Sunday, May 11, 2025
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The Duchess of Malfi: A Review

Clementine Scott
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The Duchess of Malfi: A Review

The servant Delio (Riya Banerjee) enters the stage, a tense, static figure, and cloaks the Michael Pilch Studio in an uncomfortably long silence. Rhapsody Productions’ version of John Webster’s tragedy The Duchess of Malfi begins as it means to go on, encapsulating the moment of quiet before disaster, in a minimalist production in which the performances of a talented cast carry this tension throughout. 

Webster’s play paints a brutal picture of political corruption in 16th-century Italy, through the lens of a recently widowed young woman and her ambitious brothers, and stagings of the text often live and die on the strength of the interactions and rapport between members of the cast. There is a complex web of relationships, between the powerful and the power-hungry, the lovers and the ambitious courtiers, to be established in a series of vignettes before the escalation to violence in the final acts. While Rhapsody Productions have slightly slimmed down the cast and removed some scenes, the complexity remains, and has been well navigated.

None of the cast members ended up defaulting to the well-worn stereotype associated with their role. The performance of Nathan Crewe (who also directs the production) performance granted the disgraced spy Bosola a degree of emotional depth, while losing none of the character’s innate sliminess; Alex Bridges as lovelorn steward Antonio knew when to rein in the nervous energy in favour of a more authentic tenderness.  Jules Upson was deliciously unhinged as the Duchess’ brother Ferdinand, although one sometimes felt as though he amped up the volume of his dialogue at the expense of emotional expression. Disha Kashyap’s eponymous Duchess was the sun around which the rest of the play revolves, the character acting as a fittingly blank canvas onto which the men around her can project, though later in the play a degree of tenacity on her part does shine through.

Elspeth Knight’s costumes were  another highlight, with Crewe’s corset and mesh shirt ensemble and the touches of androgyny in Bridges’ look being especially memorable. However, given the strength of the cast’s acting performances, it is a shame that the production wasn’t more impressive aesthetically. The minimalist set design by Ruby Sayer did  not necessarily correspond with  the lavishness of either  the costumes or the sordid decadence on display in Webster’s script.The production seemed to occupy a strange grey area between a modern adaptation of the themes of The Duchess of Malfi and an attempt at authentically capturing the play’s setting. The only real element of set design were a few translucent white curtains hanging off-centre at the back of the stage, which are not utilised as seamlessly as they could have been in facilitating various actors’ entries, exits and, in one case, imprisonment.

The staging of certain scenes was also awkward — with the space at times too crowded and in other moments underutilised. The visceral onstage murders, revolutionary when the play was first staged,  were well performed, but the production had not sufficiently thought through how to get around the placement of several corpses centre stage halfway through the show, so the later scenes sometimes felt claustrophobic. Moreover, the staging of some of the play’s dialogues felt very static, and as a result one became keenly aware of how often that space wasn’t being filled, despite the modest size of the Pilch. 

 Rhapsody Production’s version of ‘The Duchess of Malfi’  had some teething issues, but these do not ultimately detract too significantly from the production’s merit. The cast and crew  demonstrated a strong ability to convey the play’s themes to a contemporary  audience through evocative performances, despite a convoluted script and limited visual resources.

Christian Girl Autumn : hot or hated ?

Naomi Man
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Christian Girl Autumn : hot or hated ?

Shortening days and falling temperatures signal for many things, but most excitingly it means that Caitlin Covington’s Christian Girl Autumn shoot is just around the corner. The photoshoot typically features heavily saturated of Caitlin in warm, autumnal hues of orange and brown, wide brimmed hats or beanies, knit jumpers and knee-high boots. Initially gaining traction from a tweet joking that it was the antithesis to the concept of Hot Girl Summer, introduced into the mainstream media by Megan The Stallion, Christian Girl Autumn is used to mock the perceived idea of basic that usually comes hand in hand with a privileged, prejudiced, right wing, white woman. Caitlin’s responded suggesting social media users made fun of her “good ones” instead, this was received well and she followed up with outlining that she did not align herself with the stereotypes that could be drawn from the images though acknowledging the humour that was found in it. 

After this, Covington has been able to create a fanbase through harvesting the clout she gained as The Christian Girl of Autumn. Yet what is more interesting is the stereotype that is found from her position as a representative of “basic white girl core[1]”. The aesthetic has become a uniform whether that is playing into the irony as Covington does, or a sincere appreciation of knee-high boots, skinny jeans, and off the shoulder knits. And yet despite the self-awareness that those dressing in this manner likely have, this aesthetic that is looked down upon as a joke in comparison to other aesthetics that offer the same uniform like outfits. There is a level of superiority on the internet that many hold over the “basic b*tch” aesthetic, yet surely those lacking the self-awareness that they are dressing the same as huge swathes of people like them should be considered in the same manner. Over the course of the pandemic, many aesthetics crystallised and many were passing fads, the speed of trend cycles increased to unattainable time constraints until they imploded, and the algorithms became an echo chamber of styles and individual pieces of clothing. Going to any event demonstrates the accidental uniformity of people – there is a reason that decades’ costumes are easy to boil down into a few constituent items. People crave familiarity and for that reason there will always be a conscious or subconscious effort to assimilate into certain groups, or to be led by certain individuals.

