What image are you trying to put across and how would
you describe yourselves? Whilst we say that we have an
“uncool” style, the uncoolness actually is pretty
natural. Musically, we are into melodic guitar pop music. Not
your ‘arms in the air, getting drunk tra la la’ stuff. Are snowmen always scary? No snowmen are
really cool. Especially the Raymond Briggs, Aled Jones Snowman. I
imagine Raymond Briggs to look like Father Christmas. Where did you find your influences in Southampton? There
is no real music scene in Southampton, and there are many bands
doing all sorts of different things. There also wasn’t much
to do, so we just jam in the garage with a few close friends. We
don’t mix in trendy London circles, and are not influenced
by London. An average night for us would be jamming, and watching
a Dave Lynch film. What is your perspective on London? London is
a con. We did one gig there and never went back until we were
signed. So what films are you watching? City of God.
The whole vests, scruffy jeans, and Bene with his glasses are
really cool. There is an unobtainable coolness about them, the
whole Rio de Janeiro gangster scene, that isn’t like the
American stereotypical stuff – the scruffy gangster look.
Any David Lynch film too; we watch them every night. And what bands are you listening to? Zutons,
Bees, Broadcast, Scalaa Belgium Boy’s choir that sings
covers. I particularly liked Bitch by Meredith Brooks, and
Bittersweet Symphony. How do you find touring? It is absolutely
non-stop. Last year during touring, we only had a few days off at
any one time. Which bands have you recently tried to get tickets
for? We tried to get tickets to see the Pixies at
Brixton Academy. But, a few weeks ago, they asked us to play with
them. So having had not tickets, we ended up playing with them. So, Prince? Prince is how we all met. We were
the last few dancing to ‘Alphabet Street’ at this club
called Thursdays. Then Aaron joined later. Is music a fair reflection of life? Well it
is for us. We live under a flight path, and that kind of gave us
the inspiration, not only for lyrics and melodies in our songs,
but the inspiration to strive for perfection. What was the influence for the falsetto vocals that
Greg uses? It’s a style that is a sure fire way of
making sure we are not absorbed into the current scene. The
twinkly bits are very unique. But in terms of style it’s
very much influenced by Radiohead, Muse, Jeff Buckley.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Stephen Berkoff’s Messiah: Scenes from a Crucifixion
claims to be outré, obscene and blasphemous, which at times it
certainly is. Lines like Jesus’s “Whatever happens,
don’t let them break my legs or I’m really fucked”
are proof positive that this is a piece of work is aimed at
shocking an audience, conditioned, believers and heathens alike,
to the conventional ramblings of Christian doctrine. Mel
Gibson’s The Passion of The Christ was as controversial as
Playdays compared to this reading of history’s most
notorious homicide. The gospel according to Berkoff goes as follows: Jesus is a
man intent on fulfilling the prophecies of the Old Testament, but
understands that “The Messiah will never come, so we have to
create one.” This requires feigning his own gory demise only
to “rise” again three days later, thus providing the
credulous with a presaged redeemer of mankind. The establishment
of a hero-cult is certified when it goes wrong and Jesus dies,
but the disciples stick to their conspiratorial story and a
religion is born. This is, at times, literary masturbation of the basest
variety, more jerk-off than Berkoff. Some of the dialogue is
simply dreadful. The man who sees himself as the saviour of
British theatre, Berkoff should adopt a mantra: “I am not
the Messiah” might be a good place to start. Yet the
indulgences of a writer must not be blamed on those attempting to
perform, and so Scenes from a Crucifixion is redeemed by the
verve of the acting and intelligent use of space, exploiting the
full gallery recesses of the OFS. The excellent Kerry Norman as JC is a zealous, Machiavellian
politician pre-execution, but struggles a little on “The big
‘x’” (who said being crucified was easy?). His
performance is supported by a chorus which has the suppleness to
portray Jewish clerics, disciples and Roman soldiers with equal
proficiency. Also to savour are the muscular histrionics of a
Judas who looks like he spent his thirty pieces of silver on
Creatine, and Tom Richards’ appearance as an extraordinary,
