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Phallus Fantastic

By
Gini Sharvill
-

Penis worship is alive and well. And I don’t just mean among male rugby teams, when they delight in getting drunk, getting lairy and getting naked. Devotion to the phallus has spawned a number of cultural celebrations across the world, most notably in Peru at Chucuito, and in Japan where there are not one, but two annual penis festivals. Wow.

Valentine’s Day has landed for the year – there is no way to avoid suffocating under the (ten million) roses, drowning in the (one billion) cards that are sent, or suffering (as one in ten under-25s do) feelings of inadequacy and depression. Call me a cynic, a humbug, a loner or a loser- but there seems to be better ways to celebrate all things relationship-related…with a little bit of penis worship.

The ruins of Chucuito, Peru lie in the middle of a rather picturesque village. On the southern shores of Lake Titicaca, the town was once the primary Inca settlement of the region and capital of the whole province. Aside from its landscape of town squares, colonial churches and agricultural fields, Chucuito has more to excite the eager visitor: the Inca Uyo, the penis sculptures.

‘Japan has not just one, but two annual penis festivals’

‘Donde está penis?’ The bemused local doesn’t reply. Is it your new alpaca jumper that’s putting him off? Try again: ‘donde está penis?’ Perhaps it’s your Spanish. Turn to charades to try and ask the question. On second thoughts – is miming such a good idea here? Never mind, your new friend has interpreted your meaning and cracks out into a grin – pointing you, bizarrely, towards the Santa Domingo church. A church? ‘Non, non’ – he takes your elbow and steers you to the spot next door, into the open temple of Inca Uyo.

What appears to be a mushroom filled garden from a distance is suddenly revealed to be a series of large phallic sculptures. The awed silence is only broken by the giggles of a young lady, enthusiastically trying to straddle the largest penis available. Like a king watching over his subjects, it rises from the centre of the temple as two more stand on guard either side of the entrance.

Some of the sculptures point upwards towards the Sun God, Inti, whilst others are directed towards the ground, towards Pachamama, or Mother Earth. Some of the guides joke that the Incas were so well endowed, had they been buried on their backs with full erections, you would be unable to see the difference here. Others explain how virgins used to sit for hours on top of the phalli, in the hopes of trying to increase their fertility. Even today, there are reports of women sneaking into the garden at night to pray for pregnancy.

Some historians believe the phallus-stones are a farce – impossible Inca ruins because they would never have survived the arrival of the Spanish, and their fondness for destroying indigenous idols. Were they, then, the result of some powerful leader’s perversion? Or built as symbols of power in a civilisation governed by men? Either way, Chucuito may or may not fire up your fertility, but it will definitely make you feel quite unashamedly in awe of the male member.

10567 miles to the north-east of Chucuito is Kawasaki. The Japanese celebrate Valentine’s Day, as date when women are obliged to buy gifts for men. The men reciprocate a month later on ‘White Day’, when the gifts are supposed to be white chocolate and marshmallows, yet tend rather to be, thoughtfully, presents of lingerie. Fast forward a few more weeks to the first Sunday of April and there is a rather different celebration of love, affection and harmony: the Kanamara Matsuri, or Iron Penis festival.

‘The silence is broken by the giggles of an enthusiastic young lady trying to straddle the largest penis available’

At the Wakamiya Hachimangu shrine from about 10am to 4pm, the penis dominates. Portable penis shrines are paraded down the streets, large radishes (daikon) are carved into penis shapes and carried around, and giant wooden penis sculptures are straddled for good luck.

Legend has it that the festival was originally held to celebrate the vanquishing of a sharp-fanged female demon, which had a nasty habit of biting off male genitalia.The town shrine had been built to honor the gods of iron and was used to make swords, and so one day a resourceful monk thwarted the dangerous demoness’ antics by making a huge penis out of iron. Her teeth were shattered, the private parts were saved, and the iron penis became a cause for annual celebration. The area also used to be overrun with brothels in the Edo era, and prostitutes would attend the festival to pray for protection against sexually transmitted diseases.

Whilst the festival has, to some extent, turned into a drunken, raucous celebration of all things penis-shaped, it also is an example of a free spirited rejection of prudishness and Puritanism. It is used to raise money for HIV research and AIDS charities, and the curious mix in the crowd includes childless couples praying for pregnancy (next stop: Peru), a large gay and lesbian crowd and Tokyo’s transvestite ‘new half’ community. Indeed, a couple of years ago the festival was held at the same time as a local election – and the penis beat the politics. Several candidates were winding through the revelers and trying to canvas votes on their loudspeakers – perhaps neither the publicity nor the photo opportunities they were looking for.

