Drunken debauchery. Sexual abandon. Chain smoking. Men in drag. Lady Gaga… what may be confused for any typical night at Park End is being transported, until Saturday night, to Keble’s O’Reilly theatre. Gnarled Oak’s production of Measure for Measure was strikingly contemporary and illuminating, breathing fresh life into one of Shakespeare’s less renowned plays.

The puritanical absolutism of Angelo was superbly juxtaposed against the unadulterated hedonism of Venice’s inhabitants, the resonant opera and pop ascribed to either side further highlighting the dichotomy. Matt Monaghan’s competent subversion of typical gender roles was particularly notable; what could initially have been considered an effort to counter notions of the submissive female, by presenting strong, vivacious women in all roles bar one, was subsequently undone, intensely so, by the end of the play, allowing patriarchy to triumph.

The proposal scene at the end of the play was simultaneously original, yet unnerving. Charlotte Salkind’s candid portrayal of Isabella was exceptional, it is a rare feat for a modern audience to simultaneously admire her feisty nature, and ultimately sympathise with her, instead of condemning her as cold and dogmatic. Lucio too was wickedly mischievous, unwavering in his grotesque charm as he was in his cigarette habit and despite being the only biological male amongst the cast, Jonnie McAloon’s performance was unashamedly bold and brazen.

1940’s Venice provides the perfect backdrop to the play. The use of the masque was particularly effective; from its signifying the adoption of a different persona in the carnival atmosphere of Mistress Overdone’s brothel; to it serving as the only thing separating Mariana from being discovered by Angelo as she performs the bed trick, allowing us to share with her the insecurity and anxiety she experiences.

Ironically, albeit somewhat obviously so, it is Angelo who never wears a physical masque, but the one who masquerades behind a facade of moral absolutism. It hides the unsettling use of violence towards Pompey, Claudio and Barnadine; as well as the prevailing despotic power, and nod to fascism, expounded in Angelo’s salutes. The violence, when coupled with Isabella’s being stripped to her underwear allows for a darker, and uncomfortably voyeuristic and sadistic experience – rendering the audience dangerously close to the depravity it so markedly condemns in Angelo.

For a darker take on a problematic and troublesome play, Gnarled Oak’s production is both contemporary and ambitious.

These modern cinematic times are ruled by Hollywood blockbusters and often, it seems that the majority of movie theatres show the same type of movie over and over again. Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that except that in such a climate, phrases like ‘social and political cinema’ begin to sound like contradictions. And even if such seemingly mythological creatures do exist, they’re certainly not within easy reach. But a new website aims to change all that. Brightwide is a venture co-founded by Livia & Colin Firth and Paolo De Leo which offers an alternative platform for the best documentaries and socially minded films.

For less than three pounds, anyone with an internet connection can watch Oscar winning documentaries like the Cove and new international festival favourites like No One Knows About Persian Cats. This fee is split between the filmmakers and the website’s expenses. And in today’s cinematic industry where slews of high quality films are lost in or don’t even make it to the distribution stage, De Leo explains that Brightwide has been welcomed by filmmakers as a way of getting their films seen. “I think the film makers that produce these kinds of documentaries have a determination to be listened to so (the website) has been resonating very well.”

That’s all very well and good but there’s still the issue of convincing viewers to sign up and pay for the type of conscientious films that Brightwide offers; films which many presume to be intimidating and sententious. De Leo explains that films are carefully selected to tackle these attitudes towards social and political drama, saying that “we consider engaging and entertaining to be two faces of the same coin” and that it’s not just a matter of “how well the documentary is researched but also how all that is conveyed into a message for the public.”

Brightwide aims to be more than a website for viewing films. It instead aims to create an “online community of film lovers and activists.” To sustain this community, the Brightwide team goes out of their way to select films that “open a discussion.” The website is an arena for debate and it is also a place for action. Each film is accompanied by information about the issues explored and links to relevant organisations and campaigns ranging from small groups to large established NGOs like Amnesty International. But De Leo makes it clear that the website “never suggests one single solution and always has a selection of different options,” so as to encourage the viewer to make their own decisions about the topics presented to them.

Having only recently gone online, Brightwide is still a developing website. De Leo describes it as “a small company made of people” but this small company has big aspirations. De Leo talks about eventually opening a Brightwide competition for film makers and using any eventual profits to launch the website in countries where viewers would not be able to pay the full cost for the films.

