Advent is nearly upon us, so like the rest of Oxford, it is high time Cherwell got into the festive mood. And what better way to do this than help our readers get their heads around what constitutes a good Christmas film? So there we are: sipping a glass of mulled wine, sitting in front of a roaring fireplace listening to Frank tell us how he’s got some corn for popping, and flicking through the two week bumper edition of the Radio Times desperately trying to decide what to watch.

Do we opt for Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life, focusing on death, suicide and Christian moralising? Or maybe we wish to watch Scrooge yet again learn that basic human emotions are actually quite enjoyable? Or perhaps a film about a clinically insane man ranting about being Kris Kringle in Miracle on 34th Street? Ultimately, we do want one of the above, as Christmas is not a time for cynicism or critical viewing, but a time for much willing suspension of disbelief and hope that the world can be a nice place, at least for two hours or so.

However, there may be some Christmas classics that have slipped under the radar. Take for example the French film Joyeux Noel, which plays on the heartstrings in a very compelling and moving fashion. It’s set around the World War I Christmas truce, in which a temporary ceasefire was called and British, French and German soldiers came together to celebrate the day Christ was born. Of course, it would not be long before their superiors gave orders to the contrary, but for a short while it was “Joyeux Noël”, “Frohe Weihnachten” and “Merry Christmas” all around. The Shop Around the Corner is rather more light- hearted, a 1940s rom-com starring James Stewart and Margaret Sullivan as the leading couple. Your usual tale of two feisty youths convinced they do not like one another gradually realising that in fact they do. It is arguably the founder of Yuletide rom-com.

A Christmas Carol is perhaps one of the more heartwarming Christmas films, as we watch mean old Ebenezer learn from the error of his ways and become a good person. The best version is of course the one that sees Kermit and Miss Piggy step to the fore with the rest of the Muppets, singing and dancing their way through the various ghostly confrontations.

One does not immediately associate gratuitous violence with Christmas, but the 1984 gore-fest Gremlins proved that the two go together beautifully, and with hilarious consequences. However, scarier than little green knawing monsters is Father Christmas himself gone psycho. So it’s decapitation for the naughty children and survival for the good ones in Silent Night, Deadly Night; a night of terror for the trapped, scantily clad teens in Black Christmas and death-by-snowman in the atrocious Jack Frost. For those who still like violence, but of a more action-packed variety, then Bruce Willis single-handedly taking on a skyscraperload of terrorists all to the sound of merry Christmas tunes proves to be compulsive viewing.

However, sharp-teethed, pint-sized green monsters and big gun-wielding musclemen aside, the title of top Christmas film must go to a wonderfully British rom-com that is actually ten rom-coms in one. Yes, it is Love Actually, filled with enough Colin Firth wetness, Martine McCutcheon chubbiness and big-boobed blonde girls to keep the whole family happy. Providing you can overcome the trademark Keira Knightley letterbox grin and Hugh Grant being cast as a sour Prime Minister, you’ll realise just how funny it is.

Itravelled to Damascus from Heathrow Airport to start my year abroad in Syria, leaving behind my university, a goldfish called Tony, my girlfriend and a cherished Nectar card. Having accepted the lack of in-flight entertainment offered by SyrianAir, I resigned myself to watching the flies in the plane dance around each other and wondered if they had come on board at Heathrow and they too were going to be surprised by what they would find in Syria. As I pondered the future, the words ‘Islam’, ‘dictatorship’ and ‘axis of evil’ floated politically-incorrectly in my mind.

The first thing that struck me, though, when I reached Syria was the fashion clash, the totally different clothing styles. On the one hand, there was the sea of beige worn by traditional Syrians, blending into the yellowness of the land, the noisy taxis and the dusty architecture. The aura of blandness was even more marked amongst the women, who wore beige or grey trench coats – a la Ian Curtis – or black robes leaving only their faces, their eyes or nothing at all to reveal the individual within. But these same women can be seen shopping in Syria’s many raunchy lingerie shops (revealing all of Victoria’s secrets) – one can’t judge a Burka by its cover.

However, in areas such as the Damascus University or Bab Touma in the Old City, the Syrian fahionistae sport the famous Syrian ‘wet look’ that makes Danny Zuko’s hair in Grease pale in comparison. In these fashion hot spots, Syrians arm themselves with fake D&G tank tops, large fly-eyed sunglasses, and jeans so tight that one wonders whether the men are concerned at all for their fertility.

The conflict between Islamic culture and ‘the West’ is also noticeable in the attitudes of Syrian men in Damascus towards foreign women. There exists in Syria a very distinct form of sexual tourism, allowing Syrian men to indulge in otherwise forbidden sexual practices with female visitors before settling down with their locally-bred virgin brides. The sheer number of Syrian men on the market means that foreign students have a very wide range of good-looking Syrians from which to select a temporary partner with whom they could perfect their Arabic. This version of East meeting West does not help to overcome the prevailingly negative male attitudes towards Western women, as they indulge in a complicated Syrian version of doublethink allowing them simultaneously to find both welcome relief from the rigidities of their own society and evidence that their society is superior to the moral decadence of the West. And of course woe betide any Syrian woman rash enough to have an affair with a foreign student.

