by Jack Marley-PayneIn the summer of 1998, four hip-hop artists were disillusioned with the bravado and posturing seemingly entailed by their career choice and so decided to try for a change. The result of said decision was Deep Puddle Dynamics’ The Taste of Rain…Why Kneel? On this album, one cannot find any self-referencing, machismo or cheap jokes. Instead we are presented with challenging sounds, complex structures and some of the oddest (if you’re cruel: ridiculous) lyrics recorded this side of the sixties- ‘In the immortal words of Oliver Wendell Holmes “A mind that is stretched to a new idea never returns to its original dimension.”’

With this was born the Anticon label and the genre many refer to as ‘Back-pack hip-hop’- as no one likes to be pigeon-holed, this term is rejected by most of the artists who fall under it. Basically, it is concerned with forward thinking rappers who combine their native style with less conventional elements- namely the ambition of progressive rock and the sonic experimentation and out-there lyrics of pyschedelia. If this all sounds too much, remember that it does have the strong and catchy beats intrinsic to hip-hop. The compilation from Anticon entitled Music for the Advancement of Hip-Hop gives an overview of the ideas involved and is exceptionally mixed to boot.

Perhaps the high point of this style thus far is cLOUDDEAD and their self-titled album. It is beautifully crafted and really blurs the boundary between singing and speaking. Mesmerising sounds are created as the members talk simultaneously or go round saying one word each. The voices slip in and out of focus so you only catch mystical snatches- ‘Space is potent.’ Vocals are complimented by some inspired production and samples that are both comic and creepy. If you do nothing else, at least give this a go.

The genre is constantly developing and diversifying as more and more influences are accumulated. Elephant Eyelash by Why? puts most straight indie bands to shame whilst Boom Bip and Doseone’s Circle seems to be a sort of aural depiction of a hypnosis induced regression. In short, this is one of the few genuinely exciting movements around right now. Whereas so much of what claims to be new is just digging out old styles we’ve forgotten a bit, these guys are making stuff that sounds like nothing that’s been heard before. An idiot might suggest: ‘it’s a sound like no other.’ Idiot or not, you should investigate.

by Monique Davis and Mary WaireriInnocenceChildren’s films these days, aside from the bright colours and anthropomorphised animals, are barely distinguishable from adult films. Take Pixar: the puns and slapstick may be for the children, but the themes are wholly adult. Watching Ratatouille recently, I couldn’t help but be struck by the thought that no child could truly be moved by the sweeping panoramas of central Paris or the subtle romance underlying the simple dialogue. A five or seven year-old would be just as happy with a field or, indeed, nothing at all. The term ‘family film’ is a reflection this; it is no longer good enough for a film to entertain just children. In fact, looking around during this film ostensibly for children, I reckon a tiny minority of the clientèle were below voting age.

Disney’s latest films deal with ever more complex and subtle issues. Earlier films like The Little Mermaid and Aladdin dealt solely with issues deeply rooted within the world of the child; remaining true to oneself, obeying parental commands, the pursuit of romantic love. However, later films have become much darker, dealing with sexual obsession (The Hunchback of Notre Dame), interracial issues (Pocahontas) and even genocide (Mulan).

In earlier films with a young audience in mind, the themes of adapted stories originally aimed at adults were toned down in order to make them more comprehensible. Once, Hans Christian Andersen’s haunting tale about an inherently unjust universe impervious to the suffering, sacrifice and risk undertaken by a creature in love was transformed into a simple story about a malevolent villain willing to take advantage of weak emotions. But now, films aimed at children are decidedly darker, calmly presenting the horrors that man can inflict upon man – the latest release from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise featured dozens of people, including children, being hanged. And that was just the opening scene. Neil Gaiman’s Stardust, which was specifically written as a fairy tale for adults, portrayed sex and violence unflinchingly. The messages about romantic love and belonging change little in the adaptation from book to film; it is just that the realism that the author attempted to inject into his tale are glossed over with whimsy and humour.