Brightwide’s tagline is “watch think link act” and that’s a tide-changing attitude to cinema. As long as websites like Brightwide exist, audiences will be reminded that film can be more than frivolous escapism; it can be the source of outrage, fascination and most importantly, the start of change.

The Prince of Persia started life as a critically acclaimed video game in 1989 and has since become a huge franchise that has spread across two decades and several different mediums from graphic novels to next generation consoles. Now, it hits the big screen. The new film, The Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, is set to be the summer blockbuster to rival Marvel’s Iron Man 2 and it certainly has all the usual trappings of an action-adventure flick. We have an attractive male protagonist, Dastan (Gyllenhaal), who with the help of an equally attractive love interest, Princess Tamina (Arterton), must defeat the less attractive antagonist, Nizam (Kingsley). Between the opening and ending credits Dastan will travel around Persia, create a mismatched group of followers and be a part of some impressive fight scenes; if this all sounds familiar to you then you are likely to have seen the producer’s other big hit The Pirates of the Caribbean. However, though Prince of Persia sounds as if it is cut from the same cloth, it sadly falls short of what Pirates of the Caribbean achieved. The characters are not as developed, the settings not as compelling and the plot not as engaging.

Although Gyllenhaal portrays a far more competent and interesting character than Orlando Bloom’s Will Turner (who ironically was rumoured to have been originally playing this part) he isn’t as entertaining or as dynamic as Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow. Arterton’s Princess Tamina also falls short of being an impressive heroine; the flirtatious bickering between Dastan and Tamina is not only typical of Hollywood blockbusters, but it’s rather poorly executed. Instead of coming across as strong, independent and free thinking Tamina simply seems annoying and whiney. Location also causes gripes. Set in Persia, but filmed in Morocco, the movie jumps quickly from one location to another without properly showing the beauty of the landscape. Sadly it seems that Morocco will look more impressive in Sarah-Jessica Parker’s up-and-coming chick-flick Sex and the City 2 than it did here. Along with jumpy scenes, the plot bounded from location to location and fight to fight with very little congruency or tension. The premise of the film is explained within the first 40 minutes and the audience is given no new surprises.

Despite these deficiencies, the film is not without merit. It provides a lot for lovers of action; the fight scenes are well choreographed with many acrobatic tricks accompanying each sword fight. There is also an element of free running introduced to the film which is a subtle homage to the game the movie is based on. And the sequence of rewinding time is a particularly impressive feature of the film; this beautifully crafted CGI sequence is the one bit of originality in the movie. All together the sequences took a year and a half to finish, but visually it was worth every second. However, these tiny moments are not enough to redeem the rest of the 116 minute running time; anyone who is being dragged to see it should go on Orange Wednesday when at least their ticket will be free.

Stanley Kubrick has always been an egotistical and ambitious director, but with 2001: A Space Odyssey, his ego and ambition couldn’t have been much greater. Believing all previous sci-fi films to have been pure bunkum, Kubrick set himself the unenviable task of creating not only the first great science fiction film in history, but also one of the greatest films in history. With its title (a direct nod to The Odyssey), a grandiose classical score borrowing from Strauss and Ligeti, and a meandering plot that stretches over millennia, this was a film very much intended to be a classic.

Kubrick’s arrogance paid off, and 2001 has since been almost universally recognised as the classic it was intended to be, defying its ruthless dismissal by Pauline Kael as “a monumentally unimaginative movie.” History has proved her wrong, and its popularity seems in no danger of waning, despite existing within an unstable genre: as a sci-fi film, it lacks the contemporary or historical settings of Kubrick’s previous films, and as such remains far more vulnerable to appearing rapidly out-dated in its effects and visions of the future.

Nevertheless, 42 years after its release and 9 years after its setting, 2001 remains stunningly futuristic and frightening. In the current ADHD era of rapid editing and effects-driven plots – Transformers 2 being the current low – the film has a hypnotic authority, patiently commanding the audience’s attention with minimal dialogue and lengthy takes. The hyperactive, energetic and terminally dull direction of Michael Bay could draw a lesson or five from Kubrick’s example.