lascivious Caiaphas. The portrayal of Satan is so hackneyed (red
shirt, “menacing” cockney accent, forked stubble) that
the only surprises are the absence of attendant familiars and
pronged tail. Having said this, Tai Shan Ling, as the dark one,
is fabulously energetic and seductively, malevolently lucid, in
another arresting performance from one of Oxford’s premier
players. I wouldn’t sell my soul to Beelzebub to see this, but if
you resist the temptation to see only Berkoff’s mediocrity
in Lisa Maule’s production, you should be repaid with a
decent enough evening.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

There is no beginning, no end. As the audience enter, the
actors are already on stage and it’s up to us to work out
where we are. Plunged into the middle of things we immediately
identify with the unsure, awkward Amy, who is stuck in the middle
of an emotional tug-of-war between her mother and her boyfriend. From their first meeting, it is clear that Amy’s devotion
to the conniving, selfish Dominic will compromise her
relationship with her mother. Amy’s unshakeable view that
‘love conquers all’ is a glossing-over of the less
acceptable truth: that in a choice between love for her ageing,
lonely mother and her boyfriend, her boyfriend wins. The three generations, Amy, her mother and her grandmother,
are each fighting their own personal battles: unexpected
pregnancy, unfaithful husbands, impending death. The brilliant
symmetry of Hare’s play thwarts the traditional order of
nature as deftly as the play thwarts conventions of theatre. What begins as an interesting parallel between mother and
partner and daughter and boyfriend becomes a parallel pattern of
frustration, as it becomes apparent neither can work. The
once-sparky grandmother drifts into senility to be cared for like
a child, and Amy’s death makes concrete the pitiful plight
of the mother, whose vitality fades with her failing stage
career. The comedy of the opening scene is deceptive in light of the
sadness that follows. As the laughs fade into silence, we find
ourselves drawn, unprepared, into tragedy. The cast handle this
metamorphosis excellently. While the opening act is well played,
driven forward by the exceptional comic talent of Laura Mazzola
as the mother, the true acting capabilities of the cast seem to
grow with the increasing sadness of the play. The interaction between the characters, and the theatricality
of their personalities is flawless. In a play so conscious of its
own artistry, the production succeeds superbly in both
naturalness and melodrama, claustrophobia and loneliness. A
first-rate show.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Continuing the theatrical trend for all things al fresco this
term, Creation Theatre Company have returned to Headington Hill
Park with the chaotic comedy Much Ado About Nothing. Director
Charlotte Conquest has played up Shakespeare’s Mediterranean
setting with sizzling flamenco dances and vibrant costumes,
making it the perfect play for a balmy summer evening. The most striking aspect of this production is its use of
space. The stage is a simple red square but the action is
projected on different levels by means of a treehouse nestled in
a magnificent oak. The expanse of parkland behind the stage
proper is used to full effect to create extra comic gems,
supposedly taking place off-stage. This heightens the dramatic
irony which lies at the core of Shakespeare’s comedy, as we
see characters approaching long before those on stage do. The
scenes in which Benedick and Beatrice ‘accidentally’
overhear gossip about their tempestuous relationship make
particularly good use of the versatile stage set. The pace is
relentless with characters entering from unexpected directions,
(and occasionally on bicycles) having performed lightning-fast
costume changes. The cast have a rollicking good time evoking a
real sense of girlish mischief and laddish japing. The mood
becomes briefly more sombre at Hero’s ‘funeral’
with an atmospheric torch-lit procession, but the production
really excels at the slapstick consequences of mistaken identity.
The watch scenes are, as always, a little tedious and silly but
they are redeemed by Tom Peters’ wonderful turn as the
arthritic Verges with his cumbersome walking frame. Peters makes
use of the same physical gags in his main role as Benedick;
rubber-faced and dynamic, he plays up to the audience as a
swaggering confirmed bachelor. His only match in the strutting
stakes is the razortongued Beatrice, played by Elizabeth Hopley.
