Students at Peterhouse College, Cambridge, have been made to cancel their famous May Ball this year due to concerns over academic performance.

The college has decided that the event, which has previously been held biannually, will now take place only once every three years.

Peterhouse did not do well in the 2007 Tompkins Table, which ranks colleges according to their students’ performance in exams.

JCR President, Ben Fisher, admitted that the amount of organisation required by the ball had affected students’ academically. He said, “Every member of the May ball committee last year dropped a class in their exams from what they were predicted.”

He added, "It's a shame that we're not having one. I would like to have a May ball as much as the next person but I think the college's rationale is that the members of the May ball committee were having to put so much work in they were getting distracted.."

A ten-day-long ghost festival has just begun in Oxford, in an attempt to find out if it is one of the most haunted cities in England.The event, which began at the Oxford Castle on Friday, will involve a week-long experiment into paranormal activity around the complex, where ghost-hunting experts will try and record any occurances using dictaphones, cameras, camcorders and laptops.For festival-goers, there will be plenty to get involved in, including ghost walks, ghost hunts, mediumship demonstrations and psychic workshops.Martin Jeffrey, Director of Fright Nights, said: "Oxford is famous for its university but people have not recognised how historic Oxford is from a haunting perspective. We have been literally amazed."We're finding that Oxford is a real centre for hauntings and you can go down literally any street in Oxford and get lots of stories."

by Emily Packer

With thanks to Miranda Dawkins for interpreting the interview.

Though his name may not yet be familiar to Anglophone audiences, Albanian Fatos Kongoli is one of Eastern Europe’s most celebrated literary exports. His books, seven in all, have been translated into French, German, Italian, Greek, and Slovak. His novel The Loser (I Humburi) earned a Writers in Translation award from the International PEN Foundation this year. In the article ‘A Literature Review – Borderland,’ authors Jens Becker and Achim Engelberg report: ‘Whoever wants to improve their understanding of Albania will be unable to avoid Fatos Kongoli’ (South-East Europe Review, 1/2004).

With the help of a student translator – St. Hilda’s linguist Miranda Dawkins – I spoke to Mr. Kongoli at the Maison Francaise, where he was preparing for a reading from The Loser, the first of his novels to be translated into English. (Mr. Kongoli speaks French but not English, and I English but not French, so regrettably I shall be unable to render many direct quotations). Mr. Kongoli is a thoughtful, unpretentious man who values precision and individualism. Asked about the greatest problems facing Albania’s youth today, he comments that the question is too broad to be answered adequately; an inquiry about the country’s literary culture meets with much the same result.

Though Mr. Kongoli is hesitant to make sweeping statements about his countrymen, his personal history provides us with material for discussion enough. Kongoli hails from one of the most interesting nations in Eastern Europe. Ruled by hardline communist Enver Hoxha from the 1950s to the 1980s, Albania broke early from the Soviet Union and allied itself, alone, with China, where Mr. Kongoli studied between 1961 and 1964. Indeed, Mr. Kongoli singles out this period as one of the most important of his life;. He was shocked by the poverty endemic there, but deeply moved by the welcome he received from the ‘magical’ people. Yet in time the alliance with China crumbled too, and throughout much of the seventies and eighties Albanians endured frequent penury and political isolation. Mr. Kongoli protested against the dictatorship, and ensured his own safety, by refusing to publish seriously until the end of Communist rule, instead whiling away his spare time in extensive reading and pursuing a career as a mathematician, because ‘there was no Marxist strategy for mathematicians.’ His father, a violinist and Communist, impressed upon him the precarious position of artists in a dogmatic state.

Mr. Kongoli’s virtual silence under the Hoxha regime is all the more poignant because he is careful to stress that he is not solely or primarily a political writer. The Loser never mentions Hoxha or the communists by name, though the protagonist eventually falls victim to the skewed justice system of the Party. Regarding more recent political issues, I ask Kongoli whether he intends to write anything about Kosovo, a subject which has preoccupied notable Albanian authors such as Ismail Kadaré. ‘Leave it to the historians,’ he replies, adding that he has other fish to fry. Mr. Kongoli is happiest instead when talking about his characters and his literary technique.