While it has something resembling a plot in the shape of HAL, the film is better described as a mediation on life, the universe and everything. Kubrick refused to provide any fixed meaning behind the monkeys, the monolith or the star child, yet its ambiguity is the key strength of the film. Its ending raises far more questions than it answers, yet its surreal and utterly brilliant climax violently rejects conventional narrative logic in a way that is still staggeringly original.

Frustratingly, any attempt to describe or explain 2001 fully would be to do it an injustice – it can only be appreciated when experienced first hand. Its original tagline of “The Ultimate Trip” is, if anything, underselling the film. This is cinema drugged up to its eyeballs: a psychedelic, hallucinatory and profound experience, powerfully administered via Kubrick’s pure, uncut genius.

When Chris Morris makes things, there is a predictable pattern of events which follow. First, he finds a suitably controversial subject matter, for example drugs, paedophilia, or in this case, terrorism. Then he turns it into comedy. Then there is a tabloid backlash, radio phone-ins overheat, Channel 4 comes under fire, politicians decry it, then subsequently admit they’ve not seen it but say they are offended in “principle”. Yet, another predictable element of Morris’ work is that it is always absolutely hilarious. Four Lions is no exception. It tells the story of four suicide bombers in training, and their leader Omar’s (Riz Ahmed) attempts to keep his three somewhat simpler colleagues on track, towards a successful bomb-plot and matyrdom. As always, Morris undermines classic media perceptions and coverage of a touchy issue, but here his method is not to parody said media coverage to the point of being absurd, but instead to bypass the media almost entirely (except a few scenes where they are shown to be getting the wrong end of the stick), and concentrate on following the “reality” of a terrorist cell at work. What results is a film as funny, but perhaps relatively tame – by Morris’ standards. The humour is not derived from hysterical reporting of issues – he doesn’t play a talk-show host who lambasts a man for having “bad-aids” – but instead from the group dynamics at play in any group of people, made more absurd by their twistedly confused ideology. As Morris has pointed out, “A cell of terrorists is a bunch of blokes”, and the chemistry between the four ‘lions’ very much reflects that. Here perhaps one can clearly see the influence of the writers Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong (of Peep Show fame). For while controversial things crop up, the “eating a barbecued dog” moments in this film result, as in Peep Show, from farcical misunderstanding, rather than newsroom parody.

One thing for Morris has not changed though. As ever, nothing is sacred. That doesn’t mean he concentrates his fire on the most controversial areas, just for the hell of it. Rather, if something can be made fun of, it will be. New recruit to the group Hassan (Arsher Ali) grabs the gangs attention by pointing out the folly of an MP’s outlook, when he threatens to blow up a local community meeting with what transpire to be party poppers, observing that just because he was Muslim the MP “thought he was do it.” However, later Hassan is found to be ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ with a neighbour, nails and bomb material in full view. Pious Muslims are mocked by potential terrorist brothers, to the point where refusing to enter the same room as a women gets him into a water-pistol fight. Government marksmen get into fights at the London Marathon over whether a Wookie constitutes a bear. There are no heroes in this film, just a lot of people who are made to look foolish. The Daily Mail won’t like the fact that possibly the most sympathetic character, Omar, is the cell leader – but even his doctrine is revealed to be nonsense by the end. Any suggestion that it glorifies terrorism is grotesquely misplaced – in fact, surely the people who fearmonger and suggest that terrorism is the work of criminal masterminds, rather than people who think the best way to impersonate a woman is to place one’s hands on one’s face to cover your beard, are more guilty of glorifying terrorism.

Morris says that “the film is not racist, is not attacking a culture, but may just be suggesting that killing people is not a good idea.” That is something that most of us can agree on. But it leads to a curiously sad ending, where if the plot succeeds, then people (including the terrorists) have died for a twisted cause, but if it fails, then the people you’ve been following the whole film, their worlds, will have meant nothing. The fact that this paradox even figures in the conscience of anyone raises an important point. Morris manages to humanise figures who seems beyond hope. You may not like them, you hopefully won’t agree with them, but they are recognised to be human. And surely that is the first step towards attempting to approach the problem. Morris may be accused of trivialising terrorism, but in fact, after intensive research he has managed to cut beaneath the surface of the over-simplified picture presented by the media. And has he points out. “Once you’ve had your preconceptions flipped – and discovered it can be funny too, how could you not make a film about it?”