Just as in any form of creative form of self-expression, there is never and there will never be a completely original thought. The collective consciousness of people now is more united than ever thorough things like the Tiktok algorithm which feeds you what other users that it believes are like you have already enjoyed. There is a frequency in the distorted chequerboard pattern, in Mary Quant-esque five petaled cartoon flowers, wide leg jeans and Airforce-1s that runs parallel to the uniform of the Christian Girl in Autumn. The design ideas and items of clothes that I have listed will evoke your own images, thoughts and cliches in the same way that the term “basic” to describe clothing will. The term has recently begun to be used to describe Jordan 1s, Nike Dunks and the like, items that have always been popular holy grails amongst the community that labels themselves as ‘sneaker heads’ , which often appears to be gatekeeping-ly masculine. The increasing perceived basicness of these shoes has occurred almost in symmetry with the increasing popularity with young women. This condescending superiority complex is seen elsewhere in women’s interest, from music to films, to video games. Women cannot have casual enjoyment of something as they are so often gatekept out of these things until they cannot be at which point men abandon it. American cheerleading used to be a male dominated sport as men were the only ones admitted to university until women began partaking after their admission and its increasing popularity among them leading to men leaving the field until it became competitive. 

Clearly this male superiority complex crosses over many facets of daily life. Men seem to rarely face the ‘basic’ criticism or any kind of criticism over the way they dress that women face. This is despite the fact options for accessible men’s fashion remains limited or they choose to allow it to remain limited. The regular branding of different styles of women’s fashion as ‘basic’ illustrates that the negative connotations of this uniformity is done so through the lens of misogyny rather than a ‘fashion’ or ‘personal style’ forward mindset. Even aesthetics that appear to be less ‘basic’ than that of Christian Girl Autumn still have characteristics that are common among that specific community—take for example goths, cottage-core, or subversive basics. There will always be an inspiration for clothes or an outfit no matter how niche the aesthetic, and as fun as the concept of Christian Girl Autumn is, the constant drive to appear not-basic, or fashion forward through regular wardrobe updates to keep up with trends has become exhausting and unsustainable. 

[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/18/style/christian-girl-autumn-caitlin-covington.html

Image Credit : RawPixel

We need to talk about Pasoori

Tom Farmer
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We need to talk about Pasoori

We need to talk about Pasoori. It’s Coke Studio’s hit single by Ali Sethi and Shae Gill which has taken the world by storm. Ranked third on Spotify’s Global Viral 50 list, it was the first Pakistani song to feature on its global song chart. It was sampled in Disney’s Ms Marvel, has been covered by a Dutch vocalist, a Californian violinist and me, all the time, in the shower. You might have heard it on Tik Tok, or on radio stations from Delhi to London. And if you haven’t, you need to. 

Pasoori is more than just a catchy hit which broke out of Pakistan; it’s a beautiful and progressive statement of social and cultural values. Dubbed “quietly subversive” by the New Yorker, it’s subtly provocative all the while feeling profoundly familiar, invoking classical themes and drawing on a number of cultural sounds. Sethi describes it as a blend of raga and reggaeton (“ragaton”), but it blends Turkic, Arab, Persian and Indic influences into a collective inheritance: Turkish baglama alongside Afghani rubab alongside the mandolin. The fusion genre is absolutely stunning, fiercely demonstrating the ‘free movement of ideas and melodies through song’.

Sethi says a lot through this song. Its lyrics were finalised just 12 hours before the music video was filmed, and it reads more like poetry than pop. To understand its message, you have to consider the context of its production. In 2019, as tensions in Kashmir escalated, Pakistani artists and actors were banned from working in India. . Tours were cancelled, prominent Bollywood actors returned to Pakistan, and the mood turned sour for artists on both sides of the border. Despite political tensions, Pakistanis have historically consumed Bollywood movies just as Indians do Pakistani dramas – a huge blow had just been dealt to the cultural exchange between the two nations. That’s why it’s all the more interesting that Pasoori hit No. 1 on Indian charts, just as two teens were arrested for listening to Pakistani music. The song’s success speaks to artists’ ability to dissolve borders, even as they remain as tense as ever.

It almost comes as no surprise, then, that Pasoori follows star-crossed lovers, with potent lyricism that is passionate, uplifting, and full of anguish. Written in Punjabi, a language spoken on both sides of the India-Pakistan border, the lyrics grieve for a love that never was, beseeching the listener to end the lovers’ separation; in the chorus, “My love, don’t let this distance reign”, and the bridge, “Don’t let these lovers be in pain”. To me, Pasoori isn’t a clichéd song which asserts that love conquers all, whatever challenges it faces. Rather, it feels in its entirety the pain of the separated lovers, decrying the injustice of it all, and dreams of a fairer world. Love itself is given no power, it simply exists, regardless of the world around it – Gill sings, “I forgot about my chains \ and people’s refrains”. It exists, regardless of morality – “If your love is poison \ I’ll drink it in a flurry”. 

