People often describe Hollywood as a strange beast, by which they tend to mean it has a closed, glazed expression, piercing eyes, and a vast, sore-infested underbelly.In fact an elderly Marlon Brando would be a perfect cast, and, if still alive, he was an extra of choice for director David Lynch, an auteur exiled and virtually alienated by the studios for trying to bring art back into the business – and almost bankrupting a fair portion of it – who in 2001’s Mulholland Drive produced some thinly veiled allusions towards the “execs” who spin the web of intrigue in those dusty corners of Hollywood that the cameras never reach.The result was that the industry cut him loose to the point that even the French shunned their beloved muse. Now, if you want the best in web TV, Lynch is your man.So, anomalies like this aside, and no doubt thanks to the wilful self-distortions it drip-feeds its consumers on personal rose-tinted voyages through its past, Hollywood is normally only seen from the neck up. But currently blowing is a landmark legal case that threatens to expose the whole hideous bodyshot.This is courtesy of Anthony Pellicano, self-professed “private investigator to the stars”, who has dug up dirt for clients as diverse as Hilary Clinton, Steven Seagal and Michael Jackson. The detective’s sordid exploits are too numerous to recount here – imagine a particularly lurid Raymond Chandler novel and you get the picture.But now, despite a spate of prison spells to deter him, Pellicano has gone a bridge too far. A botched blackmail by Pellicano of a journalist getting too close to all his secrets culminated in the FBI raiding his office and uncovering almost two billion pages of phone tap transcripts.The resultant grand jury investigation is now about to indict the industry figures they believe knowingly instigated wiretapping and witness tampering. And we’re not talking Joey extras. Managers, actors, businessmen and lawyers are being questioned, and in some cases subpoenaed, by the federal government in a widening grand jury investigation of suspected illegal wiretapping that has moved beyond Los Angeles and as far as New York.Those being investigated and hoping not to receive the call include former Disney President Michael Ovitz, Paramount Chairman Brad Grey, Universal President Ron Meyer and legendary entertainment attorney Bert Fields. All your basic dream merchants bathing in the same swamp of corruption, blackmail and corporate greed. It turns out that if you sell people a dream, you are probably the stuff of nightmares.Lavish and fantastical as his imaginings were, David Lynch never came close to rivalling this. So it seems that life – and a good sprinkling of investigative journalism – triumphs over art any day. But as we will probably now suffer a thousand preachy Michael Moor-esque documentaries, maybe gazing down at all the corpulent rot was a bad idea. It will only be reflected in the films we see.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

When scientists look back on this period in our history, one has to wonder what they’re going to think of recent years.In the last twelve months alone, we’ve had a tsunami that has wiped out an entire generation, a hurricane that brought a superpower to its knees, an earthquake that has devastated one of the poorest parts of the world and now Europe itself is faced with the prospect of a flu pandemic (avian or otherwise) that our Chief Medical officer believes to be “inevitable”.Such a confluence of events does seem to suggest that something is going awry. I can’t claim any in-depth knowledge of climatology, but I think I speak for most people when I say that it’s beginning to get more than just a bit scary. The world is turning against us, and we seem to be looking the other way.There may be no direct link between the natural disasters of the last twelve months and the climate crisis currently gripping our planet, but it goes far enough to show us the true, devastating, terrifying force of nature when it is unleashed.What we seem to be doing to ourselves at the moment, with our continued disregard for the environment, is bringing on a huge catastrophe one degree at a time.The global warming threat is an epidemic in the same way that bird flu may end up in the comingmonths. It is an epidemic that is induced by individuals. The potentially catastrophic effects of bird flu, however, will come and go – the steady, gradual creep of climate change will not be so rapid.So, what is the solution? It seems pretty straightforward to say that international consensus is required before we move any further.The Kyoto Protocol was an attempt to reach that consensus, but has since