We live in a society in which the age of innocence is ever being eroded. In my childhood, we feared spiders; now, pre-pubescent girls fear becoming overweight and unattractive and thus develop eating disorders. Primary school children are developing stress disorders and depression. Sex has been demystified. And this is reflected in the films to which parents are encouraged to take their children. I can only ask what next – will the next Harry Potter feature a wild romp between the teaching staff, or even Ron and Harry?
ExperienceChildren’s films have always been rather sinister. When I think back to the 1937 surreal, trippy Disney version of Snow White I can’t help but think that some of its imagery more closely resembles scenes from Trainspotting than anything currently considered ‘child proof’. Even 1963’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang featured some unsettling and altogether chilling scenes, with the obvious parallel of the creepy, sweet proffering Child Catcher and the contemporary image of the paedophile lurking at the school gates. But can children’s films really be considered too dark? The answer is a resounding no.
Children’s imaginations are incredibly fertile; rather than patronising them. children’s films should explore the full range of their intellectual and emotional spectrum – within reason of course: nobody’s saying that children should be exposed to Martin Scorsese at primary school. Why should children be confined to watching things that are so intellectually bankrupt they leave the viewer feeling ashamed? Recent films like the all-singing all-dancing Happy Feet and the unwatchable Bratz are utterly lacking in emotional dexterity. These films seem to have adopted the attitude that children should feel nothing more than a sort of numb contentment while watching films. Bratz is especially objectionable because it appears to be a version of Sex and the City for the pre-teen generation.
Interestingly, rather than becoming more sinister, children’s films today just seem to be more ‘adult’. The imagery may not be more upsetting but the dialogue and humour certainly seems to be aimed more at the parents than the children. Look at The Incredibles, Monsters Inc and Shrek. Pixar are definitely responsible for this new wave of pseudo children’s film; essentially very enjoyable but with slightly more biting wit than The Tweenies.
One film that strikes the right balance between being mind-numbing and excessively upsetting is the critically acclaimed Bridge to Terabithia. It blends fantasy and reality perfectly and has just the right dose of tragedy thrown in. Holes was another particularly skilful children’s film that dealt carefully with serious and relevant themes without being too disturbing or – worse still – condescending to its core audience.
So, unless we see children as soulless, mindless mini-adults, we should encourage children’s films to explore more sophisticated themes without being excessively adult or inappropriate.

by Hayley MirekThe Squid and the Whale is about a dysfunctional family going through a divorce, combining comedy, drama and awkwardness into ninety minutes of cinematic delight. The film is mostly centred on the Berkman family’s oldest son Walt, and the last scene focuses on his self-realisation. 

The Squid and the Whale ends with Walt running from his father’s hospital bed through Central Park to the Natural History Museum. As Walt reaches his destination, the squid and the whale that hang in the sea life exhibit, Lou Reed’s ‘Street Hassle’ begins to play. Out of breath, Walt stares at the exhibit. He doesn’t say anything, but something has changed inside him. He has grown up, or at least reached the point where disillusionment forces him to begin his ascent into adulthood. 

The song ‘Street Hassle’ seems like an odd choice to end the film. It is a ten-minute epic whose lyrics tell of the seedier side of New York life; drug overdoses, crack-heads, pimps, whorehouses, and an explicit depiction of prostitution. Yet the song is a perfect fit for the end of the film, and not only because of the almost triumphant string quartet that opens the song. In between the blush-inducing lyrics are words that speak of loss, hopelessness and disillusionment. As Walt stares out, the music and lyrics seem to reflect what his mind can’t really articulate. Dialogue would be pointless anyway; the viewer understands. 

Throughout the film, Walt sides with his father on every issue and uses every opportunity to tell his mother how much he disapproves of her. Yet, as Walt sits by his father’s hospital bed, it becomes clear that Walt can finally see his father as the highly flawed man that he is. His father has become human, part of Walt’s growing up.

The film could have ended with Walt running to Joan, his mother, and telling her how much he loves her. But this is not that kind of film. Joan knows that Walt loves her; an entente the audience shares. Instead, Walt runs to the squid and the whale; the exhibit that used to terrify him as a child, so much so that he had to cover his eyes while Joan would narrate the scene. At the end, Walt stands in front of the creatures and stares, and then the screen goes dark. 

