the years of the Cameron-Clegg coalition were a good time to be an ex-student politico in Parliament; five Cabinet members (William Hague, ex-Oxford Union President; Kenneth Clarke and Vince Cable, both ex-Cambridge Union Presidents; Baron Young, who served on the Standing Committee of the Oxford Union; and, finally, Dominic Grieve, former OUCA President) started their political careers at Oxbridge.

My conversations with the former committee members I interviewed for this article were insightful, but hardly eye-opening. Everything they said was the sort of thing an Oxford student gets used to very quickly, and it takes a while after hearing them before their mind can take a break from the echo chamber of the Oxford normal. As has been abundantly demonstrated by the likes of Boris Johnson, the Oxford Union is categorically unfit to continue to serve as the factory of Britain’s ruling class — it is, at its core, resistant to reform, has been slow to catch up with societal progress and, in many ways, has done so only performatively. It is an institution whose prestige has done society more harm than good, and, unless we want our future politicians trained at the Oxford Union school of nepotism, something needs to change.

‘Originality is overrated, but we do it anyway’ Creativity in Cosplay

Abigail Stevens
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‘Originality is overrated, but we do it anyway’ Creativity in Cosplay

Fandom communities are harshly judged for their supposed disregard of the fabled concept of “originality.” Some people argue that fanfiction authors are inferior writers because they use other people’s characters and stories rather than devising anything of their own. Cosplay, while not as inherently controversial as fanfiction, raises a similar question: is replicating another’s creation as good as coming up with a “new” idea? Setting aside the argument that all forms of media are ultimately derived and reconstructed from the media the creator has seen, what exactly is the artistic process behind cosplay?

Like fanfiction writers, cosplayers are unbound. There is something freeing in making art which has no commercial value; you don’t have to worry about what will please an editor, producer, corporation, or potential customer, and its only purpose is to bring you joy. Cosplay is also a way to hone your skills; artists often start out by copying other works to practise their technique before trying to break new ground. But don’t underestimate the creative process of recreation, especially in the case of cosplay. Even the ones that are exact replicas from a film, television show, video game, theatrical performance, or another medium, require creative thinking.

While watching the series finale of Game of Thrones, my friend and I eagerly discussed what we would have to do to cosplay Sansa’s gorgeous coronation dress. NB: a few cosplayers on Instagram are working on this very costume, and it is taking them years to complete it. It is an intense and laborious process, especially since due to the obvious copyright problem most people don’t do this for a living and must work a paying job. It involves scouring the internet and bookstores for decent tutorials, digging through bargain bins, and getting inventive with old clothes and accessories.

First and foremost, cosplayers face the challenge of having to recreate something with resources that will never match those of a Hollywood costume shop. Figuring out how they did it isn’t really the point. They probably did it using professional equipment far outside your budget. The question is, how can you, an amateur costume designer with limited funds and tools, do it at home? Can you get some materials from a charity shop? Buy fabric on sale? And if there isn’t a pattern available resembling what you want to make, can you freehand it yourself? Or assemble pieces from different patterns?

With every new project, a new skill is learned, such as careful hand embroidery to fashion a Stark direwolf or moulding foam into armour and weapons. Photoshoots and editing images are a beast in themselves; some pros specialise in cosplay photography, but many cosplayers who want to share their creations with the world will resort to scouting nearby locations, assembling mini sets, co-opting family and friends as photographers, and building up their photoshop skills over time. When they finally complete a project, even if it looks exactly like it did in the show, who will dare say that they didn’t think creatively to get there, or that it is not art?

However, there are those who still think that ‘copying’ someone else’s work shouldn’t be considered ‘creative’. What qualifies as creativity? The process or the final product? How different does it have to be? I find that when cosplayers reassemble old clothing into something that looks enough like what the character wore to convey who they are supposed to be, they still end up with something distinct. And while I will always celebrate cosplayers for the time and energy they put into ‘copies’, there are still many examples of how they come up with their own original ideas. The cosplay community is by no means restricted to only recreating things—in fact, I would argue that they would feel very confined by that.

Some cosplayers will borrow a concept or aesthetic to get started, such as the colours and images associated with a specific character or piece of media. If you have a look at @starbitcreation’s Rapunzel dress, you can see how it was inspired by Disney’s film but is still her own. There are a plethora of additional ways to put a personal spin on costumes seen on screen. Mashups are so much fun, such as Merida wearing Hawkeye’s gear (@armoredheartcosplay), Rey’s Jakku garments layered with Hamilton’s military uniform, or Loki wielding a lightsaber (@silhouettecosplay). Some people will transport a medieval princess to the modern era or gender swap a superhero or anime protagonist. The only limit to what you can do with a character is your imagination.