failed spectacularly; failing to sign up the US, India and China, who between them create 50% of the world’s harmful emissions. Back at home in the UK, we not only ratified Kyoto but also set a 20% reduction target for CO2 emissions.It’s easy to set the targets and reaffirm them time and time again, but they have to be met with delivery and, as Dieter Helm and may other environmental economists have been pointing out, the UK is failing to deliver.Further worrying signs came from the Prime Minister at the end of September when he said both at the launch of Bill Clinton’s ‘Global Initiative’ and in at the Labour Party Conference that “no country is going to cut its growth” to achieve the Kyoto targets.True, perhaps, but this kind of defeatist attitude will get us nowhere. The sad thing about Kyoto is that it’s not perfect, but it’s the best we’re going to get for the foreseeable future. It does not help the cause however, if the UK begins to backtrack on its commitment to pushing Kyoto worldwide.Supporting it at home is one thing, but our long term interests are only going to be met by a sustained global effort. To hear Blair suggest on the one hand that Kyoto is bound for failure on the world stage and, on the other, that Britain remains committed to the Kyoto pledges sends out mixed messages to say the least.If we are to address this problem with the seriousness it deserves, we shouldn’t be backing down, despite our reservations over the commitment of nations such as the US or China, we should be pushing the climate change agenda not for our own interests, but for the global interest.For those among you lucky enough to be lectured by Dieter Helm in environmental economics,you’ll have heard him talk about “future people”, namely, our sons, daughters, grandchildrenand beyond.In essence, it is their interests that we’re trying to protect. It’s unlikely that we’re going to feel the worst effects of global warming, but they will. Climate change is not a temporaryissue: it shouldn’t be allowed to simply slip off the agenda.‘Alarmism’ is a criticism often levelled at environmentalists who attempt to bring these issues into the public eye. I’m sure that some will criticise this article as alarmist. Climate change, however, is something we should be alarmed about. Unlike the natural disasters we have witnessed recently, we have plenty of warnings about this latest threat and we do have the power to avert it.Our leaders cannot stick their fingers in their ears for much longer – either we act now or the next generation will face a worse and even more dangerous natural disaster.Martin McCluskey is Co-Chair of Oxford University Labour ClubARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

The Real Insp. Hound, dir Sarah Markiewicz1 – 5 November, Moser: A classic English country housemurder mystery. Two boredtheatre critics who alternatebetween pretentiousness and pragmatism,artistic originality and tired clichés.In The Real Inspector Hound,Stoppard makes these two scenarioscollide in a surreal one-act farce thatmanages to send both of them up savagely.The play looks back ironically to thepopular whodunits of the inter-waryears. A rather uninspired specimen ofthe genre is being put on, in which amildly eccentric upper class family enduretheir maid’s foibles and wonderwho the murderer in their midst is.Reviewing it are Moon, given to posturingand flights of artistic fancy, andthe more urbane Birdboot, not averseto swapping special favours from attractiveactresses for a complimentarynotice. After answering a telephoneleft ringing on stage they suddenly findthemselves involved in the drama.Stoppard’s snappy writing and generalzaniness are a gift to any director,but what marks Markiewicz’s productionout is unfailing energy and pace.Characterisation, both physical andverbal, is consistently good, with EdwardDonati and Joanna Keith carryingoff their sharply delineated comicroles with aplomb. Michael Evans andSimon Kantor’s portrayals of the criticsMoon and Birdboot are vigorous andcapture the interplay between the twopersonalities well. Charmaine Lazenby’sperformance as Inspector Houndis slightly less assured, the role of acantankerous upper class gent requiringa measure of gusto she does notquite provide, and though Markiewiczoffers convincing reasons for her decisionto cross-cast, its success in practiceis doubtful. That said, the cast workwell as an ensemble and, by confidentlyfreezing the action where necessaryand using simple spot-lighting effects,effectively maintain the initial dividebetween performers and critics.Attention to costumes and props isinvaluable in maintaining the almostexaggeratedly period feel of the production,and the set achieves a fine balancebetween clutter and excessive minimalism.It is the obvious enthusiasmand commitment of the cast, though,which mark this production out. Actualevents on stage may often perplex:at one point Moon asks “does this playknow where it’s going?” Whatever theanswer, it is clear that Markiewicz andher team are in control.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