I was in New York this summer and went to the Natural History museum to see the squid and the whale. I put Lou Reed on my ipod and entered. The whale was there, but the squid had been moved to another wing. The exhibit was nice enough in its way, but it didn’t have the power I felt when Walt stood in front of it. The film transformed the longstanding museum exhibit into something meaningful. While Walt stands in front of it, with Lou Reed playing, the scene transcends into something epic, something life changing.

by Mary Claire WaireriBased on the Old English poem of the same name, this epic, action romp bursts onto our screens from the imagination of Forrest Gump director Robert Zemeckis. Imagination being the operative word, since the finished product has as much to do with the original poem as this week’s issue of Heat magazine. In fact, he admits ‘nothing about the original poem appealed to me’. Of course, departure from the original text is not in itself a criticism, but some sort of health warning needs to be attached to Beowulf, because I imagine anyone watching it with the intention of seeing the epic poem realised in celluloid will be in for a very nasty shock.

For those troglodytes who remain unacquainted with Beowulf, it is the tale of a young, heroic warrior (played by Ray Winstone) who offers to save the Danish kingdom of King Hrothgar from the monster Grendel – a ruthless beast that wreaks havoc in the kingdom, feasting on its subjects and leaving chaos in his wake. After Beowulf slays Grendel, the beast’s mother (played by Angelina Jolie) emerges to avenge her son’s death. The adaptation was filmed using the performance capture technique – this involved the actors wearing form fitting suits covered with motion sensors and performing in front of a green screen. The actors’ movements were then digitally recorded; think Gollum in Lord of the Rings.  In addition, Beowulf will be screened in 3-D at dozens of cinemas across the UK, which basically means that you get to wear goofy glasses, and stuff flies out at you in a rather menacing but altogether thrilling way.

Yet all the dazzling effects, and a cast of such respected actors as Anthony Hopkins and John Malkovitch, cannot disguise the fact that Beowulf falls seriously short; there’s minimum character development, the dialogue is clumsy and the narrative arc is incoherent at best. Zemeckis seems more interested in laying a lascivious eye on Angelina Jolie’s naked body than in injecting any emotional complexity into the story. So, while Beowulf is eminently watchable, it is neither original nor particularly memorable.

Zemeckis has a lot to answer for here. He had skilled actors and state-of-the-art effects at his disposal and the best he could come up with was a few action sequences, peppered with gratuitous nude shots of a digitally enhanced Ray Winstone, all strung together with some supposedly snappy one-liners. Not to mention some shocking anachronisms – it seems seriously unlikely that Grendel’s mother would have worn gold stilettos, for starters. But of course, it’s equally unlikely that Zemeckis spent more than five minutes developing his ideas, or that anyone who watches Beowulf can expect to leave the cinema feeling anything more than bemusement, that so much money was put behind such an ill-conceived project. It could have been so much more. Instead, what we have is a lazy, uninspiring and emotionally bankrupt film.

by Isabel SuttonI haven’t actually read the Booker prize short-listed novel Brick Lane but, having seen the film, I’m certain it deserves all the praise it receives. As to its recent adaptation for screen – I’m not so sure.
The tale is of a young Bangladeshi girl, Nazneen (Tannishta Chatterjee), who is fixed up in marriage with an unknown older man with whom she is sent to live. His home is in London, amongst the Bangladeshi community of Brick Lane, where they live in a council flat with two daughters. The film follows Nazneen as she dreams continually of life in Bangladesh, a vision which is fuelled by her sister’s letters. It is only when she becomes attached to Karim (Christopher Simpson) – a young man who runs a clothes business and sends the material to Nazneen to be sewn – that her perspective on life in Britain changes.

Brick Lane is a story full of interesting dimensions: the psychological struggle of Nazneen; the subtle dynamics between herself and her intriguing husband Chanu Ahmed (Satish Kaushik II); the nature of love; the social tensions which emerge after 9/11 and the reactions of Karim and the Muslim community. There is one significant problem, however – none of these are visual themes.
The beauty and colour of Bangladesh, which fills the screen at the opening of the film, becomes a faraway world which we occasionally glimpse through Nazneen’s imagination. In reality, her eyes stare out on the bleak landscape of council buildings and a grey British sky, and this is the backdrop that dominates the film. 

The focus of the story lies in Nazneen’s thoughts and emotions – the letters she receives from Bangladesh and the hopes she harbours of a return. But the film can only hint at this through a mood of suppressed tension and melancholy. Nazneen is a character silenced by the misery of her predicament, and it isn’t easy to penetrate her psychology on screen.

Once in a while there is an image which catches your attention: the vivid saris worn by the women in Bangladesh are still worn against the grim background of London streets: Nazneen’s figure stands out like a jewel against her concrete block of flats. Later we see the cloth of Nazneen’s sari unwind in a wave of colour, and witness her admiration for the sequined dresses in the market where Karin sells his clothes.

