This production of Kafka’s Dick, directed by Sophie
Buchan and Sara Carroll, is an excellent interpretation of
Bennett’s absurdist comedy. It focusses on the relationship
between Kafka (Simon Motz) and Brod (Thomas Eyre-Maunsell), both
of whom give energetic and vivid performances. The production
examines the relationship between these two characters, and
brings out too the lighter, more farcical side of the play to
create some truly funny moments. The scene in which Brod tries to
hide from Kafka the fact that he did not burn his books brings
out the best of Eyre-Maunsell’s acting talents. Kieran Wanduragala’s Sydney is a banal man, and his
contemptuous dismissal of Juliet Lough’s Linda is effective
and in sharp contrast with Kafka’s encouragement of her more
thoughtful side. The play works in pairs, and the dialogue
between Kafka and Linda is especially effective. The directors have chosen to emphasise the literary allusions
in the play, in order to highlight its subtext, and to make its
satire as accessible as posible. This allows both those familiar
with Kafka, and newcomers to his works, to appreciate the play.
The production is ideally suited to the BT, as the intimacy
highlights the absurdity of Bennett’s world, as well as
emphasising the interplay between the characters. The themes which run through the comedy are excellently drawn
out in a production which is both thoughtprovoking and
entertaining.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Johnny Depp really should get himself a new agent. The man has
worldwide adulation from female fans, and a talent as reliable as
any Hollywood heavyweight. He’s probably one of the most
bankable actors at work today. But judging from his track record,
he chooses his scripts either blindfold or just blind drunk. For
every classic he’s made ( Platoon, Donnie Brasco etc),
there’s a clanger to match ( A Nightmare on Elm Street 6,
enough said). These days, though, he seems to be resigned to carrying films
singlehandedly. Pirates of the Caribbean would have been
instantly forgettable without his swaggering brilliance as
Captain Jack Sparrow. Hell, even the Academy had to swallow their
usual stuffiness and hand him a Best Actor nomination for what
was, basically, a pantomime performance. This week’s Secret
Windowfinds him once again fighting a valiant battle against a
mediocre script. A Stephen King adaptation, it gives him a chance
to playfully undermine his sex-symbol status as a grubby,
dishevelled novelist (Mort Rainey), holed-up alone in a log cabin
following a split from his wife. Shuffling around in a mangy
dressing gown, surviving on Doritos and cigarettes, Mort battles
writer’s block in a lovesick stupour. Life isn’t
exactly made any easier by the appearance of a wacko redneck
(John Turturro), angrily claiming that Mort plagiarised a story
of his. Rather than letting their lawyers settle it, he wants do
things the good old-fashioned psycho way involving vendettas and
imaginative intimidation. Of course, this being a psycho movie,
Johnny stubbornly remains in his creepy cabin in the woods, even
while all those other dispensable peripheral characters receive
screwdrivers in their heads with quick succession. As terrifying
as all this may sound, the film actually works much better as a
light comedy than a thriller, thanks to Depp’s bumbling
amiability as Mort and some beautifully deadpan one-liners. But
as welcome as this light relief may be, it only succeeds in
making the film strangely schizophrenic in tone; an uneasy
marriage of humour and horror. Mind you, all this would still be forgivable if the finale
didn’t feature a twist so ludicrous it makes The Sixth
Senseseem one-dimensional. It’s one of those ones that
doesn’t stagger you with its ingeniousness but just leaves
you feeling cheated when the assumptions you’ve built up and
interest you’ve invested in characters are left completely
redundant. The unintentional irony of Mort’s remark, that
“the only thing that matters is the ending. It’s the
most important part of the story”, only adds salt to the
audience’s wounds. You’re left wishing that Johnny had
heeded his own warning. And fired his agent while he was at it.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Not having seen Thelma and Louise, I can’t honestly
comment about the similarities between it and this apparently
Argentinean version. Two lesbians dressed as ten year-old boys,
one of whom complicatedly argues she is not a lesbian despite
wanting to shag her ‘love at first sight’ from the
moment she saw her, proceed in kidnapping the female ‘soul
mate’. Marcia, played by Tatiana Saphi. Marcia is
potentially the most ‘normal’ person in the world,
lives at home, alone, eats pancakes all day and eats, thinks,