Yet some cosplays do rely on completely original visualisation, such as book characters with no corresponding adaptation. Book cosplays are some of my favourites; cosplayers are given a general idea of what an outfit might look like, but it is still up to them to design the costume and bring that vision to life. Characters from Leigh Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone were very popular on Instagram long before Netflix adapted the series, and you can see how many different people were given the same basic framework, but all delivered unique results. Finally, cosplayers occasionally dress up as characters of their own—I have seen a few people bring their D&D characters to life this way.

Cosplayers must think creatively, otherwise they would just buy a costume on Amazon. Trying to recreate something that was made in Hollywood or Broadway takes hours of conceptualization and planning, watching DIY videos on YouTube, ripping up your work and starting again. Cosplayers are creative, persistent, and come up with new things every day. Ultimately online fan communities are a way for the fans to express themselves through the characters and stories which inspired them.

Everything Everywhere All At Once: A Review

Darren Trisno
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Everything Everywhere All At Once: A Review

The Asian community was repeatedly promised a film that would provide Asian representation in Hollywood.

The film Crazy Rich Asians, set in my country⁠—Singapore⁠—and with a 100% Asian cast seemed like it would fit the description. It was instead an unrelatable mess filled with billion-dollar bachelor parties and expansive estates: the central conflict being that the super hot trust fund baby’s family may disapprove of you as a potential wife. It represented me as well as a zebra crossing represents a zebra. The colours were the same but everything else was frustratingly unrecognisable. 

Then, it was supposed to be Shang-Chi. The first Asian superhero! But again, I⁠—understandably⁠—found it difficult to relate to the plot of: “my father is an evil dictator with the powers of an alien superweapon and he tortured me as a child to be a fighting machine”. While it delivered the important message that Asian dudes have hot abs too, it needed more. 

Then came Everything Everywhere All At Once (EEAAO).

Who would have thought that a movie about jumping through universes, hotdog fingers, and a racoon that controls a chef Ratatouille-style would be the film that captures so much about what it means to be Asian. If you have not watched it, please do, and prepare some tissues.

Disappointing your parents. I would never dream of claiming it as an exclusively Asian experience. However, in a culture known to produce ‘tiger mums’ and ‘helicopter dads’, this theme hits home hard. Perhaps it is because family values are heavily emphasised, and generations are culturally inclined to pin their hopes and dreams on their progeny. Or it is because instead of discussing the weather with strangers and friends alike, we competitively compare our children (our height, grades, schools, incomes, and partners). Parental pressure has always been a consistent theme in Asian media, from Bollywood’s 3 Idiots to Korea’s SKY Castle. In small doses, it feels good to be loved and supported by your parents. E.E.A.A.O. captures the feeling of when one has an overdose. Joy feels shirked and unloved by her mother Evelyn. In a classically Asian manner, Evelyn has replaced “I love you” and “I’m sorry” in her dictionary with “You should eat more” and “Why don’t you ever call?”. Throughout the course of the film, we also find that Evelyn herself has suffered from the disapproval of her father and highlighting the presence of an intergenerational trauma cycle. This is why when Evelyn does express her love to her daughter in the end (as a rock, or when they’re getting sucked into a black-hole bagel), millions of traumatised Asian children worldwide experience a moment of deep catharsis. Some have even joked that Michelle Yeoh deserves an Oscar just for portraying the inconceivable idea of an Asian mother apologising convincingly. Such a collectively shared Asian experience being touchingly portrayed in the film is one of the reasons why this film is a gem. For those who have felt underappreciated and overly scrutinised, this film offers both an apology to the children and an explanation to the parents. In the end, in the small specks of time we get to spend in this ever-expanding multiverse, we would still like to spend them being surrounded by the people we love. 