The film draws to a close with a dramatic chase through the streets of London: Nazneen’s teenage daughter, Shahana, runs out of the house in a fury at her father, closely followed by her panicked mother. The camera darts through the darkness, blinded by the city lights: Nazneen keeps on running and running until she finds Shahana collapsed on a station platform. Nazneen travels great distances through the strory – both physically and emotionally – and this becomes apparent in her desperate chase. With scenes like this one, the film adaptation doesn’t entirely fail in conveying the power of the narrative. 

by Connie HanThe plot of Solaris, such as it is, can be summed up in one faintly absurd sentence. Kris Kelvin, a psychologist, goes into space, and is haunted by his dead wife; confusion ensues.

There is more to Solaris than any summary or review can tell. It’s not a film you can dip into: it immerses you for almost three hours and leaves you astounded and breathless. It is a film both uncompromisingly beautiful and bleak. Even under the burden of Soviet censorship, Tarkovsky refused to bow to creative pressures, crafting his films to produce a unique and enduring vision. With Solaris, Tarkovsky hoped to transcend science fiction. He was disappointed that he had not succeeded and that Solaris was categorised and trapped within a narrow genre. Yet to describe Solaris as ‘sci-fi’ is like describing The Seventh Seal as a film about chess.

If general consensus means anything to you, Solaris is regarded as an astounding film. ‘An extraordinary film of great sensitivity and lyrical power…engrossing and gravely beautiful,’ gushes Newsweek. ‘In every way a majestic work of art…a masterpiece’ writes Mark leFanu in The Cinema of Andrei Tarkovsky. On the other hand, Stanislaw Lem, the author of the book on which Solaris was based, famously disliked it, feeling it concentrated too much on the relationship between Kelvin and his wife, and too little on the book’s main theme: the incomprehensibility and unrelatability of alien life. Yet many feel that the focus on the relationship enriched, not detracted, from the film’s alien atmosphere. ‘Man needs man,’ declares Snaut, one of the scientists. Later, Kelvin tells his wife; ‘you mean more to me than any scientific truth.’ Science and love, knowledge and delusion, humanity and the Cosmos; these are the themes juxtaposed continually in Solaris.

The performances are low-key and taut. Kelvin’s dead wife, Hari, is at once both eerily alien and more human than any of the scientists. She is played by then 18 year old Natalya Bondarchuk, who was catapulted to fame by her performance. The film has almost no musical score, proceedings being interrupted either by mechanical beeps and clicks or by strange, unsettling swells of sound. The only actual music is Bach, played during moments of intense emotion and unsettling beauty.
Solaris is about time, grief, perception, reality; guilt and memory; man’s quest for knowledge and the failure of science. It is also about a man adrift in space around an alien planet with his dead wife. Though at times it verges on pretension, it sails gracefully on where a lesser film would have lapsed into self indulgence. It is one of the films you need to see before you die. Make of it what you will.

by Aaron BorboraRarely does one find a curry house that combines excellent food with tasteful surroundings and top-notch service. 
But Chutney’s, located on St Michael’s Street, offers just that. From beginning to end, we had a thoroughly enjoyable dining experience, thanks to the polite and capable staff. Despite our last-minute booking, a table was found at peak time and on arrival we were promptly seated at a good table well away from the distractions of the door. This positive first impression was only reinforced by the contemporary décor and furnishings. While many Indian restaurants seem to go out of their way to emulate the interior of a cross-channel ferry, the styling at Chutney’s was refreshingly modern. 
The menu offered a truly extensive choice of mouthwatering dishes, meaning that one had difficulty in not ordering the whole lot. Bank managers and Yorkshiremen alike will be pleased with how reasonable the food is, with starters between £3 and £5 and mains £7-£11. Vegetarians are well catered for with a selection offering so much more than a generic ‘vegetable curry’; indeed, Chutney’s has won awards for the range and quality of its vegetarian offerings. Continuing the trend of offering much more than the average curry house, pescarians are able to choose from a selection of Bangladeshi fish including bhol (although rou, that king of fish, is a sad omission). A welcome feature of the menu is a brief description of each of the dishes, explaining their style and principle ingredients. Furthermore, many dishes can be chosen in mild/medium/hot variants, which makes it possible to try a new recipe free from the fear of destroying the buccal mucosa.