Another interesting phenomenon in Syria is the striking amount of physical contact between men. Being a homosexual in Syria can lead to prison. However, on a social level, contact between men is more than accepted; the sight of soldiers holding each other’s hands, and their AK-47s, and of boys caressing each other in the street, laying soft kisses on each other’s cheeks, is commonplace. In the Hammans (baths), men wipe each other down with sponges and lather each other up with soap. The strong sensuous current of such exchanges sits oddly with the strongly religious nature of Syrian society, and allows a level of public same-sex contact which would look out of place on the – supposedly – more liberal streets of London.

The Syrian state’s unrelenting attitude towards homosexuality is a stark reminder of some of the darker sides of the country: the phone tapping, the censoring of the press and internet and the infamous secret police.

However, there is no point coming to Syria and being shocked by the lack of Western democracy – whatever that label means. Syrians do live under dictatorship, but – as it was explained to me – it is their dictatorship. Ever since Al-Asad took over the country in the bloodless coup of 1970, Syria has enjoyed a remarkable period of stability. Bars and nightclubs have popped up around Damascus and the internet is more available than ever before. I also struggle to imagine how democracy would function in a country such as Syria, where France’s colonial ‘divide and rule’ policies did not help to unite the disparate Alawi, Muslim and Christian denominations.

Talking about politics with Syrians, however, is difficult. Little news filters down into the streets. It’s hard to believe that during my time in Damascus, Israeli air planes bombed what appears to have been a secret nuclear site and the assassinations of a Hezbollah leader and a senior Syrian general took place. In any case, when word of any such events does get out on the street, Mossad (the Israeli intelligence agency) is the presumed culprit.

I probed some Syrians about politics and the only answer I could get was – “it’s different here.” This at first felt like a way of avoiding the conversation, but they may in fact have revealed something important. Many Syrians are very conscious of both their country’s flaws and the failings of the West. What, they would ask, is the point of democracy when Tony Blair was still able to drag England into Iraq despite most of his electorate thinking it was a bad idea? Where does Guantanomo Bay fit into democracy?
Fair point, I suppose.

East met West on the Syrian rugby pitch, but even there the gap was much in evidence. During the course of the year I played for a rugby team known as the Zenobians (which rather pretentiously presented itself as the Syrian national team). In the build up to a game against the Lebanese team, our French coach from Toulouse gave a motivating pre-game talk, saying, in a very heavy southern French accent; “There is no questioning the outcome of the game. We will win”. One of the Syrian players said “In shaa’ Allah”: (God willing). The coach responded “No, we WILL win this game.” He then asked the translator to communicate the certainty of victory to the players; the translator said emphatically – “We WILL win this game.” But then he paused, and himself added an instinctive “In shaa’ Allah”. Luckily for us and the coach, Allah did want us to win that day.

When I returned to England, I was shocked by the warmth of my response to everything that England offered: the Tube, the ordered queues and page three. (For the first time, I really did want to know what luscious blonde Debbie from Watford had to say to the troops in Iraq). Above the sound of busy Londoners commuting, the buskers and the screeching of the Tube brakes I could hear an anonymous voice asking me “Please mind the gap”. And you know what?

I did.

Rick Edwards, along with Alexa Chung, Miquita Oliver and Steve Jones, has become something of a delicious staple in the Channel 4 weekend fix that is ‘T4’. However, far from being just one of four pretty faces that aids one’s digestion of hangover-TV, Rick is fast becoming one of televisions own entrepreneurs, and is a ‘filthy tab’ at that.

A North Londoner at heart, ‘and very happy to be living back there again’, Edwards grew up far from the glaring lights of a Channel 4 studio. ‘My dad got a job down in Portsmouth when I was quite young so, after a period of resistance, me and my mum had to move down there with him. So that’s where I went to school.’

Edwards ruefully admits however, that he has ‘never been much of a fan of curriculums’, only ever really enjoying the subjects that he ‘was interested in’. ‘I was quite easily distracted at school. But then, to juxtapose that, I did a maths project on my own to try and calculate an exact value of pi. I had my moments.’ These moments clearly paid off, as Edwards attended the other Pembroke College reading Natural Sciences. Not the classic path for a ‘pop’ presenter and general pin-up. ‘I had a great time, but wasn’t really focused on academia. I wasn’t especially popular with the Senior Tutor. In fact, he hated me.’ Possibly a reassuring thought for those of us in a similar position.

It was Edwards’ time in the lesser-hallowed-halls that led to his involvement with the performing arts and in particular stand-up, even though entertaining seems like something he was destined to do. ‘My mum and dad say they always knew I’d end up doing something like this. I always loved making people laugh – I was the archetypal disruptive class clown. So when I arrived at university and there was a legitimate opportunity to stand up and make people laugh (Footlights), I took it. I was also lucky enough to do a bit of TV stuff on the god-awful local cable channel.’