I should add, rather unhelpfully, that I don’t speak Punjabi, and that many of the words used are difficult to translate. For example, the expression ‘my love’, mere dhol, used in Pasoori also means ‘my drum’, as though invoking the sound of a heartbeat. Pasoori itself can translate to a number of things, including ‘conflict’.

Pasoori, then, is familiar in more ways than one. This conflict is a universal story. Sethi says ‘it’s about somebody who is oppressing you, and preventing people who want to be together from meeting’. A song like this isn’t particularly bold or new; classical desi music is full of examples. Only, it feels ever more prescient in today’s world of fortified borders and isolationism. This song, this conflict, has struck a global nerve. And as with all great pieces of art, it faithfully reflects whatever interpretation we project onto it; the border in question might be India and Pakistan, but it could be the US and Pakistan – Sethi spent his life between these two places. Pasoori could equally be an anthem for the diaspora, people whose identities are truncated by borders and who live isolated from their family and culture. 

I’d propose an alternative interpretation. 

The music video provides further clues. It sets the song among striking visuals that tell a powerful story of identity and authenticity. To me, everything from the introductory soundscape to the costume design says ‘be proud of who you are’. The aesthetic captures the traditional crux of the song while feeling contemporary, reflected in the singers’ modern interpretations of traditional outfits. Sethi wears a striped kurta and matching cap, what one might wear to the mosque, but with bold colouration and futuristic sunglasses: as he describes it, ‘of the past and of the future’. There are gorgeous scenes of a girl with a nose to ear chain, bridal jewellery turned gothic, and boys performing a traditional jhumar dance, kurtas flaring in an effeminate flurry.

Although it took me a long time to decipher, I was immediately struck by what I perceived as queerness. Tucked alongside the old-Bollywood duet of forbidden lovers are stills of a young man in gem-studded makeup, piercing gazes from a woman in a room of flowers, a boy in bright yellow and blue clothing. Their meanings just beyond reach, their stories untold. Shae Gill brings a slightly smoky timbre to the duet, very different from the high pitch of classical Indian female vocalist. And Sethi is singing masculine pronouns in a love song: “He said he’d come, he never did \ my heart lurched and slid.” I wasn’t surprised to discover, then, that Sethi is a queer artist, and has touched upon gender identity and sexuality in his work before, such as with his song Rung (meaning ‘Colour’) which celebrates LGBTQ identity. Perhaps unsurprisingly, when I listen to the song, this is the conflict that resonates with me the most.

And yet, for such subversive undertones, the heart of the song is the Ghazal, which is a form of amatory poem associated with Sufi Islam. The music video begins and ends with Sheema Kermani performing a classical Indian dance called a Bharatnatyam. The beat follows traditional Indian raga, which is a framework for improvised classical music. It’s no mistake that Pasoori readily evokes traditional themes; Sethi admits that the appetite for Sufi music in Pakistan allows him to approach subversive ideas through the metaphors of Sufi poetry. He calls these metaphors ‘beautiful, deliberate ambiguities’. Like singing a love story as a man, to a man, perhaps.

It’s hard to describe the boldness of this metaphor, and the importance of it going viral. The closest analogy I can think of is how Hozier’s Take Me To Church uses Gospel to deliver its message to religious communities. Homosexuality has been criminal in Pakistan since the British Raj. Since then, religious fundamentalists have kept it so. Yet, the Ghazal has never been entirely heterosexual. Although we may now call this queerness, pre-modern Ghazals left the gender of the subject ambiguous as they were concerned with expressing man’s love for God; the subjects were simply aspects of this divine beauty. Men’s openly romantic or erotic attachments with other men in 19th century India ultimately shocked British missionaries enough to enact anti-sodomy laws in 1861. These were repealed in India in 2018, but remain in place in Pakistan today. Pasoori boldly reclaims this pre-colonial identity, reconnecting with the history of Ghazal and delivering a powerful, and very queer, message. As its music video passes 300m views, and it remains on Pakistan’s top charts, it speaks to the heart of our understanding of love and God.

It’s fascinating to see this element of Islam portrayed;Sufism embraces pluralism, tolerance and an inward search for the divine. It’s a far cry from what many (in the West and outside of it) perceive Islam to be, today. As Sethi says, ‘It’s unfortunate that we [Pakistan] are associated with close-mindedness sometimes, especially in the West. And I think that our music and our art and our culture are opportunities […] to showcase the alternative: which is that long before they thought of it, we were it’. Although Pasoori speaks through metaphor and imagery, our collective hope for these star-crossed lovers must be that they teach us to be kinder to one another, that ‘this song is able to transcend boundaries, borders and binaries’.