After an excellent starter of warm and crisp popadoms, which held no hint of oil and were accompanied by beautifully-flavoured dips, we were promptly served our meal. The Korai seafood dish was excellent, with plenty of succulent king prawns.  The vegetables and onions were very fresh and the spice made its presence felt without being too intrusive. The only criticism is that it was a little on the dry side. The generous portion of lamb Pathia contained tender morsels, (as opposed to the meat at many Indian restaurants which seems to have the consistency of British Rail pork pies), smothered in a sauce that was rather too sweet and lacking in lemon to hold true to the dish’s Persian ancestry.  For our side order we enjoyed Sag Paneer. This was truly excellent, with home-made cheese and fresh spinach. In contrast to many other establishments, the portions were all generous and there was no attempt made to cover up a stingy use of protein by an excessive amount of sauce or vegetables. Drinks, of the same reasonable prices as the food, were of a similarly high standard.
Throughout the meal service and presentation were first-rate. The well mannered staff paid attention to detail.  It was nice to see, in these days of ever tightening margins and falling service standards, that we were still bought warmed plates. The quality feel also extended to the speed of service, something ensured by having a higher ratio of waiters to diners and a ‘common-user’ approach to service, whereby any member of staff would attend. 

Overall, Chutney’s is a high-end establishment catering to those seeking something better than the flock-wallpaper and greasy food style of Indian restaurant. Surprisingly, for such an experience there is not a heavy financial premium, making this an ideal choice for a special or celebratory meal out. For those in a rush, they offer a take out service and an express lunch for only £7.50 during the week –  the prefect antidote to too much time in the Bod.

by Jennifer-Anne HillOne can’t help but feel that the quality of Union debates would be much improved if the debaters spent more time talking about the issues at hand and less time talking about each other.

Ex-President James Wise began the case for the proposition by confessing that his only qualification to take part in this debate came from the two weeks he’d once spent in Florida. This reporter was rather inclined to agree. His argument, when he got down to it, revolved around America’s foreign policy. That Wise ran so far over time without managing to actually say much of anything was a truly remarkable feat. Ex-Librarian Bim Afolami opened the case for the opposition by asserting that the Republican Party was not defined by the war in Iraq, and attacked Clinton’s “over-rated” time in office.

More in this vein would have made for a fair argument, but with a long analogy comparing Wise to Clinton and the current Union committee to Bush’s Republicans, the speech degenerated into Union politics.

With the haircut of an ageing Beatle, Simon Head told the audience of his time as an economic advisor for the Democratic Party and how the current move to the Left among the Democrats bodes well for America’s future. He talked about Bush’s incompetence in Iraq, and made  snide remarks about the Bush family’s relation by blood to incompetent Civil War presidents.

Tom “The Hammer” Delay, a former Congressman, was everything that Head was not. He vigorously attacked the proposition, dismissing Head with the remark that he had only ever worked “for losers.” He called the Republicans the “Party of Freedom”, reminding the audience that it was they who passed the Civil Rights Act. He got several indignant points of information from the audience when he claimed that “in America, no American is ever denied healthcare”. Speaking to him afterwards about the debate, I was surprised to find that Delay thought the students he had met to be very polite – although he later remarked on the flames in their eyes during his points on healthcare, an odd contrast this reporter was quick to jump on. “Polite flames in their eyes,” he said with a wink, “and you can write that down.”

A bit of history: Lingerie is a French word for all underwear, but through some extravagant translation it became, in the English language, a label for the highly sexually charged and visually appealing undergarments for women. Unsurprisingly, French men’s boxers qualify as lingerie too.  

Lingerie is no longer exclusively the preserve of French Burlesque shows, or the forbidden fruit of Vaseline-smeared soft-core ’70s porn. It is mainstream. You can’t walk down Broad street without the fear of drowning in the gigantically sized cleavage of the plus-sized Bravissimo model opposite Balliol. Now that we can talk about it freely and see it everywhere, can lingerie maintain its tantalising mystique? When Primark starts producing acres of identikit suspenders, is the thrill of indulging in a secretive, transgressive fantasy world necessarily lost? Has the value of lingerie been destroyed, the golden age of opium, poetry and lace-fuelled decadence vanishing, only to be replaced by the sordid world of mass produced, synthetic undergarments which demean the burlesque ideal?