Counting the Ways, dir Will Robertson, 1 – 5 November, Burton Taylor: Edward Albee’s Counting theWays is an unsentimental studyof love and grief in a modernAmerican marriage. Composed ofa series of short scenes, on occasionas brief as one sentence, it offers anabstract, dislocated view of middle-America’s disillusionment with loveand married life. The play presents theaudience with two generic caricaturesknown simply as ‘He’ (Sam Thomas)and ‘She’ (Poppy Burton-Morgan).He and She have been married for sixor seven years, but their life as presentedin the play has become one ofperpetual self-doubt. Love and sex becomeinterchangeable in their equallylacklustre nature and ambiguity. Sodisengaged have they become fromtheir emotional life that grieving isviewed in light of its protocol.In Robertson’s production, thecomplexities of naturalistic theatrehave been stripped right back, withminimal props and stark on-off lightingduring the scene changes. By stagingthe play in traverse any theatricalillusions are removed so that, as Albeeexplores human nature onstage, theaudience become necessarily involvedin the process. Face to face with fellowaudience members, reality and conceptare broken down so that the distinctionbetween audience and play isunclear. Robertson offers an invitationto address your own nature. Thiswouldn’t, however, be possible withoutthe actors’ naturally compellingstyle, which centres our attention onthe stage. This transcendental qualityreaches its apex when suddenly midwaythrough the play the actors slipout of character and you are treatedto their biographies.The play has been marketed as apowerful two-hander between two ofOxford’s heavyweights, and it lives upto its billing, with the actors exhibitinga rich array of acting ability. Burton-Morgan brilliantly captures the bitterconviction of a married woman fallingout of love, while Thomas makesthe sullen irritability of He his own.For a script founded on an introspectiveattack on emotions, it is a shamethat the interpretation did not invitemore contemplative acting. Robertson’sstress on the comic elements ofthe script means the characters neverdevelop beyond the level of caricature,and their relationship as a resultnever really rings true. Nevertheless,as a thoughtful piece of drama, theplay is well worth making time for.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

The Insect Playdir Nanw Rowlands1 – 5 NovemberOFSThe first thing to strikeyou about The InsectPlay is that it is visuallystunning. Not only is thecast strewn with contestantsfrom Cherwell’s very own ‘FitCollege’ face-off, but costumes andset are equally dazzling. It is refreshingto have the idiosyncratic resourcesof the OFS put to good use: its occasionallyawkward rake becomes atreat for the audience when the variousbalconies are clustered with vinesand busy bugs, making for more ofa three-dimensional sense of immersionin flora and fauna. Loungejazz accompanies the numerous butterfliesgadding about the first act aspseudo-English upper-crust typesfrom roughly the turn of the last century.Victor (Charlie Morrison) andFelix (Ted Hodgkinson) make for anantagonistic double act of suitor butterflies,the first as a nonchalant cad,the second as a hopelessly self-obsessedpoet-fop reminiscent of ThomasLove Peacock’s satire of Shelleyin Nightmare Abbey. The posturingpair reappear in the darker third actas ant commanders in a set-up redolentof Bush-Blair. As the mercurialand manipulative objects of desire(and bad poetry), Iris (Lucy White)and Clytie (Holly Midwinter Porter)complement an impressive first actteeming with life.It is only in the second act, withthe arrival of the miserly Mr andMrs Dung Beetle (Harry Ullmanand Charlotte Hayne) that you realisethere’s much more going on inThe Insect Play than nice vignettes,confirming the sense that the play’sprogression is more thematic thanplot-driven. Ephemeral insects playephemeral roles and many of the castconsequently double up on parts.There’s as much Journey’s End hereas there is A Bug’s Life. It is the presidingfigure of the broken-heartedtramp (Iain Dreynnan) who formsthe play’s lynchpin. A discursive momentumbuilds around him as hewitnesses the disjunct and senselesscausations of nature. If we’re to takethe anthropomorphism to be a productof