(Now go listen to the song, with captions on)

Narcissus : a review

Will Wilson
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Narcissus : a review

It is perhaps unsurprising that a play named after a boy who falls in love with himself should be as self-indulgent as Kian Moghaddas’ Narcissus is. The play unapologetically devotes itself to Oscar Wilde and attempts to recreate the decadent culture of fin de siècle England. At best, this leads to moments of delightfully frivolous conversation peppered with aphorisms worthy of Wilde himself, as when Mr Norris (Ezra Jackson) declares, “I can resist everything, except temptation”; at worst, the endeavour to resuscitate the diction of dandyism becomes shot through with modernisms such as “ready when you are” so that we are left with a somewhat Frankensteinian dialogue that brings the action of the play to a jarring halt. 

The more general issue these narrative fissures reveal is that Narcissus cannot sustain the emotional gravitas it heaps upon itself. Take, for instance, the scene in which Echo (Sophie Magalhaes), who has recently fallen in love with the young Narcissus (Sam Burles), goes to the house of his father Lord Necropher (Noah McGarrity) in search of him only to learn she may never leave. Magalhaes’ voice resounds with all the pathos of one who has learned they may never really live again; McGarrity inflicts this fate with a gratifying Machiavellian glee; David Street’s work on lighting does much to create an appropriately sinister atmosphere. Yet at times the lines feel so stilted as to undermine all this, so that ultimately the scene conveys all the threat of a 3D-printed Keir Starmer.

Narcissus is at its strongest when it allows this unselfconscious theatricality to slide and flaunts its own underlying absurdity. Burles’ pairing with Cosimo Asvisio as Arthur Minyas works particularly well in this regard. The latter, playing a dusty socialite whose life clearly peaked in his (presumed) time at Eton, delivers his plaints to his reluctant lover with a droning monotonousness sufficiently soporific to euthanise an expiring poodle. The resulting bathos is superb, because it allows the play to register most acutely its ironic distance from the world it purports to recreate: Narcissus and Arthur are no Dorian and Lord Henry, it seems to acknowledge, but only a flaccid imitation of them. This point seems to be reinforced by the comic moments of the play, such as when Narcissus and Arthur, lying in wait to uncover Norris’ secret lover, are discovered and claim, respectively, to be looking for their (third) shoe and tying their (already tied) shoelaces; or when the matriarchal Lady Necropher (Charlie Lovejoy) grills a squirming Arthur over his intentions in his friendship with Narcissus. The dynamism between actors in these scenes conjures up the slapstick hilarity of a Fawlty Towers episode, an aspect all the more entertaining because it is transplanted into the world (admirably recreated by set and costume designers Iona Eyre and Eliza Browning) of upper-class Victorian London.

Unfortunately, the play does not entirely commit itself to this comical self-reflection. Burles’ final monologue seems at first to capture the naïve ardour of a youth entirely in love with himself, spoken by an actor setting out to ironise the performativity of this pose. Yet by the time Narcissus stabs Arthur in the back (to an uncomfortably short snippet of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu) it is unclear whether play and actor share the unreflective sincerity of the character himself. The denouement does have the merit of turning around a well-orchestrated plot-twist, yet this fails to bring the hoped-for gasp from the audience because the play lacks the narrative backbone to support it. Each scene up to this point feels almost like an Instagram reel, something to be enjoyed for itself but then largely forgotten, so that Magalhaes’ character, in spite of how well she plays it, feels by the end of the play less like an echo than a whole in a shirt you took to Oxfam six months ago. 

Wilde, of course, with his emphasis on style over meaning, would laud Narcissus reel-like quality. Indeed, the sexual politics of the play, which seem at one moment to condemn adultery, at another to champion homosexuality, and then finally to declare its apathy towards both these issues, seems thus to disavow any moralising purpose in favour of technical flourish. Particularly impressive are Magalhaes’ interaction with McGarrity, and later a dinner scene involving Lord Necropher, Narcissus, Arthur and Norris, in which characters echo one another, pick up one another’s lines, speak together and, at one point, comment on the artificiality of all these tropes. Yet the play (once again) self-sabotages this ambitious formalism in a moment when Arthur, Narcissus and Echo perform a polyphonic speech on the taboos and attractions of adultery and homoeroticism. What was previously a mere technical feat becomes infused with a moralising tendency, and what unfortunately results is a scene that smacks of a GCSE Drama piece on the throes of secondary school romance. 

Ultimately, Narcissus, much like Dorian Gray, looks at itself to find an image that it does not recognise. Regardless of the undeniable merits of its constituent parts, holistically it cannot decide what it wants to be.