Lingerie has a different role to play in today’s sexual politics. Some might claim that it panders to male fantasies in which a paradigm-accepting female swallows notions of what makes feminine sexual attractiveness. However, lingerie is not about a simpering female capitulating to some kitsch male notion of what makes back-alley kinky behaviour. Instead it establishes an atmosphere of protracted sexual pleasure. Not giving everything away immediately but titillating at a pace that suits the wearer; a form of female empowerment, in which a man who thinks of himself as in control can be brought to his knees with the brush of silk, the thrill of a hint of lace. Even the sight of lace-topped suspenders glimpsed under a dress at a restaurant can be enough to send a man into paroxysms of uncontrollable desire. The moment of consummation is prolonged, no longer reserved for the bedroom. The shared secret provides an excitement that titillates his imagination and puts her in control of what is to follow.
Few girls can live up to the sci-fi erotic fantasy of Princess Leia in her solid gold undergarments, especially without inflicting some pain on themselves or their partners. For the truly adventurous, see www.leiasmetalbikini.com to buy products like “Slave Leia merchandise.” But Mesdemoiselles, lingerie can be as sexy and attractive if you follow some of these golden rules: Nylon is sweaty, and chafing thighs are not the most attractive proposition; keep it simple, and remember it is not about dressing up, you can fulfil your man’s secret latex fantasy another day. It is about being and feeling erotic, the key concept behind this process is to embrace your sexual power. Remember the more he desires you, the more effort he will put into getting you into his bed and making you feel sexier than Scarlett Johanson. It isn’t a secret that it is every man’s dream to have Gisele Bundchen in bed in her Victoria’s Secret pants, but it is important to bear in mind that just because you aren’t six feet tall with endless legs and a 34D you are not as good as her; you are probably better… in bed.
That’s the best bit about lingerie: it makes a man think he is control. But actually girls, we know who wears the pants. Cherwell 24 is not responsible for the content of external links.

A movement that has run its course? Laura Connell  questions the need for feminism in an increasingly equal society 
According to the Equal Opportunities Commission’s most recent publication on Gender Equality in the UK, over half of students enrolling in higher education in the UK are now women. The workforce in wholesale and retail is almost equally split between women and men, as is that in public administration and defence. Two-thirds of mothers with dependent children work and women hold two-fifths of all professional jobs, compared to about 10% in the 1970s. Change is still needed, but a lot of it is in the legislative pipeline.

In April of this year, the biggest change to sex equality legislation since the Sex Discrimination Act came into force: the Gender Equality Duty. The duty affects public bodies such as the police, local government, the NHS amongst a number of other organisations. It also impacts on private companies fulfilling “public functions”.
Under previous laws, action could only be taken against public bodies after they discriminated on grounds of sex. Now they must take steps to proactively promote equality between women and men. Public bodies must now take account of their different needs when making policies and providing services. The duty is changing the nature of the battle against inequality: it is no longer simply a reactive matter.

At this university, there is currently a Gender Equality Scheme running from 2007-2010 which does pretty much what it says on the tin: it aims to increase the number of women in academic posts and to continue research into the causes of the gender gap in final examination results in certain subjects. Other initiatives run by the University such as the ‘Women in Science’ summer course are encouraging more female applications in male-dominated subjects. We have women’s reps in each college and on most committees. The need for change has been recognised and is coming.

These facts aren’t intended to show that the battle has been ‘won’ but that adjustments necessary to obtaining women’s equality are being institutionalised in the UK. Change has been set in motion. The impact of the Women’s Liberation movement and third wave feminism are securing greater equality of opportunity for women in this country, in every area of the public sphere. It would be ridiculous for me to even attempt to deny the importance of feminism, but it is patently obvious that it no longer needs to be the benchmark of gender relations.

One can’t help but feel more than a little sorry for the boyfriend or date when the weight of expectation is against them. A lot of us are asking for camaraderie and pick-and-mixing in terms of old gender roles as we see fit. Is it any wonder there’s often an awkward pause when the bill comes?

There is a very strong case for taking what political scientists call masculism seriously. Now before you laugh me off as some deluded post-feminist or brand me naïve, it seems perfectly sensible to start looking at how young men, adult men, working men and fathers see themselves in this new society.