She sensitively tracks the change in Benedick’s sparring
partner from cross-dressing livewire into a more emotional,
softer character. Dudley Hinton’s lovelorn Claudio is the
archetypal callow youth with puppy dog eyes and a boy bandesque
white suit. Julien Ball is also consummately smooth as Don Pedro,
from his Godfather-inspired entrance complete with mirror shades,
trimmed goatee and medallion, to his swift wooing of Hero for his
lovestruck friend Claudio. Conquest’s production is full of light comic touches
seasoned with splashes of Sicilian colour. As long as the British
weather holds out, there is no better way to round off the Oxford
term.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Ozone and Odeon Wands out! Harry is back, older, angrier and with better
special effects than ever before. The third film in the series,
The Prisoner of Azkaban, is a departure from the
‘kiddie’ films that came earlier in the series.
It’s probably unnecessary to rehash the familiar plot here,
but undoubtedly scary, often funny and always very, very magical,
Harry Potter is bound to be the hit of the summer. Purists might not appreciate the omission of various details
important to the book, particularly those regarding Harry’s
background. A large part of what made the books so special was
their richness of detail. Nevertheless, considering the
running-time of the film, an awful lot of important stuff has
stayed in. The Dementors are authentically chilling (and crusty),
and Buckbeak manages not to look like a dodgy animatronics
effect. On the whole, the special effects are just what is needed
to give the film its proper magical style. Thankfully, however, this film is not just about special
effects. There are plenty of real human emotion here: anger,
terror and love, all in two hours. The performances from the
adolescent actors are nothing short of excellent, even
threatening to upstage seasoned performers such as Maggie Smith
(Professor McGonagall) and Michael Gambon (Dumbledore). Daniel
Radcliffe, as Harry, manages to capture the juvenile confusion
juxtaposed with maturity that is so central to the Harry we are
familiar with from the books. Never lapsing into childish
petulance or cheesy ‘grown-up’ acting, Radcliffe is
Harry. Equally good performances come from Emma Watson (Hermione)
and Rupert Grint (Ron) as Harry’s loyal companions. Watson
and Grint have a palpable electricity between them which bodes
well for the later films. This film also sees the introduction of Harry’s
godfather, Sirius Black (Gary Oldman). There were rumours that
Oldman was a casting mistake for the role, however his talent
shines through as he embodies the dangerous yet affectionate
personality of Black very well. There are new characters too,
which creates an exciting medley of the familiar, for diehard
fans, and the new, for those who might not be au fait with the
books. New director Alfonso Cuaron has picked up where Chris Columbus
left off, and has twisted Columbus’ fairyland into something
much darker. There is still the abundance of magic and Quidditch,
but there is definitely a new sense of evil in this film. The
cast have responded well to this and the effects have managed to
convey a feeling of spine-chilling fear. Yet despite this, it
doesn’t prevent Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban
from being a truly enjoyable film.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Like Mike Hodges’ best-known film, the 1971 thriller Get
Carter, I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead’s central premise
sees a man out to avenge his brother’s death. Unfortunately
thirty years have passed since Get Carterwas made, and the
majority of the filmic conceits that Hodges transfers to his more
recent film have passed into parody. The noirish touches –
the cornball title, the opening credits (black lettering caught
in a lamplight glare) – recall postmodern pastiches such as
Stephen Frears’ Gumshoe. And the portentous dialogue, which
might have rung out like urban poetry in a pulp fable such as
Polanski’s Chinatown, sounds plain clumsy when filtered
through Cockney dialects as thick as toffee. Worst of all is the film’s protagonist, Will Graham.
