5/5
25 JanuaryThe clever approach of this thoughtful anti-war film lies in its choice of protagonist: Tommy Lee Jones plays a patriot, whose loss of faith with his son’s involvement in Iraq is charted via unexpected and sordid discoveries in both personal and political realms. This original angle, taking an empathetic and humanising view of individual American soldiers, will make it hard for the pro-war lobby to dismiss. Focusing as it does primarily on the story of a murdered son, it engages viewers’ emotions first, with intense and intelligent acting; only at the start and finish are horizons broadened.

Initially, a backdrop of radio and television clips seems to present the triumphant rhetoric objectively, but soon these voices lapse into silence and the potent image of a coffin draped in an American flag is used to silently voice dissent. However, the bitter irony is that this young man has been killed not serving his country abroad, but on home soil. The aim is to illustrate the dehumanising effects of military combat – how war turns young men into killing machines, drives them to depravity against their will and makes many of them victims too.
Paul Haggis, the only man ever to write two successive Oscar winning scripts, has penned a smart and compelling indictment, not only of Iraq, but of all wars. Charlize Theron is a savvy maverick detective, Susan Sarandon a rather underused grieving mother, but more chillingly convincing than either is the culture of secrecy portrayed as symptomatic of the higher echelons of the military. The closing note is one of defiant disillusionment, as the Stars and Stripes are hoisted up the flag-pole deliberately upside-down – an international distress-symbol, and a sign that something is very wrong.

 Album review: Beat Pyramid by These New Puritans Every song on this album follows the pattern of opening track, ‘Numerology’. An insistent drum-beat starts out, broken into by a harsh guitar riff, before the whole thing is ruined by meaningless repetitive lyrics in Jack Barnett’s terribly grating voice. “Are these guys American?”, my roommate asks, “perhaps they’ve been affected by the writers’ strike?”. Barnett appears to be trying to use his voice like an instrument, constantly repeating the same words. Trouble is, the words are hollow and his voice is unpleasant and whiny. This effect only really works well on the oddly-named track ‘£4’, and I longed for more tracks like ‘MKK3’, where the singer’s voice suits the bleak monologue and he doesn’t repeat himself too much or actually attempt to sing.This is a shame because the band has a genuinely good rhythm section, reminiscent of Interpol or Franz Ferdinand at their best. Synth effects are less uniformly successful. They can they provide brooding interludes or palate-cleansers as in ‘Colours’ and ‘En Papier’, but sometimes they just get in the way or sound cheap, as in ‘Costume’ and ‘Swords of Truth’. All in all, this is a bruising, unforgiving record. I wouldn’t recommend anyone to listen to this start to finish; it pounds ceaselessly into your skull and the band don’t seem to have grasped the concept of varying their sound to give the listener a break. Having said that, there are some songs that would work great at indie club nights; they know how to build up to a climax and break it down. This is an eminently danceable record with some great beats and rhythms, and if they just found themselves a new vocalist they could even go far.
Two stars.
– Michael Bennett