By all accounts Edwards’ path to ‘T4’ stardom has been incredibly smooth, with few bumps in the road. ‘I really wanted to do T4. It was my dream job – it still is. I actually auditioned for it when I was 21 and in my last year at uni. I did quite well and got down to the last two – it was me and Colin Murray. In the end they gave the job to Vernon Kay. I did a screentest some years later for E4 Music and from there have graduated onto T4.’

Rather charmingly Rick makes no bones about how much he enjoys his work and how easy it is, although I am not sure that can be completely true as this very interview has been postponed several times due to his other commitments.

‘If anyone ever tells you that TV presenting is hard work they’re
lying. It’s not a proper job, it can’t be, it’s too much fun. I just hang out with people I really get on with and laugh a lot. Alexa’s one of my closest friends. Don’t tell her that though – I want to keep her on her toes.’ Ooops. We will have to assume that she is too busy to pick up this particular student paper!
‘With T4 I’ve been very lucky and done some extraordinary things and travelled to some incredible places. The most amazing experience was when I was doing a global warming special and we filmed in Mali in West Africa. It was a fantastic place, like nowhere I’ve ever been before. And I flew in a tiny plane with a scientist and we went up into the clouds and ‘seeded’ them – we made rain fall. It was breathtaking. Having said that, at the other end of the spectrum, I have very fond memories of filming on a farm in the Cotswolds. I was supposed to be celebrating beating a goat in a pentathlon and shouting at it, “take that, you horny bastard”, all up in its tufty face. But we all got the giggles so badly – me, Alexa, the crew, not the goat actually, she was very professional – that we ended up having to do 31 takes.’

Rick is however a Jack-of-many-trades, and not just an animal-comedian. ‘I used to write comedy stuff with my friend Tom Basden, now a very successful writer/performer. I was commissioned to write a feature-length screenplay once – it was based on a real-life fraud, and was subsequently investigated by the police. Which was exciting, as you can imagine.’ Edwards admits that being good at so many things doesn’t always make it easy to find your direction in life. ‘I’m very competitive, probably too competitive, so I want to be the best at anything and everything I try. I hope I’ve found what I’m best at now. It’s certainly what I enjoy most.’

Despite his status as ‘T4’ hottie and presenter extraordinaire, Edwards seems to bare no ill will to the publicity-juggernaugt that he is a part of. ‘The media glare doesn’t really focus on me, so I’m largely unaffected by it. I don’t really go out to flashy bars or celebrity parties much. That’s not really me. I hang out with my friends in the same places we’ve been hanging out for years. Occasionally someone might recognise me, but all they’re gonna ask is ‘where’s Alexa?’ or ‘how come you’re so tall?’ He really is quite tall, but Alexa wasn’t with him.

Indeed, the flash of the paparazzi’s lightbulb seems to be the last thing that interests Edwards. ‘I’m a film geek. It’s directors mainly that inspire me: The Coen Brothers, Robert Rodriguez, Almodovar, Michael Haneke, Shane Meadows,’ and other equally heavy-hitters are mentioned as he discusses an obvious passion (and perhaps a future career path?). ‘I’m not hugely careerist, so I don’t have any grand plans. I love what I do and hope it continues for a long time – but I’m also realistic enough to accept that, if it ends tomorrow, I’ve still been very privileged to have done it at all. However, I’d really like to host Film 2017, or whatever the year is when it comes up for grabs. I guess Jonathon Ross isn’t going to do that show forever. And maybe the BBC should bring back Tomorrow’s World. Then I could put my degree to good use, finally.’

As much as he revels in his experiences and times on ‘T4′, there is no doubt that they keep him extremely busy. A list of his current projects includes ‘T4’ and his weekend show on XFM. Rick is also hosting the ‘Guardian Student Media Awards’ this weekend as well as having ‘a new show for ‘T4’ called ‘Relentless.’ I’ll tell you about it. There’s one contestant who has to answer 10 questions in a 48 hour period.’ He then boggles me with an explanation of the show, there are crocodiles or something. ‘Honestly, I’d be a rubbish contestant. I wouldn’t run around The Den, Millwall’s ground, at half-time wearing women’s underwear. I wouldn’t fancy rap battling an angry, potty-mouthed MC. But our contestant’s all had cojones – especially the girls.’

By this stage I am slightly mesmerised by Rick’s description of his new show, but am certain that it is something we will all ultimately end up addicted to. There is no denying that this charming, multi-talented presenter has a long career ahead of him – and with Jonathan Ross largely out of any pictures it seems likely we will soon see him hosting ‘Film 2008′. Let’s just hope any Greenroom friendship he might have had with Russell Brand during his Channel 4 affiliation ended at Passport Control.