Skin Review 

Teagan Riches
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Skin Review 

CW // cancer, death 

Written and directed by Peter Todd, and led by a phenomenal central performance from Izzy Lever, SKIN is a deeply moving and emotionally honest portrayal of a young woman named Sadie (Izzy Lever) after she is diagnosed with melanoma. Following a brief opening scene between Sadie and her sister Clara (Elise Busset), she learns of her new diagnosis before we, the audience, are hurtled through the next few scenes alongside her as she barely manages to process everything around her. The pace of Todd’s writing and the staging are both key here: Lever is essentially thrown about the stage from scene to scene, with transitions often marked only by a swapping of set pieces and brief changes of lighting. It’s a dizzying experience, appropriately so for young Sadie. We watch her subjected to procedure after procedure and bad phone call after bad phone call, and witness the emotional reverberations of her ordeal.  

There is a consistent motif of entrapment throughout. Sonically, for instance, where sound designer Alva Orr does some remarkable work: in moments of extreme stress, a deep bass hum plays from the speakers to simulate tinnitus, drowning out voices and shaking us in our seats. The sound design created an especially visceral atmosphere within the Keble O’Reilly, which is a large space, though set designer Sav Sood fills it well. The set design was smart and functional: minimal enough for efficient stage transitions and to focalise the emotional spectacle rather than the visual, whilst still giving the actors space to breathe. Sadie is mentally entrapped, by a body trying to kill her in her own suffocating skin, but also by uncertainty. The plot is structured to give her virtually no respite, where the threat of ‘sorry, I have some bad news’ always looms. I sometimes felt implicated in Sadie’s entrapment by simply being in the audience, the thrust staging of the audience rendering us more like observers in an operating theatre. 

The most arresting part of the play was the expressionist emulation of a CT scan, told largely through movement and metaphor. Sadie begins by speaking to her doctor: this time, a voice from the speakers, and Sadie begins to almost physically shrink in comparison. The stage lights dim, Sadie’s heartbeat thrums, and four nurses with light bars walk around her and start scanning her. She is thrashed around these luminous walls while she struggles to reach for her red ‘panic button’.  Lighting designer Ana Pagu and choreographer Tiggy Jones did brilliantly here and made the whole sequence uniquely terrifying. 

Crucially, the visual and sonic elements of the play always served to enhance the performances and never detracted from them. All to the good; the performances were incredible. The supporting cast had to double up on their roles, but you’d never guess it, because they were always convincing as either. Proshanto Chanda was warm and funny as ‘hair dryer man’. Sal Algannin made me genuinely angry as Sadie’s unreasonably awful boss, Simon. I was particularly impressed with the precision of Pip Lang’s dual performances as bubbly Nurse Caroline and stony Dr Kinsela: at one point, one after another! Balaji also remained a friendly and patient presence as Jill, Sadie’s work friend. The two standout performances however, were Lever’s and Busset’s as sisters braving the struggle (and indeed a shared one, as Todd smartly shows). They commanded the stage effortlessly and delivered mountains of heart-rending dialogue with finesse and sincerity, and were totally convincing as siblings. Todd’s writing also deserves more praise than I have space for here, in managing to craft a complex and realistic interior life for Sadie, through dialogue that was quietly beautiful but never heavy-handed or enamoured by its own poetry.  

I also appreciated the ending that Todd wrote, despite it being spoiled in the show’s programme (maybe I was meant to read that after the show). Though we never hear the voice on the other end, Sadie receives one last phone call from the hospital: “Yes..?”, she answers, as the final light shines on her face, lingers for a second, then goes out. I’d imagine that’s how she feels. 

Hallucinogenic, but haphazard: A review of Honest Fool’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Maeve Hagerty
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Hallucinogenic, but haphazard: A review of Honest Fool’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream

If Shakespeare lends himself well to adaptation, then A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1595-6) is possibly the most naturally adapted of the bard’s plays. From the 25-29th of October, Oxford’s own Honest Fool Productions put on a psychedelic, ‘70s-inspired’, adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Michael Pilch Studio. A narrative of unrequited love, fairy trickery, and timeless humor, the show follows the four young lovers Hermia (Lydia Free), Lysander (Matt Sheldon), Demetrius (Lorenzo Harvey Allchurch), and Helena (Darcey Willing) as their lives and relationships intertwine in the depths of the woods. 

A Midsummer Night’s Dream seems perfectly suited to a  ‘70s reworking : the mischievous fairy Puck (Leah Aspden) casts spells on the lovers and engages in general fairy mischief while the mystic setting of the woods creates the perfect arena for the kind of hallucinogenic atmosphere that Honest Fool Productions advertised. However, what they delivered on the stage was slightly lack-luster. 

The set consisted of  a single mattress with an iron bed frame center stage, bedecked in fairy lights and colorful flowers. The set design by Teagan Riches is to be applauded: the mattress became the central axis on which the show spun, giving the actors space to move and creating a clear background and foreground which gave the stage a sense of complexity, appropriate for the ever-changing settings of the play.. The costuming, by Anna Stephen, Helny Hobbs and Madi Hopper, was another successful technical element of the performance – not overdone and yet engaging – including leather jackets and combat boots for Peter Quince (Alex Bridges) and his players, and hippie-inspired  skirts and blouses for the four lovers. 