You should really know about Michael Fassbender; the term ‘rising star’ was probably coined with him in mind. With his vast acting range and natural charm, Fassbender is a strong candidate for the coveted ‘next big leading man’ slot.

The German-born, Irish actor is currently starring alongside Dominic West in Centurion and like his previous role in 300 (in which he famously uttered the phrase ‘then we will fight in the shade’), this is a highly physical role which Fassbender admits he enjoyed. “I like sort of running around and pretending to be a Roman soldier, its fun.” Somehow, between roles in huge box office hits, Fassbender has managed to fit in performances in critically acclaimed arthouse films. In the same year, he starred in a lauded, independent film, Fish Tank and in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds as the very British and slick Lieutenant Archie Hicox. Fassbender explains that working with Tarantino was a “very surreal and wonderful” experience, especially for an actor who put on his own stage performance of Reservoir Dogs in his teens.

When asked how he got into acting, Fassbender laughs and replies “through not knowing what else to do.” After a series of drama workshops held at his secondary school, Fassbender joined a professional theatre company and went on to study at the Dublin School of Acting and the Drama Centre in London. He made the transition from stage to film via roles on television including a part in the acclaimed mini-series Band of Brothers. And the word ‘acclaimed’ pops up regularly when reviewing Fassbender’s career. His harrowing performance as Bobby Sands in Hunger earned him multiple awards including the London Critics Circle Film award for Best Actor. For the role, Fassbender embarked on a dramatic weight loss programme and he admits that it’s the role of which he is most proud. “The commitment towards Hunger, over a long period of time was a very special experience for me on many levels…I think that one will always be special.”

Fassbender explains that he picks his roles based on the script and director but that he also looks for difficult parts. “I like to challenge myself and keep on my toes; do things that scare me a little bit.” And between the battle scenes in Centurion and a 17 minute, unbroken scene in Hunger, Fassbender is certainly being challenged by both the nature and frequency of his acting roles. It is obvious that the actor’s work schedule is densely packed and when asked what he does in his free time, he says “I like to travel and…sleep, I’m a big fan of sleeping when I’m not working.”

And Fassbender’s career shows no signs of slowing down. This year will see the release of the highly anticipated Jonah Hex in which Fassbender stars alongside John Malkovich and Josh Brolin as Burke, a psychopathic killer in a bowler hat (a costuming decision made by the actor himself, influenced by “a clockwork orange…and Frank Gorshin’s The Riddler.”) The actor is also currently shooting an adaptation of Jane Eyre and is due to start working with David Cronenberg on a film concerning the relationship between Freud and Jung. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So for those who didn’t already know all about Michael Fassbender, believe me, in the next few years you will.

Aside from instilling in me an early love of yellow rain slickers, my first viewing of Singing in the Rain at seven years old was a revelation. Every scene crackled with spark and energy- the drama, the dance, and the song, all combining into one incredible triple threat. It’s a film that was named in the top ten of the American Film Institute’s 100 Greatest Movies, but given its lukewarm critical reception at the time of its release, what gave this musical such staying power?

Much of the film’s strength lies in its cast-the lithe and athletic Gene Kelly, his side-splitting sidekick, Donald O’Connor, and the fresh-faced, doe-eyed Debbie Reynolds. But what makes this film so great is its commentary on the film industry, in a way that is still astonishingly relevant today. Singing in the Rain features a film within a film within a film, all of which flow effortlessly between each other. This is perhaps not so unusual now, with the slew of titles relating to the worldwide obsession with its favorite medium, but at the time, movies about movies were still relatively novel. The film comments on the arrival of talking pictures in the 1920s, and the industry’s scramble to keep up with new technology was a catalyst in the entertainment world. Best of all is the humorous stand that the film takes on the ludicrousness of entertainment, especially the infectious adoration of film stars, whose egos match the size of their giant silver screens.

However, though Singing in the Rain might mock cinema culture, it never ceases to revel in the magic of the movies, right down to the eye-popping hues of its vivid flapper costumes and Technicolor skies. Much is made of Kelly’s admittedly incredible dance sequence in the rain, but the other numbers are also as dazzling. Nowhere is this better seen in the “Broadway Melody” portion of the film, in which Kelly’s dancing sways and springs across the screen in a breathtaking range of styles, from jazz to ballet. The effect, along with the music, is enchanting and exciting, full of the glamour and glitz of old cinema. And who can forget the irresistible charm of Donald O’Connor’s acrobatic “Make ‘Em Laugh?”