For an Asian kid, there is only one critic harsher than your parents. Yourself. Maybe it is the internalised pressure from said parents. Maybe it is the inherently competitive cultures many of us hail from. Maybe it is an overemphasis on hard work and an underemphasis on balance. Honestly, if a multiverse version of my partner told me I was chosen because I failed at everything I have ever done, I would not know what to do with myself. Evelyn similarly struggles with her life choices. Was she doomed to living the rest of her days frustrated and burnt out, running a failing laundromat embroiled in tax issues? Through her going to different universes she sees what she could have been – including a world where she realises her fantasy of being a movie star. But of course, with every universe comes its own regrets. She does not end up with her current husband, Waymond. In a heart-wrenching Wong Kar Wai-esque scene, Waymond breaks her and the audience’s hearts when he says: “So, even though you have broken my heart yet again, I wanted to say, in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.” Sure, we all want to be “movie stars”. Especially here in Oxford, the default is that you are ambitious and want to seize the world. While we are all striving to be the best, EEAAO reminds us that appreciating the magic in every day, and the blessings we do have, is sometimes all that we need. Put some googly eyes on your bags to laugh a little. Dance when there is good music. Appreciate the laundry and the taxes of life. 

Waymond Wang. Waymond Wang is proof that empathy and kindness is strength, not weakness as some Andrew Tate-esque followers of toxic masculinity might suggest. When we first met Waymond he seems like the classic bumbling idiot. He is carefree while Evelyn is a ball of stress. But by the end of the movie, we see that this is his superpower, not his weakness. 

As Waymond says: “When I choose to see the good side of things, I’m not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It’s how I’ve learned to survive through everything… I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight.” He’s right. His ability to empathise and love is what gets through to Evelyn, enabling her to save Joy. His ability to find happiness and spread happiness is a superpower. As a man, representations of what it means to be powerful and to save the day have always been about stoic and often muscle-bound aggression. Take Superman or James Bond. For Asian men, the media has given us the martial arts icons of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. Waymond initially saves the day with his fighting skills as well, in a hilarious spin on Bruce Lee’s nunchucks technique using his fanny pack. His ultimate power lies not in his fists but in his heart. He shows that to save the day, it’s not about being physically imposing or knowing how to smash your way out of anything. You don’t need to be a calculated, cold Michael Corleone or a brash, aggressive Scarface. You need to empathise with the people around you. I have had an abundance of Kung Fu stars show me that I can fight, in a million different martial arts forms. Waymond, portrayed movingly by Ke Huy Quan, showed me how I can love too. 

Waymond’s doodly eyes show that his perspective on life has always been the solution to Joy’s (and our) existential dread. Joy’s “everything bagel” black hole is black on the outside with white in the centre. It shows a dark view of the world, where most of it is filled with corruption and evil. Waymond’s doodly eyes are the perfect opposite, with a white outer layer and a black centre, showing that life is filled with mostly goodness. His eyes were first portrayed as a sign of his childishness. Evelyn angrily scolds him, telling him not to put them everywhere, making a mess. When Evelyn puts the doodly eye on her forehead during the climax, showing that she has embraced his way of life, she sees what we see. That the eyes are not a sign of weakness, but the philosophy that will save us from our humdrum, mortal dread. The philosophy of seeing the fun side of things, of making the everyday interesting, and of finding the good in the bad. 

The film itself is supposed to be an attack on your senses. Jumping from universe to universe, with intense colours, choreographed fight scenes and hilarious goofs, all while our protagonists are hurtling toward the end of reality. At its climax, however, it gives us a scene in a universe where life did not form. Our protagonists become two rocks, speaking to each other in subtitles. The theatre that was bursting with noise just seconds ago is left in a deafening silence. It is in this silence that our hero, Evelyn, gets her moment of clarity, and manages to get her message across. That Joy is loved, and while everything is nonsense, love is the meaning of the universe. It perfectly encapsulates the feeling of being overwhelmed in the modern world. With assignments, the never-ending doom scroll, and a million television shows on a billion streaming platforms, one could easily feel overwhelmed. Sometimes, we just need that moment of stillness, of clarity. To breathe and just… be a rock. This might be especially important in the Asian context. Those who have been inside an authentic Chinese restaurant could attest that the interlaying sounds of chefs clanging pots, waiters shouting dialects and customers having loud conversations are part of the experience. Those who have watched Chinese news or any Japanese or Korean game show would tell you that every inch of the screen is filled with blaring text or reaction shots. Breathe. Just be a rock. Maybe the way to solve our own doom spiral is to find that moment of stillness for ourselves. 


EEAAO is a boundary-breaking, deeply entertaining film that deserves all 11 of its Oscar nominations and more. For the Asian community, it is the first true piece of Hollywood representation that has resonated with us. For me, it’s the film that showed me my past, present and future. What I could be, what I should be and what I am. Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.

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