The performers delivered their roles with distinction. Leah Aspden’s Puck and Darcey Willing as Helena were some of the stand-outs, and the rest of the cast performed their roles with the kind of energy and excitement that makes student theatre so special. However, the production itself sometimes strayed too far into the psychedelic and the cliché. From long montages of magic, or drug-induced weirdness that were increasingly difficult to follow, the production seemed to lose its footing the further it tried to stress its ‘70s inspiration.

The first half of the show was engaging, introducing the audience to the hippie- and punk-inspired world they were creating, but after the interval the narrative became lost in the forced humour and slightly contrived emotional moments. Aspden’s final monologue as Puck, tears mixing with the glitter on her cheeks, although beautifully delivered with a tenderness of voice and enchanting inflection, would have been significantly  more powerful had it not followed an over-the-top rendition of the players’ performance of the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe. What is usually the peak of Midsummer’s comedic potential, became almost incomprehensible for all of the emphatic loudness of the scene—from the actual volume of voices to the overdoing of performances. Though this scene is always intended to be riotous and larger than life, Honest Fool Productions spun it out of control and recognition. 

Simply put, Honest Fools Productions’ A Midsummer Night’s Dream was full of good moments and drew more than its fair share of laughter and wonder from the audience, but it slowly descended into a flurry of activity that was at once too fast and too slow to follow. That being said, it is rare for student theatre to exhibit such a strong command of Shakespearean language and such a free, passionate display of that strong command, and for that the actors are worthy of much praise. As well,  for the technical elements which helped achieve the production’s vision, the show suffered only from its descent into the overdone—not from a lack of talent or ingenuity. 

A rogue Vogue cover: Drake and 21 Savage’s IP gamble

Declan Peters
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A rogue Vogue cover: Drake and 21 Savage’s IP gamble

On November 4th 2022, Drake and 21 Savage- two of the most popular artists in the world with a combined monthly Spotify audience of over 100 million people- released their latest collaboration album, Her Loss. The release has been met with mixed reviews, but what is perhaps even more interesting is the growing legal controversy surrounding the album’s promotional campaign.

With the help of their PR firm, Hiltzik Strategies, the rappers created a range of promotional material which was then shared with millions of fans. The most contentious item so far has been an image of the two rappers posing on the cover of Vogue, seemingly to promote the album’s release. Hard copies of the image have been plastered all over city streets across North America. On Instagram, Drake captioned the image with: “Me and my brother on newsstands tomorrow!! Thanks @voguemagazine and Anna Wintour for the love and support on this historic moment. ‘Her Loss’ Nov. 4th”. The only problem? Vogue’s endorsement of the pair (or this project) doesn’t actually exist.

Conde Nast, the owners of the Vogue trademark, are now taking the pair to court for breaching intellectual property law. Just a matter of days after the album’s release, a New York federal judge (Jed Rakoff) has now issued a temporary restraining order, and the posts have quickly disappeared from Drake and 21 Savage’s social media feeds. Rakoff states that the rappers are “confusing consumers about the origin, sponsorship and approval” of the photoshopped cover, after Loeb & Loeb LLP (acting for Conde Nast) also suggested that Conde Nast’s legal counsel Christopher Donnellan wrote to Hiltzik asking them to take down the material – to no avail. They are now suing for trademark infringement, counterfeiting, false designation of origin, unfair competition, trademark dilution, false advertisement, and violations of New York General Business Law. So what are the potential repercussions? Loeb & Loeb have proposed the figure of $4 million for damages. There has been some suggestion within legal circles that a parody defense may be used – in other words, Drake and 21 Savage’s legal team arguing that the stunt was an obvious parody (protected under intellectual property law), and so is unlikely to have created any likelihood of confusion (a key determining factor for winning trademark infringement cases). However, the majority of legal experts have gone on record predicting a relatively straightforward win for the plaintiffs. 

The very fact this article exists is a clear sign that the legal case being brought against the pair is generating publicity for Her Loss. As Miley Cyrus famously pointed out, controversy sells. However, the gamble may be larger than most news coverage so far has recognised. Why? Vogue was not the only ‘parodied’ media source in this promotional campaign which could seek compensation. The two rappers also created similar marketing material depicting Saturday Night Live and NPR Tiny Desk concerts (both video performances of tracks from the album with clearly imitative sets). It would certainly be naïve to think that two artists of such popularity would not have legal teams looking over such material pre-release. What appears to have happened here is a calculated risk – a legal roll-of-the-dice for a (potentially larger) commercial gain. Drake himself has recently become a brand ambassador for online gambling company Stake – but only time will tell if this gamble will pay off. The next hearing has been set for November 22nd, when the duo’s legal team (led by long-term Drake attorney Larry Stein) will appear in court to argue against further legal action.

All information accurate as of 14th November 2022.