Clive Owen, arguably one of Britain’s most charismatic
leading men, does his best with the role, but even the most
nuanced performance fails to save this walking cliché. When Will
snarls, dead-pan, “I’m always on the move. I trust
nothing, no-one”, it serves only to inspire a kind-of
collective eyeroll in the audience. Even if this kind of speech
had not been given by Pee-wee Herman (in Peewee’s Big
Adventurehe warns: “You don’t want to get mixed up with
a guy like me. I’m a loner. A rebel.”) it would deserve
to be mocked, along with any narcissistic would-be touch nut who
feels the need to describe himself to anyone who will listen. And in fact, the film’s potential strength lies in its
undermining of such bravado. The inclusion of a male rape, serves
to shake the macho blockades erected, if you’ll pardon the
pun, by the film’s innumerable hard men, causing them to
question their own masculinity as well as the victim’s. On
hearing about the rape from Will, Davey’s friend Mickser
splutters, “Davey was… He was not bent! Fuck you!”
The choice of profanity is certainly revealing of the close
proximity between sex and violence in male culture. But such subtleties are overshadowed by over-explicit
explanations and heavy-handed imagery, such as the rested inserts
of the gun that, in an image of Freudian clarity, Mickser stows
in his glove compartment. Preston seems to have taken whatever
research he did on male rape and cut and pasted it into the
middle of the movie. Two encounters, one with a coroner, the other with a
councillor, abandon dialogue almost entirely, halting the
narrative for a extended seminar on the psychology of rape. So
while Hodges’ intentions may be honourable, the
disappointing result is that I’ll Sleep When I’m
Deadends up looking suspiciously like a certain late-night
edition of Hollyoaks.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

The charm of Jean-Paul Rappeneau’s Bon Voyageis that it
doesn’t take itself too seriously. For many years now,
French filmmakers have been drawn to the troubled years of French
occupation in World War II. But while the majority of these films
are a somewhat painful experience for audiences and filmmakers,
probing the raw wounds of recent history, Rappeneau’s film
about wartime France is refreshingly free of the kind of moral
dilemmas we have come to expect of the genre. The downside of this freedom from convention is that Rappeneau
doesn’t seem to quite know what kind of film he wants this
to be. Bon Voyage is a real conundrum – a wartime melodrama
played at the tempo of farce, with a bit of suspense thrown in
for good measure. Set in June 1940, the film shows France in
chaos as the German invasion reaches Paris. Fleeing south to
Bordeaux, a disparate group of French people become involved in
what appears in a comedy of chance encounters, sudden reversals
and romantic liaisons. The cast is stellar and Rappeneau has
gathered the cream of French talent to play a motley collection
of camp stereotypes, including the pouting screen diva (Isabelle
Adjani), the plucky girl-friday (Virginie Ledoyen), the feckless
politician (Gerard Depardieu) and the sleazy German spy (Peter
Coyote). Our protagonist is the befuddled young writer (Grégroi
Derangère), framed for murder and at the mercy of anyone who has
an agenda. But Derangère is by far the weakest in an excellent
cast who ham it up for high comedy. There are few ambiguities
here: the good guys are good, the baddies are horrid. The plot is
a subtly-rendered take on the classic love story, in which naïve
young writer Frederic realises he is being taken for a ride by
the spendidly vapid object of his affections. Clichéd? Yes. But
if the viewer, like Rappeneau, takes the film with a pinch of
salt, then it’s an enjoyable two hours of escapism, its
beauty lying in its simplicity.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

The Datsuns Outta Sight/Outta Mind
The brazen simplicity of The Datsuns’ self-titled first album (2002) seemed cleverly-timed. Not being modish, knowing or subtle made them attractive to rock fans seeking spanking riffs without an overdose of thought. And after two years of touring, their second studio album reveals that The Datsuns really weren’t joking – they just like rock music.