Though Kongoli describes writing as the process of forgetting everything but ‘you and the white page,’ The Loser is deeply influenced by the French existentialists Camus and Sartre as well as by similarly bleak literary greats like Kafka and Dostoevsky. The novel, set half in the seventies and half in the nineties, follows the travails of a young Albanian by the name of Thesar Lumi. Bound for a freer Italy aboard a refugee boat, he chooses instead, almost inexplicably, to disembark and return to his dreary and stagnant homeland. The remainder of the novel recounts his motives and his past, in which the communist elite persecuted him at every turn and put an end to his forbidden affair with a prominent widow. Thesar Lumi is a curious creation, more a witness or accomplice to the actions of others than an active agent in himself. Mr. Kongoli confirms that his choice of protagonist was deliberate; Lumi is ‘neither a hero nor a revolutionary,’ distinguished chiefly by his capacity to think, reflect, and suffer. Lumi’s sense of the futility and absurdity of life elevates him from a mere product of his place and time to an emblem for all young people robbed of their potential by a repressive environment.

Translated from Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, The Loser is now available on amazon.co.uk and scheduled for a full international release in April 2008. Mr. Kongoli says that he would love to see more of his books in English editions, but for the moment he is at the mercy of the public and of his publisher. For now, he offers an earnest thanks to the people of Oxford and of the other English institutions which have welcomed him.

The Dirty – Why, I Think It’s Love (Daniel Rawnsley)

****

It’s like Karen O grew a penis and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs fused with the White Stripes.  If that doesn’t sound like your thing, then I recommend you make it your thing, then shake that thing to The Dirty.  The husky voice of vocalist Kyrill is the kind of erotic that likes whips and chains.  With a band that makes chaos sound cohesive you have a near perfect song of rock n’ roll punk sin.  If it were longer it would get boring, but it isn’t and with a few quality remixes added on this single is a must.

Kylie Minogue – 2Hearts (James Pickering)

**

I shouldn’t like Kylie- she’s the sort of thing my dad and the rest of the baby-boomers live for. But the opening seconds of 2 Hearts nearly made me think again. Her new style (less cheesy disco, more pop-rock) is tempting, the background synth even smacks of Goldfrapp. But whereas Goldfrapp is the musical equivalent of KY Jelly, Kylie is Cadbury’s Buttons- sweet and popular, but bland and un-imaginative. Despite a promising opening, the inane chorus (“two hearts beating together, I’m in love wooo, is this forever wooo”) wears thin and the record is far too short to proffer any serious enjoyability. Still, it bodes for a decent album, and I strongly recommend you buy the rather artistic CD single just to pin it up and look ever so kitsch-modern.

The Courteneers – Acrylic (Rees Arnott-Davies)

*

Before writing this review I was told that The Courteeners were nothing but an Arctic Monkeys rip off, but that’s utter bollocks, they rip off The Libertines just as much, if not more. This tells lyrically (“You’re just like plasticine being moulded into a libertine dreamer”), but not nearly as much as it does musically. The entire lead guitar part seems to have been reconstructed note by note from The Libertines’ eponymous second album. That’s not to say it’s a bad single, it’s just average, and not innovatively average, derivatively average. But a lot of people like that, as shown by the success of The View, Razorlight, The Kooks et al. So if you like the same old shit sold to you as new, then go ahead and buy this single, I’m not going to stop you.

Cat the Dog – Gotta Leave (Pamela Takefman)

*

Cat the Dog's new single "Gotta Leave” tries to do too many things at once, and fails at each, making the listener want to head for the door with them. The lead singer has a Cobain-esque twang without the convincing enough anger, the poppy intervals and harmonies are oddly misplaced and the "leaving" metaphor is forced in every generic line of lyric. The only thing that seems to stand out about this single is how irritating it is. The press release claims that the band, like its name, "shouldn't really make sense themselves." Well, that seems to be about the only thing they have right.

Chris T-T – This Gun is Not A Gun (Daniel Rawnsley)

***

Chris T-T’s songs are good for their lyrics.  There’s a fierce wit mixed with an angry passion and a message that really needs delivering.  Kylie has released a single this week, no doubt cheery and nice, no doubt vacuous and inane.  It might be worth thinking about something this week as well though – that’s where Chris comes in.  The title track is not musically inspirational, but lines like ‘we’re fighting fire with fire, finally’ have an irony that punches through this.  The real gem here, though, is ‘In the Dressing Room’, a little piece of something truly moving.

The production team of the Lord of the Rings stage show come to the Union next week.

Rob Morgan talks to the director, designer and composer about the play’s epic development and Emma Whipday reviews the show

'It’s the biggest thing any of us have ever done in terms of its complexity, and we’ve been ambitious with it. We’re reaching quite far and calling on ourselves in a way that we’ve never done in the past." So says designer Rob Howell of The Lord of the Rings.