Feminism was about awakening society to the female perspective. Given the changing roles of both genders, it’s time we start taking the new male experience more seriously. The status quo in this respect, is untenable. It makes no sense for the female experience to continue to monopolise discussion surrounding gender relations, treating our primacy in the conversation as a god-given right.

We need to start dealing with some of spill-over effects of the gender-feminist movement- namely this residual sexist tone which infuses pretty much all, even the most light hearted of, conversations on the topic.
In recent debate over the position of OUSU VP for women, I couldn’t help but wonder: if there needs to be a woman on the committee to represent my interests, and another woman, in a position not dedicated solely to representing women, can’t do this, then it’s totally sensible, indeed necessary, for there to be a male representative irrespective of the number of other men on the committee. Given the fact we started by arguing that if the position wasn’t solely dedicated to representing gender, then that gender wasn’t being represented at all, clearly such a suggestion is justified? Either have both positions or have neither. 

Of course women are in the minority still, I can’t quibble with that; it’s a statement of fact. But surely numbers make no difference if we argue that we need gender-related representation. Isn’t it glaringly obvious that any other approach is sexist on a level which is only vindicated by a totally counter-productive ‘payback mentality’?
Germaine Greer, who is about as subtle as a spear through the head, underlines how far the gender feminist discussion is often steeped in sexist rhetoric. She writes most lucidly about the female orgasm and the obsession women nowadays have with it, suggesting that this obsession is the means by which the patriarchal society allows us to avoid ‘real’ challenges (I believe she refers to climbing Everest but I may have switched off around that point…). For amusement purposes, I feel I ought to mention the fact she argues that ‘crying is to women what masturbation is to men’. If that’s true then we definitely have drawn the short straw.

Now I’m not using Greer as a representative individual of the entire feminist movement as it stands. It’s also worth saying that having read her most recent book – ‘polemical bomb’ as the Guardian described it – ‘The Whole Woman’ isn’t all bad. But the manner in which she writes highlights a sentiment that has survived positive the move towards greater equality. She both extols the virtues of the woman while embarking upon a step by step demolition of what it is to be a ‘man’, presenting us to be in endless and draining opposition.

This kind of gender-feminism is obsolete in a society which is institutionalising gender equality. Pitching women against men only propounds the sense of divide and of ‘otherness’ which De Beauvoir wrote of, a ‘them or us but not both’ mentality which ignores a fundamental synergy between the sexes.

Demonizing the male race was critical in mobilising support for Women’s Lib. But a lot of the sexism that remains is the bitter-after taste of the movement. It helps no one now but is too readily justified by those who feel that to reject antagonism towards men would be to deny the feminist battle.

We must now recognise the fact that society has changed and is continuing to change in favour of greater equality for women. These changes are of course, positive, but they are also calling both gender roles back into question. The female experience is crucial to this conversation but the kind of gender-feminism which denies relevance to the male experience, is no longer contextually justified. There’s far too much fraternizing with the enemy for this to be a long term solution.

 
Melissa Wright  looks at the considerable challenges and prejudices Oxford women still face 
On paper, Oxford University seems to be doing a lot of things right for its female students. A comprehensive Gender Equality Scheme and numerous student organisations (think ‘Oxford Women in Politics’ or the ‘Women in Science’ initiative) have increased the number of female students at Oxford considerably over the years. The problems, it seems, begin once they get here.

On a day-to-day level within the student realm, in which the University as an authority seems to have pitifully little influence, it seems that female students, especially those particularly prominent in student politics or societies, still constantly come into contact with negative attitudes, sexism and even unashamed insolence. Such experiences are difficult to prove, and obtaining figures to gauge how widespread they are is next to impossible.
Moreover, that almost all of the women I talked to requested to remain anonymous in talking to me strongly suggests a communal fear of being judged for questioning the offensive behaviour of others, and an environment in which women do not feel safe or sufficiently supported to speak out. As the OUSU VP for Women Hannah Roe puts it, “Women don’t feel safe to confront other students or the student newspapers when they feel that they are being treated badly. In my time in Oxford several of my female friends have told me about behaviour or treatment which has really upset and shaken them. They’ve wanted to raise the matter with the individuals concerned, or report it to the University, but have been too scared of possible retribution…The University Code of Harassment doesn’t allow victimisation like that obviously, but women know how unwise it is in our society to be labelled a ‘complainer’ by their peers. It’s very easy for this to be used as a tacit reason to isolate you.