The Iron Penis festival may well exhaust all save the keenest penis worshippers, but Japan has another one to offer as well. This one, it seems, is taken more seriously – at least the town priest and officials intend it to be, anyway. For most of the year, Tagata Jinja, a shrine just north of Nagoya, is very quiet. It was built approximately 1500 years ago in honour of the daughter of an old feudal lord, called the kami. The smaller building of the shrine – the Shinmeisha – contains a large number of natural and man-made objects, almost all of which are shaped like a penis, and are used to worship this female deity. Most of the visitors are young couples hoping to conceive, or singletons searching for a spouse, and they come here to pray to the phalli in peace.

And then March 15th arrives – and with it come the country’s hoards, the sake drinking, the dancing…and the two and a half meter wooden phallus carried above the crowds. Hounen Matsuri is a celebration of renewal and regeneration and supposed to focus upon the female deity enshrined in Tagata. However, it is difficult not get carried away with all things phallus when there are penis shaped sweets to suck on, key chains and sculptures to carry as souvenirs, and azuki filled dumplings, schlong-shaped of course, to eat as the sake is drunk.

‘The giant wooden phallus seems to grow in size each year’

The procession is the main event of the festival, in which the giant penis is carried by 12 men between two shrines, a distance of just over a mile. A priest leads the parade, scattering salt on the path to purify the route, and is followed by standard bearers carrying a banner painted with an alarmingly detailed penis. Next come the local dignitaries in gold shawls, a group of musicians playing ancient court music, and then some purple-robed women carrying small wooden models, in you guess what shape. Behind them is a collection of Shinto priests, one of whom dresses up with a red face, large protruding nose and a shock of hair to represent the deity who led the sun goddess to earth. A sake cart excites the audience in time for the arrival of the main event – the carriage of the two portable shrines. The first is a wooden statue of Takeinadene-no-mikoto, the visiting husband of the agricultural deity, and the second is the huge wooden penis.

Each year, a new giant wooden phallus is carved from a large cypress tree, and each one seems bigger than its predecessor. Originally, it was attached to a straw effigy of a samurai warrior, yet when this was deemed too risqué, the effigy was discarded and the phallus was enlarged to one metre long and paraded by itself. Now, however, it has swelled to over double this size and weighs nearly 300 kg. No wonder both the male and female festival goers get quite excited.

So regardless of your gender, or whether you’re hetero/homo/bi/trans or metro sexual – if Valentine’s Day leaves you feeling blue, think about the cultural institution that is penis worship. This Japanese and Peruvian delight in all things phallus is rude rather than prude, cheerful rather than cheesy, and eclectic rather than erotic. In their celebration of the power of the penis, they celebrate the real love of loving.

 

Bumpy road to ‘free’ energy

By
Andrew Steele
-

Magical speed bumps which will generate ‘free’ energy are being trialled in London.

The ‘electro-kinetic road ramp’, a name which sounds like it should be preceded by ‘come and behold the amazing’ at a Victorian street fair, was developed by British inventor Peter Hughes. The weight of passing cars moves plates embedded in the road, and a series of Wallace-and-Gromit–esque levers, cams and axles spins a dynamo which creates electricity—for free!!

Now, as any self-respecting Key Stage 2 student knows, energy cannot be created or destroyed: someone must be paying for this lunch. Indeed, the first question of the Hughes Research FAQ asks ‘Doesn’t the ramp just steal pennies from our petrol tanks?’ Well, hopefully not, because the intended use of the device is in areas where cars should already by trying to slow down, like roundabout approaches, and thus the tiny theft is from wear on your brake pads. In this situation, the panels lie almost flat, and it’s apparently near-impossible to notice that you’re passing over one. An alternative configuration leaves a lump in the road, which would allow traffic calming and ‘free’ energy-grabbing simultaneously. The energy created can then be used to power local road signs, traffic lights or street lamps, or fed into the national grid if there is an excess.

Accordingly, the inventor has seemingly had plenty of interest from local councils. However, press coverage seems a little worryingly uncritical and, by extension, I am concerned that councils’ appraisals will be too. Am I being too cynical? As long as some critical thinking is employed when deciding where to site these generators, it can be no bad thing, right?