the tramp’s mind, perhaps thebest way to think of this productionis as a kind of modern morality play.But far from being a just God, Nature’srules are haphazard and unfair:one dung beetle’s ‘capital’ is rapidlypilfered to become another’s. Just asyou’re growing fond of a charismaticinsect and greedily awaiting its onstagereturn, it’s reported unceremoniouslyconsumed. The implicationsfor human society in the repeatedrelationship break-downs betweenthe insects are measured against thetramp, whom we discover to havefallen foul of love himself. Can heconvince anybody, including himself,that humans are more civilised thanthe colonising ants? Is the whole playthe enactment of the tramp’s addledmind following his rejection in love,a rejection which will prove fatal tohim at the play’s close?Fear not. Nanw Rowland’s buoyantcomic touches consistently dispel anypossibility of descent into a grimlyreductive Mankind=Maggots sociopoliticalcritique. Even at the pointsof the play’s bleakest intimations ofFirst World War Europe, this playrefuses to commit itself to a decidedlysatirical or serious perspective.Thew Jones puts in yet another firstrateturn in Oxford theatre, in thisinstance as a capitalist ichneumonfly dedicated to feeding his larva (IsabellePelly) the tastiest morsels. ThinkBlackadder meets Terminator withVeruca Salt for a daughter and you’llget the idea. Similarly unresolved isthe role played by the chrysalis (SkyeBlyth-Whitelock). Delivering promisesof new life that hover somewherebetween insightful and banal, shedies tragicomically immediately afterbirth. This is a production that offersnearly everything you could hope toget from an Oxford show and doesso, moreover, with a dose of down-to-earth good humour.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

Soul Inspireddir Bawren Tavaziva20 OctoberPegasus TheatreTavaziva Dance describes itsstyle as ‘African-influencedcontemporary dance’ infusedwith an awareness of, and familiaritywith, modern urban youth culture.Last week they came to thePegasus Theatre with Soul Inspired,a passionate and vivacious new programmecelebrating the diversity ofcultural experience and reflecting theintegrative ethos of the company.One of the company’s stated objectivesis to “inspire and providerole models for young people”, andthere is a tendency to think this allsounds slightly gimmicky, playingup to the current trend for stressingthe educational importance of artrather than its inherent artistic merit.However, in their performanceon Tuesday it was refreshing to seeeverything in the mission statementof the company borne out with sincerityonstage. The company avoidany sense of contrivance; their useof African, contemporary and urbandance seamlessly merges these differentelements to a point which attimes makes each indistinguishablefrom the others. Every movementthe performers make has purpose andresonance within one or indeed all ofthese social and artistic spheres.The fusion of urban and traditionalstyles reflects the background of thecompany’s lead choreographer, BawrenTavaziva. Tavaziva started out inHarare, gaining his first experiencewith City Youth Dance Group, ascheme aimed at benefitting localunderprivileged children. He thenjoined a professional company inZimbabwe, Tumbuka Dance, trainingin classical ballet and contemporaryGraham technique, as wellas traditional Zimbabwean styles.Tavaziva moved to the UK in 1998,working with numerous acclaimedcompanies before establishing hisown, Tavaziva Dance.The programme for Soul Inspiredopened with a piece called WorldsApart, a fusion of African and contemporarystyles of dance, with anadded element of cultural referencingto modern British urban life. Highlyabstract and synchronic movementdrivensections evolved into theseemingly improvised, depictinginteractions between friends andneighbours in a style leaning moretowards physical theatre than puredance. In the piece Link Duet, therewas again emphasis on character andnarrative as well as pure movement,as a couple comically portrayed theirconvoluted and passionate domesticdrama to the sounds of Tom Waits’Watch Her Disappear. Zviri Mumoyo(‘It Is in Your Heart’) was less successfullyrealised however; more‘lone dancer at a beach party’ thanthe ‘solo from the soul’ promisedby the programme. The energy ofdancer Lerato Lipere filled the otherwiseempty stage, subtly convertingthe repetitive rhythm of the musicinto something almost ritualisticand comforting. The second half ofthe night was composed of two contrastingpieces representing war onthe one hand (Tribe) and the deathof a loved one (Umdlalo Kasisi) onthe other. In both pieces, the interactionbetween the dancers was closerand more