dreams in food. There is obviously a point in calling the two lesbians, Lenin
(Veronica Hassan) and Mao (Carla Crespo). However, I just
don’t see that point, unless it is in the communal attempt
of sharing Marcia’s body. A road trip ensues leading them
all to Lenin’s Aunt’s (Beatriz Thibaudin) home. Lenin
has not spoken to her mother since an argument several years
back. She also knows that her Aunt and Grandma did not speak for
years before her Grandma died. There is a point to the parallel
tempestuous relationship between the two different generations of
the same family, but again I don’t know what it is. Marcia and Mao get their lesbian embrace, spied upon by Felipe
(Marcos Ferrante), a lodger at Blanca’s home. Then an
unspoken coldness rises between Mao and Marcia, leading Marcia to
seek solace in Delia (María Merlino), another lodger; revealing
that she had been mislead by a man she hoped to marry. Again,
touching, but I don’t get it. I don’t think I would be giving the crux of the film away
if I chose to tell you the end, as the feature to this feature
presentation is in the silence and the images. Shot in black and
white, Diego Lerman mixes an unsentimental script, of which the
majority is silence, with the captivating looks and expressions
of his talented cast. The angst-ridden Lenin, perhaps, has the lead role, in that
her character changes through nothing more than softened glances
and losing her flick knife. This film looks like a series of film
posters; every shot is artistic and inspiring, and, combined with
the silence, the film penetrates deeply even though it is unclear
how. I was deeply stirred by this film. Not through the average
bittersweet content, but by the artistic nature of it. Despite
not seeing the point of most of it, it is worth seeing purely for
its aesthetic value. No moment was wasted, and I was captivated to the last. A
truly perplexing film, it must be seen, pondered over, and seen
again.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Angelina Jolie provides an enjoyable performance as the
ice-cool FBI agent sent to Montreal to track down a psychopathic
killer who cuts off people’s hands and bashes their face in
with a rock. Angelina is unquestionably the best thing in this film
skilfully negotiating her character, Illeana Scott, through a
rather trite plot line, as she thaws out to show her more
passionate and vulnerable side. Unfortunately the performance of co-star Ethan Hawke is rather
underwhelming, unsurprisingly, providing little for Angelina to
engage with, and is thoroughly upstaged by a cameo from Keifer
Sutherland, of 24 and Lost Boys fame. Beyond the leads there is a limited cast drawn from the stock
catalogue of thriller caricatures. But they are quickly sketched
and don’t detract from the film. More detrimental are the occasions when the plot line becomes
unnecessarily diffuse in heavyhanded attempts to make the main
twist a little less obvious. Sadly the only effect is to make the film drag in parts and
feel a good half an hour longer than its 1 hour 42 minutes.
Despite this there are some excellent moments that make you jump
out of your skin, and plenty of slick dialogue. To top it all off, the conclusion provides a wonderful ending,
departing from the fairly standard thriller material that most of
the film consists of, and which makes one come to the firm
conclusion that Ms Jolie kicks ass. Fortunately not a trace of
her Lara Croft remains. So how come she still has to be in one of those irritating sex
scenes where the woman gets naked and the man remains resolutely
zipped up?ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

You couldn’t get much more hyped than this. Saturday was
Oxford’s chance to sample the sound of the much acclaimed
four-piece from Glasgow at a sold-out Oxford Brookes gig. As
Fiery Furnaces ended a lively support set, it remained to be seen
if Franz Ferdinand could give anything more than the
retro-reproductive music that has assaulted the indie scene
recently. Sashaying onto the stage, with unbelievably tight,
high-waisted trousers, shirts that bordered on garish, haircuts
that your mum would be proud of, pointy boots and glittery
guitars, the band cut a fine figure. As they warmed up the crowd
with the acerbic ‘Cheating on You’, any scepticism
melted away with each toetap. Their energetic and technically flawless set held some real
gems. The floor bounced to the insistent beats of ‘Take Me
Out’ and ‘Jacqueline’ and the audience drooled as
FF played, and posed along to, the homoerotic, Blondieesque,
‘Michael’ about four “beautiful boys on a
beautiful dancefloor”. When the lights dimmed for ‘Matinee’ (an anthem
worthy of comparison with Pulp’s Common People and Electric
Six’s Gay Bar), all eyes were on lead singer Alex Kapranos.