What is not obvious is how the true costs of these devices could be estimated. They are not cheap to buy, costing £20–50,000 depending on size—but Hughes claims that an electro-kinetic ramp in a busy spot will pay for itself in a few years, and presumably this trial will provide the definitive shoot-out between usable electricity generated and installation and maintenance costs.

The quantity which worries me more is the cost in wear on passing motor vehicles’ suspension, tyres and so on. These tiny quantities are difficult to measure, but the carbon cost of building and replacing new car parts is sufficiently vast that we should be worrying about it. I have not seen any research which addresses this, let alone demonstrates it one way or the other. It might even be that those used in the speed bump configuration would be less damaging than current solid concrete humps—but until someone works this out, it is irresponsible to proceed.

My supplementary, and more general, concern is the intrinsic appeal of this device, and others like it as reported in the media—there is an elegant rhetorical symmetry in cars’ wasted energy powering roadside paraphernalia. It adds to the sensation that we’re already doing enough for the environment—even better, we’re actually helping by driving cars, which are meant to be bad, right?!

What journalists, councillors and happy drivers forget is that this device is just a new and bizarre way of generating electricity. There is loads of ‘wasted’ energy waiting to be harnessed in nature, like sunlight or flowing water, which may be cheaper or easier to transform into electrical power.

That said, if the electro-kinetic road ramp genuinely does pay for itself and its upkeep in carbon as well as cash, we should get them out there as soon as possible. I just hope that someone is doing the sums, and that the media will provide us with a less simpering appraisal when they have.

Students injured in Turl Street brawl

By
Theo Merz
-

A fight between Jesus and Exeter college has left people injured after students from both colleges were swept up in the brawl.

The incident began at about 11.30pm last Friday, after the annual “Turl Street Dash” in which Jesus students complete a bicycle race around Oxford.

Jesus students had “poured out onto the street” to cheer on the competitors.

Jesus students, who outnumbered their opponents, broke into Exeter College as authorities struggled to halt the chaos.

Jesus students broke into Exeter College; bicycles were thrown and students urinated on the walls of the rival college.

The Jesus students began to chant “Exeter: wank, wank, wank.”

They also sung, “Always piss on the Exeter side of the street” to the tune of “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life,” drawing those in the Exeter bar outside.

“We found this mass of people waiting in a semi-circle for us,” said an Exeter student.

The Exeter group started chanting “fuck Jesus” in response.

Participants in the race “had had about twelve to fifteen pints, depending on year,” according to Joshua Peckham, an undergraduate at Jesus.

The fight began as the groups threw snowballs. Then bicycles left in the street following the race were then thrown around.

“Jesubites started picking up bikes and running around holding them over their heads,” said an Exeter student.

At least one Jesus and one Exeter undergraduate reported that their bicycles had been broken in the fight.

Onlookers report that the violence started to escalate when the Jesus students attempted to break into the neighbouring college.

“They came close to our door and attempted to enter,” said an Exeter student. “These really large rugby guys were running at us, trying to get in.”

“Then it was like an explosion. Punches were swung and two of my friends were smacked in the face,” he said.

Adrian Rodrigues, a student at Exeter, described how he stepped outside with his friends to see what was going on. One friend was immediately punched. “My friend got hit in the face by some guy,” he said. “I hit him back, then he dragged me down to the floor and started kicking me. Then a group of about twelve formed around me.”

The walls of Exeter colleges and the bicycles along them were urinated on by some of the Jesus students.

Once the fight started, several members of Exeter’s staff came out onto the street, including a porter, the bar manager and the junior dean, in an attempt to break it up.

Peckham said that a middle-aged man was involved in the violence, reportedly being kicked in the groin by a Jesus student. “This may have been their bar manager, who is known to have been assaulted,” he said.

Some Jesus students also managed to enter the college, prompting a manhunt to find and eject them. One was found “cowering behind a bush” according to one Exeter student, while the others were leaning out of windows and encouraging the fight. “Two Jesubite girls gained access to the third floor of Exeter and were cheering us on,” said Peckham.

Around half an hour after it began, the fight “cleared as spontaneously as it started,” according to an onlooker. Peckham reported that the Jesus crowd was encouraged to disperse by the college JCR president, Duncan Cook. “He began shouting…and soon after the situation was over,” he said.

Peckham admitted that Jesus students were largely responsible for the fight, claiming that “Exeter played a mainly passive role.”