Gareth Peters explores the allure of chocolate In Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, one of my favourite children’s novels, most readers shriek with concern and shielded glee when rotund brat Augustus Gloop almost drowns in a river of chocolate; I however merely lick my lips with envy whenever I think of the young German’s fate. Indeed, I can’t imagine a better way to go. Yes, I am a chocoholic, but I’m not alone. There are few things that most people agree on, but a fondness for chocolate is surely one of those uniting opinions. If we all just sat in the streets eating chocolate the world would be a better place. A peaceful, harmonious – if morbidly obese – utopia. It is because of such properties that we should all be selling our own arms (who really needs them?) in order to get hold of a ticket for tomorrow’s chocolate extravaganza at the Union. There’s no point of boring you with the details, but it’s going to be good; one of the best things to come to the Union in ages. Natalie Portman is a close second though. So why should you be flocking in your droves to stuff your willing faces? If you’re like me, you really don’t need to be told why; you’ll just understand the urgency of your attendance. You were probably behind me in the queue at Sainsbury’s on the first day Cadbury’s brought Wispas back. If not though, you may be wondering why a bar of creamy, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate causes others so much excitement. Clearly, there’s something a little bit wrong with you.A recent archaeological dig discovered a site in Honduras used to cultivate cacoa beans which dated from between 1100 to 1400 BC, showing just how universally popular this foodstuff is. In such early days chocolate was consumed exclusively in its liquid form until its value as a solid was discovered. Now, there’s nothing better when sitting in front of the television than a bar of Dairy Milk or, in my case, a family size tin of Celebrations. Is there anything more instantly exciting than that split second when you peel back the foil to reveal a tablet of the most appetising colour of brown in existence? There are a multitude of companies selling their own signature taste, and many produce hundreds of varieties, so it’s never been easier to develop an unhealthy yet oh so satisfying addiction to the stuff. One must always remember that moderation is your friend; even if you’re reading this while gorging your fifth Ben’s Cookie you should remember such classic mantras as ‘a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips’. However, you can comfort yourself by remembering the many health benefits of chocolate, for there are enough to justify a ‘five bar a day’ diet if you choose to believe them. Cocoa is full of anti-oxidants, and dark chocolate is rich in flavonoids epicatechin and gallic acid, which are thought to possess cardioprotective properties. If you choose to incorporate chocolate into your fitness regime though (I certainly do) it’s definitely best to cross over to the dark side; having a small portion of dark chocolate daily can lower blood pressure and, according to some studies, cholesterol too. It has even been suggested that chocolate decreases the risk of cancer, but until further tests have been carried out it is impossible to know whether or not a Milky Way keeps the tumours at bay. Chocolate is also famous for its aphrodisical benefits, reasons for which are relatively mysterious. There are theories which suggest its serotonin content acts as a sexual stimulant, but no one understands for sure why a chocolate-covered strawberry is so alluring to so many. Whatever the reasons, a study concludes that a person’s brain activity and heart rate increase when one eats it, more so than when one is kissing another person and with a longer lasting after-efffect. While we bite into our favourite bars though, it’s probably important to remember that we’re ruining our teeth, eating ourselves into an early grave and clogging our insides with lead (chocolate has a rather high concentration of this). Morally speaking as well as physically though, the world in which our favourite snack dwells is far from sweet. Nestle are famously corrupt, and it seems unnecessary to explain why as almost everyone I come across chastises me every time I offer them a Munchie or bite into an Aero. For those who are unaware of such corporate greed though, just type ‘Nestle kills babies’ into your favourite search engine, although the instruction kind of eliminates the point. And anyway, I find it impossible to resist chocolate despite such points against certain companies. So, if you’re not a fan, then you just haven’t found the right bar for you. And if you are, you’ll see me tomorrow at the Union, swimming in the chocolate fountain.

Sweeney Todd
3/5
25 JanuaryBetween the spurting blood, churning human flesh, and snapping necks, Tim Burton’s film of Stephen Sondheim’s musical retelling of Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street is not for the weak of heart, or stomach, for that matter. But more than the special effects, it is the portrayal of a world in which, ‘the lives of the wicked should be cut brief, and for the rest of us, death will be a relief’, that is as disturbing as it is absolutely absorbing.

Near the opening, a half-lit, nearly dead Johnny Depp appears in rags and sings, ‘there’s a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it’s full people who’re full of shit.’  So Sweeney introduces us to his London, a city crawling with venomous men, filthy in body and soul, unyieldingly cruel people who don’t deserve their very lives. In this world, being baked into pies and sold is a fate almost too good for man.

In short, Sweeney Todd may be a musical, but it’s no Andrew Lloyd Webber. While Sondheim has a deft hand with comedy and sentiment, it is in capturing the cruelty, sorrow and degradation of man that he excels. It would be worth paying admission merely to hear his lyrics. But while Sweeney Todd has made audiences’ skin crawl in theatres for years, it is Burton’s deft work that brings the menacing immediacy of the stage production almost flawlessly to the film.

In fact, their shared morbid interest in human depravity is so strong that it’s surprising Burton didn’t make Sweeney Todd earlier. The tale of a barber who returns from abroad to seek revenge on the judge who banished him for life on a false charge is, mostly, a story of the horrifying power of hatred.  As Sweeney puts it upon his return, ‘the cruelty of man is as wondrous as Peru.’  As wondrous and, like it or not, as enthralling. Especially since Depp embodies Todd’s character so fully that you cannot pry your eyes away, even when that means witnessing spouts of blood previously unimaginable outside a Tarantino flick. 