A few weeks ago, I saw this movie in a hotel in Copenhagen, Denmark, and I’m pleased to note that it hadn’t lost any of the luster fourteen years later. Cyd Charisse’s legs were still just as long, Kathy Seldon was still popping out of a towering cake, and “Make ‘Em Laugh” still made me… laugh. In short, this film is timeless, a perfect blend of comedy and commentary, pop culture and high art. The lasting effects of Singing in the Rain are so numerous that counting them seems impossible-from Volkswagen ad campaigns to Britain’s Got Talent to skits on Saturday Night Live. But it is the unreserved love of cinema that makes Singing in the Rain such a success-this is a film full of magic and romance and laughter, that loves being a film and makes no apologies.

Hello all you lovely Cherwell readers and welcome to the first of our blogs from the London International Documentary Festival. Today, most of the scheduled events are on at the Barbican, which for my money is the best arts centre in London. For those of you that haven’t visited before, it’s like one big cultural living room. Literally, there’s a glut of sofas scattered across every floor and absolutely no one to tell you to leave or buy something before you sit down. Think Starbucks but without the overpriced coffee.

Walking down the stairs towards the Barbican’s cinema block, I notice a small exhibition of photos by Toby Smith entitled “Madagascar: Bois de Rose.” This is a part of the LIDF’s attempts to broaden the nature of the events held as part of the festival with the use of things like radio and particularly photography. This exhibition is completely free and documents illegal deforestation in Madagascar and it’s full of shots of beautiful landscapes alongside images of poverty. I was expecting an exhibition criticizing the illegal trade but instead the main emphasis was on the community and people involved.

Now onto the main events. First up is a screening of This Way of Life which follows Peter and Colleen Karena, their six children and their fifty horses. The Karena family live in a thoroughly “unmodern” way, unconcerned by the comforts of materialism they instead value nature and family. I know this may sound like a typical film about laid-back flower-power but it isn’t at all; I was struck by the elegance of the family’s life in their attitudes, lifestyle and particularly their relationships with their horses (and before you ask, no, not in an Equus way.) For all of the hours of expensive blockbuster footage of horses, I have never seen the animals look as majestic as they do in this film. Add to that probably some of the cutest kids in the world and you’ve got yourself a winner.

After a three hour lull in screenings which I spent pretending to do work, the next film was due to start. This year, the LIDF is hosting a retrospective of Don Boyd’s work and this was launched at the Barbican with a screening of Lucia, which was introduced by the director himself. Boyd explained his influences and inspiration behind the film and made it clear that Lucia isn’t really a documentary. In fact I don’t know how to describe Lucia at all. It’s a film about a company performing Lucia di Lammermoor and the lives of the singers become entangled with the plot of the opera; well at least that’s what I think happens. It’s easy to get confused in the midst of all the blood, arias and nudity. At its best, the film is truly disorientating and surreal. There’s a wonderful colour-saturated scene of a woman underwater; it’s like nothing else in the rest of film.

Closing the day’s events is Erik Gandini’s Videocracy. For anyone – like me – who didn’t know, the Italian president, Silvio Berlusconi has a huge stake in the Italian media and the film focuses on the growth of television culture in Italy, Berlusconi’s power over this and the effects on the aspirations of those who grew up around the fairly vacuous barrage of television on offer. This is a really strong documentary, full of shock, humanity and humour. It includes footage of an advert in which crowds of women impassionedly singing “Thank God Silvio exists.” Seriously. After the film, there’s a panel discussion hosted by Index on Censorship. By the time the panel came around it had been a long day and I was fairly tired but it certainly woke me up. One of the key topics extended by the talk is the attitude of women towards Italian television, particularly the swathes of women who dream of becoming “Veline” (barely dressed, completely silent dancers that populate Italian television).

Having learnt about the state of Italian TV, the illegal rosewood trade and the life of a New Zealand family, I called it a day. I’ll be back blogging from the LIDF soon so goodbye until then.