Outta Sight/Outta Mind begins with ‘Blacken My Thumb.’ With a relentless tempo and throwaway riffing, it’s a good summary of what they do. As you listen to the eleven subsequent tracks on the album, it becomes clear that they don’t do much else. Bossy vocals and riffdriven arrangements will certainly be enough to satisfy those listeners looking for a return to the days when a rock and roll attitude was nothing to be ashamed of. But they seem to be taking their influences more seriously this time. They have ex-Led Zeppelin band member John Paul Jones producing. Despite this promising collaboration, their take on classic rock has regressed from their early-career highlight ‘Harmonic Generator.’ They also claim to offer a more considered attitude to songwriting. Lead singer Dolf de Datsun (real name Rudolph de Borst) describes Outta Sight/Outta Mind as “an album of stories.” But lyrics are not as carefully constructed as this might suggest; instead, they sing loudly about some things that have happened to them. He is even honest about their flightiness, describing the band as “constantly running from one drama or another.” Light relief can be found in ‘Girls Best Friend’. This song and “What I’ve lost” distinguish themselves by offering some lyrical depth. Dolf has commented, “I really love the idea that albums can be time capsules, that when you listen to that album you hear where the band were at, at that point in time.” Anyone digging up Outta Sight/Outta Mindsome time in the future would struggle to discover much at all about where The Datsuns were ‘at’. As Dolf reminds us in ‘Messin’ Around,’ “If it’s pure and it’s simple, doesn’t make it right.” A variation on a theme is fine but the Datsuns fail to provide enough interest to make their high-intensity guitar sound worthwhile over the course of an album.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Ash are back, and they arrived in style. Tim Wheeler appeared
on stage brandishing his flaming ‘flying V’ in front of
a sold-out Oxford Brookes. After the crowd stood through the
support bands ‘The Crimea’ and ‘Saves The
Day’, they were finally given what they were waiting for.
The frenzy that followed could hardly be compared to the
reception of the support bands. This is simply because Ash are still as exciting as they ever
were and show no signs of stopping. Ash fans were rewarded with a
highly diverse set, which not only consisted of new tracks, but
treats such as their first single ‘Jack names the
planets’ and early offerings ‘Goldfinger’ and
‘Kung-Fu’, sounding as good as ever. The focus was on
new album, Meltdown with 10 of the 11 tracks played from it.
Standout tracks included the sinister ‘Evil Eye’ and
the medieval ’Clones’. The beautiful forthcoming single
‘Star Crossed‘ sounded much better live than in the
studio. Apart from Wheeler’s flaming entrance, the set
wasn’t very visually exciting, and the band were static
throughout. The quality of the music more than made up for it,
and despite Brooke’s ‘pit-policy’ of 3 strikes and
you’re out, the crowd were soon whipped up into a frenzied
state. Ash played a lengthy set delivering quality as well as
quantity, and by the end those fans crammed into the mosh pit
were drenched in sweat, and water that Brookes staff had to throw
onto them to keep them cool. The crowd got what they paid for; a
bloody amazing Meltdown.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004  

The seventh long player from P J Harvey is a return to form.
The follow up to Stories from the City, Stories from the Seasees
Harvey returning to a much more acoustic sound, very different to
the lush production of Stories. At first, Harvey seems to have
calmed down; the cover shows her looking composed, passive even,
and the initial track ‘Badmouth’ is a melodic refrain
revolving around the repetition of “wash it, wash it
out.” But judging by ‘Who the Fuck’ (a track
which, if we are to take it literally is a story of a bad
haircut) Harvey is as angry as ever. The overall impression of Uh
Huh Her is not one of anger; rather the album gives a clear sense
of Harvey’s particular brand of humor. From the minute-long interlude of seagull’s squawking to
the lyrics of ‘Who the Fuck,’ “I’m not like
your’ girls, you can’t straighten my curls,”
against a background of screaming guitars Harvey seems to be
resisting taking herself too seriously. Because of its less polished sound, Uh Huh Her sounds more
emotionally raw and encompasses Harvey’s entire vocal range,
from the shrieking ‘Radio Oh Oh,’ to the hushed and
melancholic ‘No Child of Mine.’ The album gets quieter
towards the end, which allows Harvey’s lyrical poignancy to
come to the fore. On first hearing, Uh Huh Herappears to
vacillate from one end of the emotional spectrum to another, but
on closer inspection it presents a coherent depiction of love in
the Twentyfirst Century.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004