According to director Matthew Warchus, the aim of the production was always to stay close to the imaginative experience of the books, hence the controversial move toward musical theatre: "I thought that instead of trying to use the conventions of musical theatre for a template, we should produce a piece of theatre that pulls it more towards Tolkien’s vocabulary, which is full of music. People sing a lot in the book." There are numerous big production numbers such as ‘The Cat and the Moon’, performed by the hobbits as they begin their journey through Middle-earth, as well as Frodo and Sam’s beautiful ballad, ‘Now and For Always’.

There’s been much debate about whether the result is a musical, but that didn’t stop a Toronto theatre company lampooning the show’s epic production process in The Lord of the Rings: The Musical: The Musical!. A substantially re-written version is now running in London’s West End.

The set in the Theatre Royal was designed with ground-breakingly precise computer modelling which can simulate the view from every seat in the house. "Because it’s a journey story, we wanted to completely include and embrace the audience in it as well", says Howell, part of the team which transferred the play to London.

"Whenever the fellowship arrived at a new location or met a new race or culture, the audience arrives at the same time with them, instead of revealing the scene after the characters have already arrived there. But believe it or not, our desire was to work with less rather than more, and if you walk around backstage, there’s not much there. We haven’t got truckloads of scenery. We are trying to allow the audiences to imagine things for themselves".

Oxford audiences may have to stretch their imaginations a little further. Rumour has it that there may be a rendition of one of the play’s musical set-pieces in the Union Debating Hall this Tuesday when Warchus and Producer Kevin Wallace bring cast members to talk about the show and its development. Cherwell has a deal for Oxford students to see the show for £30, including travel to and from London. See www.hitthetheatre.co.uk/cherwell for details.

Review 

I have never seen a production as visually spectacular as this. It was, quite literally, breathtaking. I doubt I’ll ever work out how the production team manage to make Bilbo disappear, but disappear he does, right before you eyes. As for the set; well, it’s easy to see where the majority of a reported £25 million budget was spent; and every penny was worth it in terms of sheer visual splendour. So it seems a shame, all things considered, that rest of the performance fails to live up to it.

I admit that it can’t be easy to squash three full-length novels into three hours of performance, so I’ll excuse the conflation. What annoys me is that, despite a wealth of material to choose from, the script is ultimately shallow. Though the final scene manages to be moving, the majority of the dialogue is unutterably twee. What’s even worse is that some of the best lines are ruined by simple overacting. Wizards may be very powerful, but I don’t see why that means they have to shout all the time; James Loye is sympathetic and believable as Frodo, but has such an unpleasant voice it quite puts me off.

As for the music, some of the Enya-style wailing is really very pretty, but the majority of the songs verge on being pointless. They fail to advance the plot, and the trite lyrics obscure any emotional depth.
The most surprising thing about this production is that none of this seems to matter. Sitting in the stalls feels like being immersed in Middle Earth. Despite its faults, this production is still one of the most impressive I ever seen. If you want a visual feast, this will not disappoint.Emma Whipday

Big Breath In is a vivid portrayal of a child’s magical adventure through physical theatre. Having never been to see a piece of solely physical theatre, I was intrigued as I walked into the rehearsal room. The cast of 10 have been working on Big Breath In for 3 weeks with the aim of creating a piece of devised theatre which will be accessible to children and enjoyable for students and, crucially, one that isn’t pretentious or patronising. In my opinion, they’ve succeeded.

The story revolves around a young boy who, after losing his balloon, embarks on a quest to find it again. Along the way he finds a trunk filled with toys, which plunge him into a strange and often confusing world. With this simple outline as a beginning director Oscar Wood, the cast and a team of musicians have devised a piece that swells to fill the room.

Each ‘scene’ is more like a sketch, which occurs as the child is whisked between different ‘worlds’. The conception and performances are sweet and funny: a world where people are always getting up in the morning is a highlight. On discovering a toy car in the trunk, a busy and noisy scenario takes place. Actors charged all over the stage, beeping and hooting, too busy to listen to the boy, played with aplomb by Jo Tyabji, desperately looking for his balloon.

Underscored by beautiful music composed by the cast, the play evokes a playful atmosphere. Pensive songs and steadier moments provide a refreshing respite from the intensity of the action and the overlapping, sometimes deliberately incoherent speech.