The film is certainly not without fault. In order to keep tension ratcheted up, Burton stifles many of the score’s more comic and sentimental numbers. ‘The Worst Pies in London,’ and ‘A Little Priest’ are, normally, hilarious songs. But Helena Bonham Carter’s interpretation of Mrs. Lovett, the obsessively devoted pie shop owner who ‘disposes’ of Sweeney’s victims, is too subdued to allow the comedy to shine.

Burton’s consistently dark adaptation instead directs the entire production towards its gruesome and tragic end. Ultimately, while this comes at the sacrifice of much of what makes the stage production delightful, it creates an arresting and magnificent world on film, portraying a view of mankind that will leave you with a bad taste in your mouth for days to come.
by Willa Brown

 2/529 JanuaryWill Eno’s The Flu Season sends out a very clear message: ‘This is drama! You need to switch your brain on.’ It’s a message that in some ways can only have the opposite effect on its audience. The play shows us a budding romance between two inmates in a psychiatric hospital (Andrew Johnson, Lucy Murphy) being treated by a clumsy doctor and nurse team (Sam Bright, Amy Mulholland).

The really brain-busting bit comes with what this production calls ‘the meta-theatrical level of the narrators.’ Eno has a pair of narrators provide trite commentary on events during every scene change. They come out with vapid gems like: ‘is repetition a failure of daring or a step towards deliverance?’ This device shows that Eno lacks faith in the strength of his original story. It’s a lame trick to add depth and pseudo-sophistication to a play without bothering to build them into the plot itself.

What redeems this show is the sensitivity of its production. Johnson and Murphy deliver beautifully tuned performances throughout the nervous development of their relationship. Eno’s patronising approach to characterisation seems to be: ‘Aren’t mad people sweet and funny.’ However, these actors give their roles a dignity that makes the grim conclusion surprisingly moving.

Along with Mulholland’s slightly daffy nurse, the central couple respond well to the surreal drift of the language, with its non-sequiturs and subverted word order. It seems unfair that this show got a reviewer who so disliked the play itself. You might love engaging with Eno’s commentary on his own work or the self-conscious cleverness of the narration. These things pissed me off and distanced me from the wonderful work of the production itself. It is charming in spite of its material, which must be some sort of recommendation.

by Sam Pritchard

4/5
29 JanuaryIf you like your theatre witty, pithy and sexy, Guy Levin’s production of Closer is well worth seeing.

Desire is the driving force in a play which sees a quartet of 1990s Londoners caught in a claustrophobic web of lust and deceit. Staging is minimal: Closer’s real focus is on self-consciously clever dialogue and the simmering sexual tensions it reveals. This is not a play concerned with weighty philosophy. We are made aware of the links between death and desire, but these are not satisfactorily explored. A meta-theatrical debate concerning art as exploitation is touched on, then disregarded. Closer does not treat any concept (apart from that of sex) more than superficially, abandoning profundity for clever wordplay and vivid volleys of banter. This is sometimes very effective, and the actors really bring out the humour of Closer’s best lines. Occasionally, though, one can be left unsatisfied. Verbal and emotional parallels are constantly drawn between the characters in a way that can feel heavy-handed. Some aspects of the play now seem dated. The scenes based on an internet sex chatroom in particular have lost much of their shock effect.

Yet whatever the deficiencies of the script, the acting is consistently superb. Lindsay Dukes captures the simultaneously vulnerable and sexually provocative nature of stripper Alice, and Harry Creelman and Alex Bowles give understated and convincing portrayals of photographer Anne and obituary-writer Dan respectively. Whilst Matt Maltby as Larry initially engaged better with the comic scenes, his progression towards unsettling anger was ultimately extremely powerful.