Combining the cool indifference of Jarvis Cocker, a dry, almost
soporific, voice reminiscent of Neil Hannon, with just a dash of
energy and sincerity he complimented Nick McCarthy on guitar, who
managed to make school disco shuffle-dancing look chic. It is refreshing when a group lives up to their reputation and
delivers on all the promise and potential that their scene
assigns to them. In short, Franz Ferdinand did just that in an
electrifying live act. They proved why they are hot property and
deserve to be around for a while. With catchy pop tunes and an effortlessly cool,
pretension-free image, these guys met every expectation going,
and how!ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Have I been listening to too much indie-rock lately? This
album seems to have a vaguely familiar feel, which borders
dangerously on the verge of unoriginality. Think of a
‘daring’ fusion of fellow New York City band The
Strokes, and English radiohead imitators Coldplay: now stretch
the resulting incongruity outover a whole LP, and you’ve got
Bows and Arrows. An overall rock feel with strained vocals but a few rich,
delicate tracks, gives the album an air of experimentation
lacking from some modern studio albums. The album opens with ‘What is it to Me?’, an
off-kilter, track reminiscent of Tom Waits when he employs his
more carnival-esque sound. This sound is fast becoming familiar
in indie rock, with groups such as Animal Collective and Mystic
Chords of Memory using it, to varying effect. Second track, ‘The Rat’, will be familiar because of
recent radio airplay, but if you’re a fan of this tune,
don’t get too excited since it is by far one of the best
tracks on the album. The songs shift from quiet, waiflike tunes to full-blown rock
extravaganzas, with little inbetween, leaving neither type making
for easy listening. This leaves an impression of an album with a grainy,
less-thantuneful sound, and a droning style that requires the
insensitive ear of a hardened indie-rocker. Whilst such a juxtaposition is definitely not my cup of tea,
if you like yours strong and slightly stewed then give it a go.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

The Beta Band might well rank as one of the most frustrating
acts on the music radar. They burst onto the scene in 1997 with a
series of beguiling oddball EPs of rambling rock that John Cusack
found so utterly wonderful he rewrote the High Fidelity
screenplay in order to reference them. Since then, they’ve released two albums, the first of
which they memorably disowned in the NME as “fucking
awful”. Whilst this may have been overstating the matter, neither The
Beta Band, nor its sequel Hot Shots IIhave been able to recreate
the elusive playfulness and experimentation of their debut. Heroes to Zeros, however, is at least a partial return to
form. First single and album opener ‘Assessment’ is an
instant winner, establishing a more robust sound that
characterises the album as a whole. The elastic bass-line of
‘Easy’ is a joy, as is the haunting refrain of “I
love you to pieces” on ‘Space Beatle’. However, John Cusack’s next adaptation will have to go
unaltered: Heroes to Zeros is still not quite the classic album
that The Beta Band’s potential tantalisingly promises. Even
so, the richness of their arrangements hints that they are not
done growing yet (if that is the right word for returning to the
attributes which made them special in the first place). There is no need to live in anticipation; Heros to Zeros is a
thoroughly enjoyable listen, and will certainly do for now, even
if fans of the original EPs wil be left a little unsated.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

It’s been coming together for nearly two years, but the
finished product is now upon us. The Oxford Greek Festival,
brainchild of Avery Willis (DPhil in Classics at Balliol), starts
on the 5 May, and there won’t be a moment’s respite
from all things Greek, whether Classical or Modern. Consisting of plays, lectures, an exhibition, poetry, a debate
and children’s events, the Festival promises to have
something for everyone. Most prominent amongst its productions is
Euripides’ Trojan Women, staged at the Playhouse from the
5-8 May (Wednesday-Saturday, 2nd week). Considered one of the
most effective anti-war plays ever written, it features some of
Euripides’ most heart-rending and harrowing scenes. The
production gives the play a new interpretation with its
Indo-African costumes, music and choreography; by this it is
immediately set apart from what one expects. If the play’s review in last week’s edition of the
Cherwell is to be believed, you should book tickets for this one
straight away. If you want to hear a talk about the play, there
are several, each one examining a different angle; check the
website for times. Other plays include The Three Little Wolves
and the Big Bad Pigat the Old Fire Station, and The Shield at the
Burton-Taylor in third week. As its name proclaims, Three Little
Wolves turn a well-known fairytale on its head, with hilarious
consequences. Kids and adults alike can enjoy watching abused
turn abuser. The Shield is another comedy, translated from
Menander’s play, which is not known to have been performed