Exeter’s junior dean, who was involved in dispersing the crowd, corroborated this, saying, “the few Exeter students present were bystanders.” She added, “both… colleges will be working together to ensure no such incidents take place in the future.”

Reports have circulated amongst Jesus undergraduates that the college’s disciplinary staff are examining CCTV of the incident, and are considering rusticating up to three students.

The Dean of Jesus said, “there has been an investigation into the incident, and we will make sure that those involved are brought to justice.”

A Jesus first-year, who asked not to be named, said that reports of the fight had been blown out of proportion. “The fight has been massively exaggerated,” he said, “it was nothing serious and no-one deserves to be rusticated for it.”

But one Exeter historian did not take the incident so lightly. “It didn’t seem like it was in jest at all,” he said. “I actually I don’t find people getting smacked, or walking around with blood on their t-shirts, very funny.”

Some students wondered whether the relationship between the colleges have been permanently damaged by the fight. Several questioned whether the Turl Streets Arts Festival, which requires the collaboration of both Exeter and Jesus, would still take place this year.

However, Ed Moores, Exeter’s JCR president, downplayed the idea of a new rivalry between the colleges. “Relationships between the colleges are back to normal,” he said. “Of course the arts festival will still be taking place.”

He even praised the tradition of the Turl Street Dash, and added that he hoped it would continue in future. “Unfortunately this year it got out of hand. But people were taking it in the right spirit,” he said.

The president of Jesus’ JCR declined to comment on the issue.

 

4.48 Psychosis

By
Ahnaf
-

Three stars

Reading Sarah Kane’s 4:48 Psychosis is like dragging nails down a blackboard filled with the ranting of a depressive: you’re left with bits of text and the echoes of a despairing shriek. 4:48 Psychosis has no characters, no stage directions, only the voices of madness – sometimes lamenting, sometimes furious, and sometimes blackly humorous.
Monaghan’s production is similarly fragmented in its diverse presentation, but unfortunately tends towards sensationalism. The audience are treated to screaming, cackling, crying, frotteurism, actors writhing on the floor and all manner of clichés about the mentally ill.
It’s pretty ironic if you contrast it with the promo quote: ‘At 4.48, when sanity visits…I am in my right mind.’ The production is clearly non-realistic, but as an expressionistic approach it fails to capture the fact that the experience of mental illness includes the belief in one’s sanity; it portrays society’s perception of a mad individual’s mind rather than the individual’s actual experience.
See, you don’t usually get screaming and writhing at 4.48 a.m. At 4.48, the kebab vans have gone, it’s dark and you’re left alone with a broken heater, a half-done essay and the piercing apprehension of absolute futility. This sense of the dark night of the soul, and the play’s lyricism, is lost amid the sensationalism.
Of course there are arguments for a sensational approach, but then the objection becomes that Monaghan didn’t go far enough. The tropes of torment trotted out barely approached the kind of cannibalistic violence, say, of the theatre of cruelty.
Still, there were plenty of good elements, suggesting that the problem was mainly the overambitious choice of play. Although Monaghan cut out some dark humour in favour of strained Christ symbolism, what’s left is played in an interestingly offbeat way. The inclusion of accomplished musical and vocal accompaniment is genius, and should have been explored more. And beneath their histrionics, the four actors are obviously talented with good vocals and stage presence. Amelia Peterson in particular strangely emanates a sort of gaunt mystery which I felt related more to the text.
All of which makes it a shame to give three stars, because had Monaghan and his crew turned their attention to something more conventional, it would have been very, very good. As it is, it’s watchable for a few innovations and the fact that, after all, it’s still a Kane.