Closer really benefits from the pared-down treatment it receives in this production. Both the comic and serious scenes are handled well by a talented cast, and the sharp wit of the dialogue is counterpoised with convincing outbursts of passion.by Elisabeth Lewis-Barned

Athlete live at the Carling Academy, OxfordBoth papers sniggered at Athlete in their listings section last week, the full weight of Oxford snobbery crushing down on their mainstream success. When taking this review I was determined to counterattack; this article would be a spirited defense of the popular, how a band could be great without being controversial. Thus, I was left disappointed when they didn’t give me that chance. Still, it feels rather unfair for me to blame them for that, since it was in fact a good gig, well played and engaging. Nonetheless, it did live up to the stereotypes. Take the audience: middle-aged couples predominated, and I’m pretty sure I saw someone taking a gig pic on a Blackberry. A group of eleven year olds at the barrier drew singer Joel Pott’s attention (odd considering it was an over-18s event). ‘Did your dad sneak you in?’ he asked, ‘Thats the kind of dad I’m gonna be’.Support act Boy Kill Boy acquitted themselves well, providing perhaps more energy than the headliners with their heavier sound more suited to live performance. Athlete divided their time between tracks from the latest album Beyond The Neighborhood and their previous work The Tourist, which was a No.1 album in 2005. The Tourist tracks sounded fuller and went down better with the crowd, ‘Wires’ and ‘Yesterday Threw Everything At Me’ being highlights for me and everyone else. The band’s oldest material didn’t get much of a look in. When an audience memeber shouted a request, Pott was unimpressed. ‘I don’t think we’d remember how to play that.’ The audience didn’t really seem to have paid money to listen to the band’s older material at all, and the band played hit song ‘Beautiful’ more or less for their own benefit.New song ‘Rock Scene’ was a popular number, but I couldn’t really work out why apart from the annoyingly memorable lyics. Athlete’s new album has fared less well than its predecessor, and the most recent single ‘Tokyo’ charted at an embarrassingly low 198. It seemed to me this was a group already past its peak. The band made the unusual decision of finishing on a song no-one seemed to know, ‘Flying Over Bus Stops’. It wasn’t a bad song, but it was hardly a rousing finale. Last night was a good show and everyone (including me) seemed to enjoyed themselves. It was just a shame it turned out to be so predictably mediocre.
– Michael Bennett

Frankie Parham discovers oysters and boiler suits in Through the Looking Glass
4/5
With the pantomime season over, audiences may find it hard to stomach more childish theatrics. Not so with Emily Lim’s vigorous new production. This is no panto, but a dark, original remake of Lewis Carroll’s novel Through the Looking Glass. Unpleasant characters lurk around every corner of the chessboard Alice crosses, from harsh queens to cruel frogs. Although Lim has adapted Carroll’s text, improvising with her cast along the way, the quality of the original has not been lost.

Tor Lupton as Alice is still the curious and confused pre-adolescent. She is confronted by an array of intimidating characters, brought to life by the use of a fourteen-strong Chorus. The Chorus members narrate the story in turn and portray everything Alice encounters, animal, vegetable or mineral.

This kind of anthropomorphic Chorus is in danger of becoming a snarling, contorted freak-show. However the cast save themselves from this sorry fate with their excellent acting, and infuse each character with individuality. The audience feels sympathy for talking mutton and timid White Queen alike.

The stage becomes cluttered with what looks like an industrial rubbish heap. The ‘conceptual’ costumes include boiler suits and bin liners worn by doomed oysters. The whole set, heaped with junk, reflects the back-to-front world of the Looking Glass. Accompanied by a cacophony of clarinets, basses and electronic recordings compiled by Danny Saleeb, Alice must face the prospect of a bleak and brutal world.

Such a grand scale of dark lunacy sometimes feels exhausting. Yet by honouring Carroll’s love of wordplay, the production also brings out the humour that Carroll always intended. Exclaiming that she can’t see anybody wandering through the forest, Alice is strangely marvelled at by the White King for her ability to ‘see nobody’. Being in a looking glass, situations are not purely disturbing, but also comic in their reversal.

It seems Lim’s adaptation often teeters on the brink of collapsing inwards through its own energy; faced with such chaotic disorder, an audience could become as frenzied as the unwelcoming banqueters at Alice’s palace. However, the grim perversion of the neutral space is just as magical as it is tantalising. ‘Leave off at seven’ is Humpty Dumpty’s advice – better not to grow up and face reality. After watching the show, prepare to feel unsure that you can ever say what you mean. This cast, at least, really mean what they say.