Image credit: musicisentropy / CC BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr

‘This is how it’s always been’

Daniel Dipper
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‘This is how it’s always been’

‘This is how its always been’ is a much-repeated phrase, but is one we seriously need to reflect on if we are to make progress as a society. Just sticking with the status quo means we continue to make the same mistakes as in the past and ultimately stilts society from further developing in a productive way. It doesn’t mean you are doing anything right or great if everyone else has done it the same way – its only by asking the difficult questions and thinking in new ways that we can truly unleash the everybody’s potential.

A good example of this is to reflect on how Oxbridge have branded themselves in the past – as being so good they didn’t need to do any work to attract candidates. Instead of trying to draw talent from all parts of the UK, there was a sense that everyone must know what they were about so if they were the ‘right’ sort of people they would apply. ‘This is how it’s always been’ you could say, and they continue to be seen as two of the best universities in the world.

In recent years the University of Oxford have launched new schemes including Opportunity Oxford which I personally benefited from. The whole aim of Opportunity Oxford is to smooth the transition from sixth form to university, ensuring those who come from the most disadvantaged schools have as good an opportunity to thrive in their degree as a student from any other schooling background. This is just one example of questioning the status quo, increasing social inclusion and preparedness while trying to level the educational playing field as students enter the University. It is by no means a perfect scheme.  It continues to be fine tuned year by year but certainly shows how we should push to think differently and to innovate.

No longer does the University rely on its sheer weight of prestige. It now runs hundreds of school workshops across the country to try to encourage the best students to apply regardless of background. There are still students who no doubt would thrive in this environment who haven’t been given the opportunity to simply because they haven’t seen anyone like them go and do it. There’s still much to do in the University itself to ensure all students feel included. However, progress is being made and comes from asking difficult questions about how to assess potential and the moral duty that universities have to inspire those in their surrounding areas.

Thinking the status quo cannot be changed and not daring to imagine a better future are some of the biggest barriers that hold us back from revolutionising many aspects of everyday life. Precedent is not always best – let’s hear out people’s different perspectives and ultimately if they have a convincing case things should change. 

Things shouldn’t just change for the sake of it and certainly decisions are sometimes made based on solid evidence as to why they were the right ones previously. But if we allow ourselves to be constrained by the status quo, we hold back so much creativity and innovation. I don’t want to bring in a long list of historical examples, but many of the most important steps towards Britain becoming a democracy took place because difficult questions were asked as to why things were as they were. By bringing different perspectives to the table we engage with points of view or interpretations and that is the power of thinking beyond the today. 

I want to reflect briefly on disability policy, something I’m passionate about as someone with fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia is a condition that means I am unable to write due to nerve pains, means I suffer crippling pain across my body, and means at points my mobility is very variable. When someone schedules a meeting up multiple flights of stairs, it is not owing to malicious intent, it is simply because it is not a perspective they may have engaged with in the past. We need to be mindful of others, but ultimately the difference between a good leader and a bad one is that a good leader acknowledges the limits of their knowledge and learns for the future. The burden shouldn’t fall on disabled people to constantly have to advocate for themselves and certainly goes against the spirit of the Equality Act 2010 which encourages minimal barriers to engagement for disabled people. Having perspectives like this at the decision-making table is hugely important as they may bring a life experience nobody else has had, making individuals feel more welcome.

Certainly, try to understand as many perspectives as possible but be open to change in all forms. Just because it has worked in the past does not mean it is the way forward for the future and inertia is the enemy of change. Society makes progress by knocking those barriers down one by one, asking one difficult question at a time, and daring to think beyond just what we know. Change can feel uncomfortable but we need to embrace it if we are to become a more inclusive society. ‘This Is How Its Always Been’ is one of the easiest ways to block good ideas, fresh ideas, and to block societal change that is badly needed for everyone to feel included. So, the next time you hear the phrase question if there genuinely is a case for things to stay as they always have been, or if it’s time to think differently.

Image: CC2:0// Via Wikimedia Commons

Fifth-week blues

Phoebe Walls
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Fifth-week blues

Freshers are confronted with yet another Oxford phrase, ‘Fifth week blues’. By reaching the fifth week of a busy term crammed with deadlines and social events, many students report feeling exhausted or down in the dumps at this stage in term. As fifth week draws to a close and sixth week is about to begin, I reflect upon my experience of this Oxford phenomenon.

Fifth week’s arrival marks the halfway point in Michaelmas. My flatmate told me she feels like we only moved in yesterday, yet time seems to be passing very slowly for me. It feels like a lifetime ago that my train arrived at the station. A room once bare is decorated with my photos. Many memories have already been made in this room, subjecting my friends to my Midnights addiction, and peoplewatching from my ground floor window. The amount of work I’ve done in these five weeks also amazes me. Many hours of enriching lectures later, whole notebooks are filled, documents form a large folder on my laptop.