in English before. On Sunday 9 (3rd week) at 2.30 at the Oxford Union there are
events concerning the long-running but newly-revived saga of the
Elgin Marbles. First is Parthenon Lost, written by Constantine
Sandis. It takes the form of a Socratic dialogue, and will
explore the questions surrounding the contentious issue, central
to which is “Should we return them?” After that is a
debate on the Marbles, in which Boris Johnson MP and Brian Sewell
will take part. Don’t miss the virtual reassembly of the
Parthenon Marbles, which will be there too. Further one-off
events include a mask workshop at the Playhouse (4pm, 7 May),
exploring the use of the mask in Greek performance. Despite the
promising name, there probably won’t be any making and
decorating of masks, just in case the primary school student in
you was hoping. The Iliadis being performed at New College (8pm,
10 May) but without a cast of thousands – try two men in
US-based Curio Productions’ adaptation. This is but a taster
however, there’s lots more – visit
www.oxfordgreekfestival.com for details on everything that’s
going on.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Once upon a time there were three little girls. They grew up
to be three very different women but they had three things in
common. Times have changed, however, and the latter-day
Charlie’s Angels depicted in Thea Wolff’s The Honey
Trap are barely recognisable as our hotpants-sporting,
hairspraytoting, ass-kicking heroines of old. The locale has
shifted to Noughties London, Boswell is now a fifty-yearold
Spanish babysitter, and Charlie a pre-op transvestite who prefers
to be known as Fiona. Owing, perhaps, to a recent deficit of kidnapped millionaires,
the girls are now ridding the world of evil and corruption by
giving paranoid wives proof of their husbands’ philandering:
which they achieve by seducing the poor suckers themselves.
Despite describing itself as ‘comic crime fiction’,
this book sits squarely in the chick-lit category, so those who
demand heart-stoppingly beautiful prose and daring social comment
from their bedtime reading would be well-advised to steer clear.
Thus warned, however, Wolff’s frank, chatty writing and
well-developed sense of the ludicrous will not disappoint those
looking for a light-hearted antithesis to contract law or Greek
tragedy. Indeed, the hapless heroine’s admittedly crap attempts at
dealing with incidents ranging from finding a severed finger in
her garden to ‘accidentally’ sleeping with a
client’s masochistic husband imbued me with a heartwarming
appreciation of my own sanity. I could criticize the lack of a
cohesive plot, I could complain about the overly colloquial
style, I could admit that the time spent reading this agreeable
froth would have been better spent writing my essay; but, after
all, isn’t that just the point?ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004 

Someone once wrote a novel without any words containing the letter E in it. There is also a novel written in 26 chapters, with every chapter being written only in words that begin with the corresponding letter (‘Adam advanced angrily and…’). Experimental novels or just gimmicks? Well, there are doubtless many arguments either way; Sarah Salway’s Something Beginning With stands somewhere between the two.
She has written her novel in 26 chapters, each being a collection of musings upon topics (Ambition; Ants; Attitude). Each entry is also cross-referenced with others, and after the last page of the novel is a subject index. Somewhere in all this alphabetical play there is a story or several of them.
Verity Bell is the narrator of the book; the entries are not entirely chronological, so as we follow her tale of love and loss, we also learn about her history; the death of her parents; her lifelong friend Sally; Sally’s married lover Colin.
At first the organisation of the novel irritated me; these entries seem rather trivial and inconsequential – once you become involved in the narrative, though, they bring an immediacy and liveliness to the story; instead of convention, Salway opts to write tangentially, her narrative bouncing from one topic to another.
Quite apart from narratorial gadgetry, there are some nice moments in the book too: Verity and her friend being scorned as ‘Normals’ by a couple of Station (not Train) Spotters and Verity blithely declaiming that the Queen thinks the world smells of paint because everything is freshly painted for her.
Now I know this may get me into a whole heap of trouble, but I couldn’t help feeling this novel might prove more popular with ladies than gentlemen. It’s just that there’s a little too much of Bridget Jones’s Diaryin this novel.
Salway’s exploiting of the alphabet is effective in giving a sense of the division between our personal stories and the world going on around us – what happens to an office romance at the weekends and on the train home – but ultimately it all seems rather gossipy.
The figure of the kooky-but-reallylovely heroine feels a little limited; then again, Salway’s depiction of an unequal friendship, and its effects on the weaker party, are painfully well observed. The idea behind this book is engaging; I just found that I wasn’t that enthusiastic about the story itself.ARCHIVE: 1st week TT 2004