Serving It Up

By
Sarah Nerger
-

Four stars

Sit back, relax and let David Eldridge’s angst-ridden script explode with vitality, richness and unnerving realism as it hits the BT stage in 5th week. Relax is certainly what will happen as Oxford drama boasts of its effortless acting capabilities, as this precocious cast bring Eldridge to life with complete conviction and thorough investment. Director Charlotte Gibney realises this stark play with a visual genius, leading her cast with an astute sense for the naturalistic which will leave the audience wonderfully enthralled from beginning to end.
Written in 1996, when Eldridge was still a student at Exeter University, Serving It Up follows the life of Sonny (Matt Orton) as he trudges through life on a council estate in Hackney, exploring his ups and downs, his loves and his hates with a raw intensity and a biting anger. Aside from dabbling in the delirium of drugs, Sonny exhibits a problem with violence, struggling to quell his more aggressive outbursts, whether directed at his mother, Val (Jennie Hyde), his love interest, Wendy (Antonia Tam) or his best friend, Nick (Max Woolfson).
Gibney sets the stage up to witness visually the internal battle Sonny struggles to subdue, with the stage exhibiting the conflict between internal and external by a central division, thereby emphasising this concept concretely and dynamically.
Quite simply, the cast is good; a refreshing delight to watch (not to mention to review). Orton commands the stage with his almost uncomfortably-good portrayal of Sonny and all his schizophrenic tendencies. Switching between extreme emotions is a difficult thing for an actor to pull off well, and Orton does so with splendid results. A perfect complement to this is Jennie Hyde’s seamless representation of Val, Sonny’s flighty mother who exhibits a humorous obsession with cake and the comfort this offers her in between the instabilities of her love life. Hyde manages to convince an audience that she is, in fact, a middle-aged woman with a bizarre Victoria-sponge- obsession, arousing a great deal of sympathy for her character in the midst of the play’s violence.
Another highlight is Antonia Tam’s realisation of Wendy, the coy young girl with an acrid tongue who Sonny takes a shining to. The chemistry between Orton and Tam lights up the stage, where they are able to match each other’s hostile remarks tit-for-tat. Woolfson delivers the role of Nick with satisfying results, although his performance is less memorable or imposing than that of his co-actors.
Designed for the true theatre-lover, Serving It Up does not promise to be “easy” theatre; nothing is spared, neither in the language nor in the action, and it reminds us that theatre is a forum in which we can explore the very boundaries of human acceptability. Great acting, solid directing and clever staging, this production certainly does serve it up, bringing to the stage a play any well-versed and erudite audience would be impressed to watch.

Taking Control

By
Eleanor Lischka
-

It’s a hard life being a director. Yes, there’s the shining glory and the sense of intellectual accomplishment; the applause and the adulatory praise; the proud face of your adoring mother. However, on the other hand, there’s rehearsals. The hell of trying to synchronize the movements of ten filthy actors, so self-obsessed they think they’re doing you a favour just by turning up, is only just offset by the looming thought of the crippling embarrassment when, on the night, it all goes hideously, hideously wrong. In all honesty, however, the majority of rehearsals are probably a waste of time. Let’s face it, the cast are not going to know their lines for at least the first two-thirds of them. And true thespianism cannot be achieved with a script in one hand, a coke in the other and the incessant, jarring chant of “Sorry, where am I supposed to be?” And after all that, the actors get more attention than you anyway.
The job is not without its perks, however; there’s a certain creepy allure to all that power. Not only do you have the actors’ lithe, agile bodies at your directorial disposal, you also – assuming you’ve got any degree of talent – have the audience’s hearts and minds in the palm of your hand. Equally, you have the whole canon of English theatrical literature to choose from, in your attempt to toy with the public’s feeble minds. Then there’s the scores of attractive young nymphs desperate to sleep their way to the top… and that’s just the boys. Such a path surely only appeals to those unable to eek out a decent living as a smalltime dictator?
Nevertheless, everybody knows that writing is where the real action’s at. Only when one has dabbled in the manipulation of the immortal word can one truly call oneself a master. However, just to make all us laymen feel really inadequate, some go so far as to combine all three aspects of the beautiful game, in making a name for themselves as both actor, director and playwright. It can be done successfully, and indeed, it has been by such legends as Harold Pinter, Shakespeare, and of course, George Clooney. In contrast to the average Oxford director, they’ve got it all: the lithe bodies, the absolute power, the train of exquisite muses and on top of all that, the tumultuous love lives only associated with true genius. So if you’re an unfulfilled director, desperately trying to sell more tickets for your latest show, do yourself a favour: join them, write your own magnum opus and play the leading lady yourself.

Power Trip

By
Julia Fitzpatrick &Amp; Nina Fitton
-

Forgive me for going all ‘Destiny’s Child’ on yo’ ass – but there’s nothing quite as sexy as an empowered, independent woman.  Before yelping at the thought of Margaret Thatcher as your next style icon, what we’re talking about is domination in the frock sector.  Although there are a few invaluable lessons in dressing  to be learnt from our first female Prime Minister – her penchant for “power shoulders” and omnipresent pearls for one, as well as her statement pallet of navies, blacks and fuchsias.