Speaking of laptops, today I got the fright of my life at the end of fifth week, when I opened my laptop to submit an essay. A Sunday deadline at 1.45 pm loomed like a bad omen when I woke up with an Atik stamp on my hand. When I logged in, I was greeted with the terrifying revelation that my laptop had disconnected from all possible networks. When I searched for salvation in Pret, it did not even recognise this Wi-Fi. After running a troublesome trouble shooting test, a pop up informed me that I may be experiencing hardware-related problems, and this induced a hardware problem within me. I became the child of the exorcist, possessed by panic. How would I write my essays or survive without Wi-Fi? To make matters worse, Word appeared as white as snow and all my files said they were on compatibility view, so I was no longer compatible with my own files. As the blue banner of Microsoft Word faded, I felt the fifth week blues set in. I shut down my computer twice and turned it back on, but it continued to torment me. I had to take photos of my work and craft an email in German describing my problems that seems suspiciously more like just wanting an excuse to miss a deadline. My college brother came to my rescue by telling me simply to press the reset button. As if by magic, the files were restored, and the demon was back in her box. As a Bear Lane resident’s therapy dog patters past my window, I long for the love of my life, Tess. Stroking her fur relieves all my stress.

To cure fifth week blues Lincoln’s welfare officers welcomed Bertie, a beautiful golden retriever therapy dog. He sat stoically as his owner dressed him in an Oxford gown and mortar board. My friend discovered her abandoned gown coated in his blonde locks later that day but found it iconic. He posed for pictures, cuddled strangers, shook our hands like a gentleman. Bertie’s return to Lincoln’s JCR as an honouree member filled me with a joy like no other; the ultimate cure to fifth week blues is not to bury yourself in books or to join the masses at Bridge but to find a dog to love. Never underestimate the power of the reset button.

As sixth week calls, I look at my planner, boxes already stuffed with tutorials, translations, and essays. Although I feel like I’ve been here a lifetime and miss my bath and my dog, I don’t want to wish away these memorable weeks. I look forward to seeing what the next few weeks have in store. A lot happens in Oxford in twenty-four hours.

Image credit: Alex Block

The Art of the Self-Tape 

Monty Jones
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The Art of the Self-Tape 

The self-tape: the bread and butter of every budding actor, each holding the potential to lift you from obscurity and financial destitution to having something you can force your friends to watch and enough money to buy a half-pint in Soho. It inevitably starts with an email containinga description of a character you’d be perfect for. They look like you, they sound like you (after a borderline offensive attempt at an Australian accent it was decided you would only be reading in RP), and you’ve got a whole week to prepare and perfect your performance. You subsequently procrastinate for the rest of the week until the night before it’s due. 

The set-up is all important. The desired lighting should resemble the blinding glare of a police interrogation only achievable by pointing every available light source directly at your face. Potential costuming should be assembled in a heap of vaguely relevant clothes on the floor. It should be noted that the use of props, whilst preferable to miming, does present its own dangers. The accidental lighting of cigarettes, for example, can lead to several small carpet fires. If anyone does notice any burns in university carpeting,  those weren’t me,   it must have been some other idiot flicking cigarettes away to dramatically punctuate monologues. You prepare yourself for the first take by making final adjustments. You find your mark in front of your precariously balanced phone, fiddle with your hair, then try and get it back to how it was before, give up, and begin.  

It feels like it went well. You watch it back and it’s pretty good. But your shirt is wrong. You select a new one from the pile and go again. Almost immediately you look directly into the camera. You berate yourself at length, reset, start again and do exactly the same thing. You take a moment. You’re too tense, in your own head. You need to loosen up. You grab a beer from the fridge, just a couple of slugs to relax. But you’re thirsty and you down it. You grab another one, take a sip, set up, start again and look straight back into the camera. You down the beer in frustration. Post-beer you feel a lot better and knock out several takes in a row that you’re absolutely certain are incredible, but upon rewatching find that they are both filled with mistakes, and your voice in them sounds far too loud. At this point it’s probably around two in the morning and you’ve disturbed a long-suffering neighbour who knocks on your door to let you know they’re trying to sleep. You apologise profusely and tell them you’re just finishing up. You aren’t. 

At this point you’re feeling pretty exhausted and decide to caffeinate yourself with whatever’s at hand, typically Diet Coke and, rejuvenated, you launch into another attempt. You optimistically anticipate this to be the one, finally completed. However, assessing the footage, you’re disturbed to find yourself blinking intensely throughout. Concerned, you have another go only to find yourself once again doing an imitation of a hostage desperately trying to communicate in morse code. Finally, you decide to concentrate only on blinking as little as possible and after observing how you’d look as a deranged serial killer, succumb to the caffeine crash and fall asleep. You wake up the next morning fifteen minutes before the submission deadline and after swiping through attempt after attempt of varying degrees of failure eventually arrive at the very first take. The shirt is wrong but it’s pretty good. You send it off.  

Image Credit: Gracie Oddie-James.

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