physical than before, butwhile Tribe evoked the threateningand aggressive contact of warfare, inUmdlalo Kasisi the dancers acted assupport and scaffold for each otherin their grief.If the show had a weakness it wasthat, for pieces which seemed to relyso heavily on narrative, the detailsof the stories being told were sometimeshard to discern. This left theaudience witnessing a strong and intenserepresentation of emotion, butwithout the clarity of the narrativeupon which it was obviously reliantthe feelings expressed felt a littlefoundationless. Nevertheless, SoulInspired was a vibrant, diverse andpowerful programme performed byan energetic and very talented company,pertinently exploring the senseof traditionalism within contemporaryBritish society and its fusion withindance.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005

The deadline is fast approaching for entries to this year’s New Writing Festival. Some plays will already have been finished, proof-read, revised, polished and popped neatly into the Burton Taylor office at a sensible, even healthy hour. Other writers, scattered across Oxford in various garrets, might at this moment be realising with horror that the estranged Jacqueline can’t return at the end, but must remain estranged because she died in Botswana when she was nine. A few might simply not realise at all that a character who entered to eat a biscuit in the first act has beenleft silent on stage ever since, still eating biscuits we presume. Many entries are probably even more raw and are being hammered into existence as we speak; perhaps some are still only good ideas waiting to begin their frantically unnatural growthspurt into a living room comedy about Chernobyl. It is, however, the deadline itself which seems best to encapsulate the effect that the New Writing Festival can have on people of a literary bent. Not only does it accommodate those who would usually take action upon an idea, offering them a wonderful platform from which to pursue it, it also shakes the inactive, shy and bemused into becoming bumblingly pro-active members of the thesp community. And all this only to meet the deadline.The format of the competition is relatively straightforward: eight shortlisted plays are announced in eighth week of this term, and four finalists shortly afterwards. Directors enter the scrum in order to bid for individual scripts and are accepted early in Hilary, the play is cast and then suddenly, and rather disarmingly, you the writer are introduced to the flesh-and-blood embodiments of the characters who peopled your brain in the gusty, panicked approach to the Michaelmas deadline.As your previously mounting suspicions about your own mental wellbeing ease off, the hard graft of the festival itself begins in earnest and you are soon swiftly tumbling towards the fourth week denouements in the Burton Taylor, OFS and O’Reilly. The society of those who do, would do, or have done plays in Oxford is, like any other group, united under the auspices of a slightly peculiar and austere habit. Yet the allure of the New Writing Festival seems to be precisely its emphasis on ‘the new’, as declared by the title. It might just as easily have been called ‘The Cameron Macintosh Prize,’ and yet the funding and institution of the event are kept commendably clandestine in favour of an emphasis on open entry and the encouragement of new voices on the Oxford stage.The other titular emphasis is, perhaps, slightly more misleading. The ‘writing’ which is celebrated in the initial stages of the competition often represents, as perhaps it should, little more than a catalogue of things which will inevitably change in the process leading up to the fourth week performances. This is not, of course, to say that the writer’s wishes become in any way denigrated, but rather that after the finalists are announced there emerges an astounding task force of thespianic worker bees who take these scripts (which can vary from laboured opus tohasty works executed in crayon) and transform them into living, breathing theatrical experiences. It is often pointed out, in a manner perhaps too dismissive of a writer’s capacity for excitement, that the greatest thrill for a writer is to see their work realised on stage. In fact, the thrill isin the actual process itself: the four weeks of changing, amending and, for some, begrudgingly compromising, are where the thrill-seeking writer finds the greatest measure of fulfilment. The New Writing Festival deadline may loom, but this is really only the beginning. Information on the festival, along with details of the trials and triumphs of last year, can be found on www. ouds.org.ARCHIVE: 3rd week MT 2005