No flimsy draping for our independent lady, oh no.  The 21st century is all about female supremacy, and sharp, geometric tailoring and colour blocking conquered the S/S 09 catwalks – like Alexander McQueen’s £2613 peplum gown. The result:  kickass-sexy dresses.

We’ve targeted 3 central power-dressing styles – body con, peplum and voluminous.  Check out River Island’s statement peplum (£45) – a potent combination of feminine waist with administrative pencil skirt in shocking hues.  Not your thing?  Miss Selfridge have a great black beauty for £50 – the fitted bodice, bustle back detail and draped exaggerated pockets create an unusual yet flattering silhouette.

Metallic, silk, sheen – it’s all about expensive looking materials that scream success.  Pair with simple but effective bags, shoes and jewels – allow the structured tailoring to take over, and keep accessories simple.  Team gobstopper pearls with a waist cinching shift like Michelle Obama – follow in the First Lady’s footsteps with Oasis’ amethyst peplum –  practical clothes that flatter whilst giving poise and authority:  in no way is this woman defined by her husband’s role.  Respect!

So, like the two Lady M’s, go forth, don your tailoring like a suit of armour, your hair a coiffed helmet, and your handbag a fearsome weapon. To put it simply:  She went.  She wore.  She conquered.  In the words of Maggy herself, “Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.”

 

 

Credentials:

Stylists:  Nina Fitton & Julia Fitzpatrick

Photographer:  Hector Durham

Model:  Sarah Spickernell

With thanks to:  Richard Allan, Chris Eklund, Dawit Demetri, Pierre Cahuzac & Max Mckechnie

Town V Gown Boxing

By
Rishi Stocker
-

The Oxford Union plays host to the most passionate boxing match in Oxford.

Don Carlos

By
Andrew Mendelblat
-

The court’s full of sycophants. The heir to the throne’s meeting a friend returning from abroad. The queen’s in an uncomfortable position. Schiller’s play isn’t exactly subtle in its influences as it ransacks the plot of Hamlet to launch into an attack on church and court. And given that the set is mostly black and the heavily photoshopped posters show our self-obsessed hero brooding, it’s clear that producer Krishna Omkar hasn’t exactly been subtle in targeting this at the emo market either.

Worrying signs, you’ll agree. Despite this, is there any chance that it could actually be good? It’s hard to fault director William Maynard’s adventurous choice of play, but can he pull it off; in a play about stifled individuality, can he make his actors’ presence felt?

The answer to both is, surprisingly, yes. His secret weapon is the superb choice of translation: Mike Poulton goes for a surging, passionate rendering, which fits the spirit of the play perfectly: it feels grand and architectural in a Shakespearean way without feeling so archaic in its language as to be an anachronism, with wry jabs of intertextuality (such as Don Carlos imagining applying for the role of himself) which for once don’t feel like gimmicks. He also goes for the theatricality of it, alternating public life with glimpses beneath the masks: characters stand apart in public, grab and cling to each other in private.

In the lead role, Matt Maltby goes for a rugged, no-nonsense and somewhat unsubtle rendition of self-obsessesion, idealism and anguish at loving his hated father’s new wife and: the passion is perfect and his story of not seeing his father until he was six genuinely heart-breaking, and though he misses a little of his character’s wit at the start (like in a line about first meeting his father signing death-warrants) he warms up to give a very good performance. But Ed Chalk, as the king, is in a different league altogether. I’ve seen Derek Jacobi in this role in an acclaimed performance in London and Chalk is actually better still: dry, ironic, frequently fluty of voice, but also angry: this performance really gives the sense of the his almost, but not quite, unerring self-belief, as the only man in Spain allowed to be himself, signing the death warrants of anyone who seeks to challenge authority and be an individual like him. The other actors can never match him, and several slightly overdo the sinister side of their roles (to be fair, this reviewer wasn’t able to stay for the whole rehearsal and missed out on some of the juicier lines and scenes). Never mind: this play is a strong cocktail of ideas and passion, and the central performance is flawless. Oxford’s emos are in for a treat.

4 stars

Another Education Is Possible

By
Rishi Stocker
-

On Wednesday 4th February a new national student campaign, ‘Another Education Is Possible’ teamed up with Oxford Radical Forum for an evening discussion at Wadham College as part of the build up to the national demonstration against the attacks on education on February 25th in Central London.

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