This piece returns to the very essence of physical theatre, but one leaves wondering whether the true potential of this medium was hampered by the strangeness of its story. I was often left wondering what fantasty world this next bizarre tableau was meant to represent. Sketches verge on silliness when the baffling imaginative leap they represent isn’t made clear. Physical theatre clearly has great imaginative and symbolic potential, aptly demonstrated by the opening of Big Breath In, the sketch which gives the play its name. A knot of actors formed a huge, single organism which breathed deeper and deeper, until after a final big breath, they explode into the loud and colourful world of a child’s imagination. This is a world which Oxford students would do well to share for an hour.

Rabbit is more than worth a visit this week. You’ll see something new done competently and with care. The cast have a real grasp of the play, even if the territory isn’t too far from home.

The everyday materials of set construction also seem trip up the settie. Plywood rejects domination by nails, paint tins cling to their lids with the tenacity of a limpet in its shell, hammers develop a passion for your fingertips, and sawing causes bloodshed which, more often than not, stains the backdrop better than any cheap paint from the B&Q in Blackbird Leys. Bloodstains, at least, can generally be passed off as artistic license. And then, once the whole misbegotten, nailed, duct taped edifice is erect, it will come crashing down because some clod-hopping actor will lean on it, causing hysterics and general fury. This isn’t to say that wood isn’t a preferable staging material to the other possibilities a settie is presented with. Rumour has it Tom Richards is only now – and only just – being talked out of plans to build an actual brick wall in the OFS for his bid for Edward II next term.
Being a set designer is not a bundle of laughs. But the sight of a stage coming to life, backdrop glowing in the lights, the doors opening and closing smoothly, actors not falling over any protruding set or mauling themselves on any overlooked nails, must be one of the most gratifying parts of this whole theatre affair.

By Ben Lafferty 

Perhaps no play has ever dramatised the panic, the uncomprehending abhorrence, of the AIDS epidemic better than Angels in America. It does so in ways too subtle and moving to be explained here, except to say that the bitter medicine of its polemic is delivered in the sugar pill of its fantasy. Its juxtaposition of revelatory imagination and decaying, mortal reality cuts to the bone.

Chanya Button doesn’t believe in cliques, but that’s okay, because cliques believe in Chanya Button. I’ve never been able to ascertain whether she’s considered one of Oxford’s finest directors because she has surrounded herself with talented, versatile actors, or if her coterie only seem so good because they get to work with her. The whys and the wherefores don’t matter nearly as much as the result, which is the closest Oxford drama comes to professional quality.

The cast are not uniformly excellent, but each would shine in most student productions. Tim Hoare is beleaguered as only a gay Republican can be, treating his character’s conflict with acumen and sensitivity. Acting opposite him, Natasha Kirk gives some occasionally shallow characterisation by playwright Tony Kushner a sympathetic dimension. Charlie Morrison has a scowling aggression straight out the pages of Tom Wolfe. Leo Marcus-Wan, appearing here in a supporting role, seemingly shimmers onstage. In a play that goes helter-skelter from whimsy to tragedy, he adds a playful sparkle, a cinnamon swirl on the cappuccino froth.

One or two of the performers struggle with the demands of American diction. The otherwise excellent Ellie Nairne is somewhat let down by an overly broad "Neuw Yawk" accent that wanders imperceptibly into a Mel Brooks impersonation.

This is the first time I’ve seen a believable couple on the Oxford stage and I’d always suspected that when I finally did, it would consist of two chaps. Both Gareth Russell and Colin Warriner are fine individually, but their chemistry as a pairing is joyous. Russell, in his lighter moments, is particularly effervescent. In one scene he toys with Hoare’s repressed sexuality with such blithe delicacy as to tear the audience between squirming discomfort and sniggering schadenfreude.

Oh, and another thing. It takes place in the Union Debating Hall. I hold no special veneration for the Union as an institution, but as a performance space it offers a unique atmosphere that none of Oxford’s airport-terminal theatres can match. It isn’t all good news. The hall is plagued by cacophonous acoustics, and a discreet clearing of the throat sounds like a barrage of howitzer fire. While the press (all two of us) were assured that this echo would be absorbed by a full audience, it seems uncertain whether the problem can be resolved altogether.

I haven’t given this show five stars because it is flawless, it is anything but. Button has a ludicrous amount of potential, and if nothing else you can consider seeing this show an investment in future dinner table conversation. You ought to see it not because it is history-making in the most literal sense, but because it is a rare example of ambition realised.