Sad as it may be, almost all female students will probably have experienced some form of unwelcome, inappropriate male attention at some point during their teenage years, be it a drunken comment at a bar or a wholly unamusing sexist joke. What is infinitely more worrying is when these attitudes emerge openly at JCR level, with female undergraduates being subjected to embarrassing scrutiny or inappropriate comments from within their own college. Consider, for example, that at one Oxford college this year the college family trees, which included a snapshot of each arriving fresher, were ‘altered’ to provide each female student with a mark out of ten, based on their anonymous adjudicator’s assessment of each girl’s attractiveness. In another college, undergraduates were treated to a JCR email which included a highly offensive sexual joke as an amusing post-script.

That such behaviour should be viewed as light-hearted and inoffensive enough to be acceptable enough is highly disturbing, given the lengths to which the University as an organisation seems to put itself to eradicate such anachronistic attitudes.

Moving from colleges to external student societies or institutions, it seems that the situation simply goes from bad to worse. Whilst sexism within JCRs might take a more general form, once women undergraduates begin to hold positions within well known student bodies they seem to become a target for far more personal abuse. “Women are a presence everywhere in Oxford, but often find themselves singled out both within institutions and within the student press”, said one female undergraduate. “I’ve had my body and my love-life discussed. It’s the ultimate way of picking on a girl”.  Perhaps most disturbing was the discovery that one female student last year found a photo of herself posted on an Internet site by fellow students, with an invitation underneath the image for all those interested to comment on her figure. Disappointingly, a considerable number of people felt compelled to post their thoughts on the photo, with over 200 comments in total.

The student press in Oxford, and indeed in universities across the country, proves no more forgiving than student societies and institutions. Student publications are, undeniably, supposed to be a source of entertainment for their over-worked, under-nourished readership, and gossip and speculation on well-known figures in the public eye must feature heavily in this ‘entertainment’. And yet despite being publications of near-professional standard, one still finds printed thinly veiled gossip focusing on individuals within the university, with student journalists even on occasion resorting to Facebook to ‘dig up dirt’ on their targets. Whilst gossip tends to be relatively harmless, and to target both men and women, there are numerous examples of gossip columns crossing the line between harmless and downright cruel, especially when targeting a female victim.
Felicity Burch, president of OxWip, found herself targeted when running for a position in her college – “I experienced sexual slurs in the gossip columns when I had the ‘audacity’ to run for JCR President. They’d never talked about me before and certainly had no reason to then.” Detailed descriptions of female students’ sex lives, or malicious comments on their weight and general appearance are published without hesitation. Given that a recent Cherwell survey suggested over 30% of students have suffered from eating disorders of some kind, the seriousness of such victimization cannot be underestimated. The constant use of images of nude or semi-naked female bodies to accompany articles is further proof of the insensitivity of Oxford student publications when it comes to its female readers. The student press, like any other, must consider the impact it will have on the lives of the individuals it targets.

Given the level of scrutiny and potentially vicious criticism prominent women within Oxford University expose themselves to, is it any real surprise that the number of women who run for, and are elected to, prominent positions is significantly lower than the number of men? The constant lack of female students in positions such JCR or GCR president can perhaps be attributed to the unsupportive atmosphere they are often confronted with, or to a fear of being on the receiving end of mockery or gossip.

OUSU is a case in point. Despite its inclusive stance and constant emphasis on student welfare and equal opportunities, the student union still fails to produce an equal number of male and female students standing for elections. Last year’s elections, for example, saw 30 men standing for positions, compared to 14 women, and even then this included 3 female students standing in women-only elections.

But the most worrying statistic of all remains, as ever, the number of female JCR Presidents, with last year producing a mere 9 female presidents out of a total 36 colleges. The number of female presidents rarely rises above 20% which, of course, includes St Hilda’s where, until 2008 at least, the chances of the elected president being a female were absolute. Incidentally, the number of female GCR presidents is no more encouraging.
Oxford University cannot possibly hope to see more women in prominent positions until there is a significant shift in the way that female students are treated, within JCRs, student societies and student publications. As long as explicitly personal criticism and thinly veiled sexist attitudes are tolerated, with a ‘look the other way’ approach, a considerable number of female students will, understandably, remain reluctant to put themselves in the public eye. And, in all honesty, who can blame them?