Scott Ellaway, formerly organ scholar at Keble College, and James Bowman, previously a choral scholar at New, are just two of Oxford’s alumni making their way in the classical music world. Last Friday, at the Oxford Playhouse, counter-tenor Bowman performed alongside conductor Ellaway and his newly formed ensemble, Orchestra Europa. Europa has been set up to allow young ambitious musicians throughout Europe the opportunity to launch their careers. The idea is based upon New World Symphony, a project in Miami established in 1987 by Michael Tilson Thomas, which selects promising young classical musicians from across the U.S.A. and trains them for three years as orchestral performers. ‘Europa will take musicians recommended by conservatoires and, having given them training, help them to gain positions in the best orchestras in the world,’ Ellaway told me. ‘We will be holding auditions in April to select members of the orchestra, which will in the end be of symphonic size’.Despite having only rehearsed together for a week at the time of Europa’s first launch concert last Friday, the orchestra played with amazing cohesion, with Ellaway’s own enthusiasm as conductor displayed in the playing. Symphonies by Haydn and Schubert were separated by two short songs, sung by sixty-six year old Bowman. The first song, by Hasse, was extremely playful, and was juxtaposed perfectly by the beautiful Mozart song that followed. Both songs were short, however, and it was disappointing to see Bowman’s performance come to an end so quickly.Orchestra Europa will give a series of concerts in 2008 throughout Europe with world-famous soloists such as Yan Pascal Tortelier, Sir Thomas Allen, Peter Donohoe and Nicola Benedetti. The second of their launch concerts will be in Oxford on 25th April at the Sheldonian theatre, where the orchestra will be performing music by Beethoven, Haydn, and Dr. Robert Saxton, a fellow in music at Worcester College. – Robin Thompson
 

 Ryan Hocking gets ideas from concept theatreA trip to the theatre evokes one of two images. The first is a mandatory, dreary trip with school, where all literary worth of the play is ignored in favour of covertly flicking pieces of paper at your friend, or other such worthwhile activity. The second image is of a pretentious individual who claims actually to enjoy watching the play; perhaps a monocle is involved. It seems that there’s little room for ideas or concepts in either of these. The theatre is a place of leisure – whether forced on us or by our own choice.

It’s easy to imagine the theatre as something waffly or detached from reality, particularly when watching something akin to Wilde’s society plays. Here there are characters that ‘never talk anything but nonsense’, who evade sincerity or issues and may lead the audience member to feel that they too are indulging in ‘Bunburying’. The escape from reality in favour of Wilde’s ‘art for art’s sake’ is an idea in itself, though; the concept of what theatre should be like. Without realising it, the audience are being subjected to an idea. In some form or another, this is present in almost all forms of theatre.

The idea subtly intrudes in naturalistic drama, lurking under the guise of plot, or character development. In Ibsen’s Doll’s House we’re struck more with the breakdown of Helmer and Nora’s marriage than with the idea of the need for female equality inherent in the play’s climax. The concept is sneaked into the play’s dialogue so seamlessly that it very rarely transcends the action or jumps out at the audience.

If concepts are a subtle salad dressing in naturalist drama, they seem to be the chilli sauce on Stoppard’s theatre. Stoppard’s characters often launch into rants about abstract concepts, and we find ourselves wondering why on earth there’s a short treatise on sub-atomic physics in the middle of a play about spies (perhaps because physicists are such sneaky types). We certainly notice the idea’s presence, because it sticks out like a sore thumb, but not its significance. The concept tries so hard to come to our attention, that we end up dismissing it – just like a lecturer trying to be funny.

However overt or covert they may be, ideas are always being waved in the face of audiences – whatever style of theatre they may be watching. Considering the radicalisation and politicisation of drama in the 20th century, audiences could be forgiven for trepidation during Beckett’s Waiting for Godot when Vladimir asks Estragon, ‘How’s the carrot?’ Despite what Estragon may reply, nothing in theatre is ever ‘just a carrot’.