Salivating at the delicious prospect of Cherwell’s unveiling of the dark, seedy underbelly of Oxford? We always knew it was there, just under the surface of the squeaky clean G and Ds and tame Park End exterior; and this particular vice is a deeper, more powerful force than any old run of the mill, passe illegal vice you can think of.
Before the pressures of Oxford life, we never knew the true value of msn messenger, the hidden joy of drinking coffee or the real function of the pub: ways of delaying the inevitable pain of sitting at our desks and facing the mountain of work that has been building up since minus 0th week.
Delve under the surface of our seemingly hard working student base and you will find a community of hard-core procrastinators addicted to its guilty pleasures. The acute procrastinator is the person who does in fact go to the library, but sits writing lists of all the things they must do before they go to bed or the Top Ten episodes of the Simpsons that cannot be missed. When it’s finished, they will, they assure you, write their essay, but you find them still there a day later finishing a box set dvd season of 24.
However, we can all relax, because our collective problem has been diagnosed, defined, and finally made a real excuse by friendly scientists who are on our side. Hooray! Psychologists have become interested in this widespread phenomenon and have come up with a technical definition of procrastination: ‘to delay voluntarily an intended course of action despite expecting to be worse off for the delay’.
It seems that, despite all our efforts to be individuals, there are in fact only two types of worker – firstly the irritating and universally hated type who can be found in the Bodleian five minutes after their tutorial, finishes their work with two days to spare and then, comically, worries about having not done enough and frightens the rest of us in the process.
Then there is the procrastinator. Apparently some are lucky enough to be relaxed about the whole thing, and do their laundry at 5am rather than their essay, with no trace of anxiety.
For the rest of us, the miserable effects of a looming deadline; that panic stricken feeling and the familiar wail of ‘I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I write my essay instead of spending all night rearranging my CDs into genre sections?’ has been labelled with the comfortingly scientific term ‘voluntary action delay anxiety syndrome’.
True. Unfortunately, although this may give us some leverage with despairing tutors (it may be particularly helpful to label your affliction VADAS, to make it sound more severe) there is as yet no miracle cure.
So what are you going to do now; read Cherwell one more time, go for a drink or make a start on that essay?ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

Can you summarise The Stills’ sound for the uninitiated?
Our sound is probably romantic pop-rock; melodic with lots of big
choruses. What’s your fantasy festival line up?
It would be pretty close to the Coachella Festival bill that
we’re playing in California. The Pixies, Radiohead and The
Cure are all there. Plus we’d have Pavement and Wilco. Who have been the biggest influences on the band?
The whole band like The Smiths, The Clash and The Jesus and Mary
Chain, but we all have different personal tastes as well. What
are the best and worst things about touring? The best thing about
touring is not having a 9 to 5 job, and the highlight of every
day is playing the show at night. The worst is the routine that
you get into; travelling, soundchecking, living in hotels.
We’ve had eight months straight being on the road playing
gigs. It gets pretty gruelling. What is the best gig that you’ve ever been to?
There’s a few: Radiohead at the Metropolis in Montreal, it
was about a week after they released OK Computer. More recently,
Evan Dando’s solo tour where he played lots of Lemonheads
classics. What’s the most memorable thing that’s been thrown
on stage during a Stills gig?
We’ve had underwear thrown on the stage, which is pretty
cool, except they belonged to a guy – I think one of our
friends had set us up. Thankfully people that have seen us
haven’t hated us enough to throw beer bottles or anything! The sex, drugs and rock- ’n’roll lifestyle: is it a
myth or a reality?
I don’t know! For us it’s a bit of a myth, but plenty
of bands have indulged in it. Motley Crue have done some wild
stuff. I don’t think it’s as available as it used to
be. If you could play with any musician, living or dead, who would
it be?
Slash from Guns’n’Roses, it’d be a lot of fun,
he’s a classic rock and roll star. I started playing guitar
when I was 12 or 13, when G’n’R were huge and all the
kids were playing riffs from Appetite for Destruction. Where do you want to be in 10 years time?
If it all goes right, we’ll have made a few timeless albums
that people really understand and are unashamed to listen to. And finally, Greg from The Stills, what’s the stupidest
question you’ve ever been asked in an interview?
I’ve been asked whether I prefer Crest or Colgate
toothpaste. And what was the answer?
Whatever’s in the bathroom at the time!ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

This week, The Oxford Playhouse plays host to an epic tale of
war, the fall of a great city and the power of the female spirit
in an innovative production of Euripides’ Trojan Women,
produced by Kieran White and translated and directed by Avery T
Willis. It is a phenomenal production, incorporating influences
from many different cultures to create a unique sensory
experience. From Poseidon’s (Adam Perchard) first entry on stilts,
this is an excellently choreographed and staged production. The
interplay between the characters is good and the script is
interspersed with music and dance in a way that supports and
enhances Willis’ translation. The costumes and the music form a convincing background to the
dance moves. In general, the visual and acoustic elements convey
much of the meaning and effect of the play. Liz Brook’s Hecuba is a fantastic evocation of a woman
who has lost everything. She vacillates between despair and
venom, her face and voice conveying many different emotions, in
an impressive performance which transfixes the audience. Chip Horne as Talthybios successfully manages to portray the
dilemma of a man who is ill at ease with his role and the news he
has to bear. The scene in which Andromache loses her son is heartrendingly
poignant and thoroughly gripping. Elisabeth Gray’s
performance as Andromache is convincing and emotive and Kate
Sagovsky as Cassandra gives an impressive performance of a woman
gone mad. She has immersed herself (as have all the actors) completely
in her role. Her tribal-inspired dance into a state of frenzy,
complete with flamboyant costume and a soundtrack of drumming is
one of the most memorable visual moments of the play. Trojan Woman is without question a play not to be missed
– it is a thought-provoking, intelligent and well-oiled
production which appeals to the senses. Moreover, it is
characterised by both brilliant individual performances and a
cohesive chorus. Several moments send shivers down the spine, and
the dance and music subject the audience to the whole spectrum of
emotions. Get down to the Oxford Playhouse.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

It is with some trepidation that one reviews The Critic, a
play which ridicules the very occupation of theatre reviewing.
Sheridan does not, however, merely direct his satirical quill
against critics but against all players in the theatrical world.
Director Luke Sandler has created a period piece, complete with
sumptuous 18th century costumes and a set inspired by Georgian
playhouses. What emerges is a ridiculous yet timeless portrayal
of the bitchy, backbiting world of luvviedom which bears more
than a little resemblance to Oxford’s own drama scene. The play opens chez Dangle (Sheridan Edwards), a hapless
critic and self-confessed theatre groupie who cares more about
theatrical intrigues than real-life politics. Dangle strikes a
comical figure, his voice rising into evercamper intonations as
he becomes indignant at his over-bearing wife. Mrs Dangle
(Heather Oliver) projects her lines confidently and adds zest
with her acidic tongue. As the play proceeds, we are introduced to a host of ludicrous
luvvies, including Sir Fretful Plagiary, a talentless writer who
cannot take criticism. He is admirably (over-) played by Dominic
Mattos, a drama queen mincing around the stage, flapping his
hands and pouting. We also meet Sneer (Alasdair Glennie), a world-weary critic
and master of damning with faint praise, and Puff (David
Cochrane), another foolish writer. These last two are a little
understated alongside the other exaggerated figures, although
both capture the posturing affectation of their characters
through body language. The cast handles the mannered dialogue with varying degrees of
success; for some it seems an effort to recall and project their
lines which results in an occasional lack of presence on the
stage. The dialogue livens up with a slapstick rehearsal of
Puff’s play, The Spanish Armada, which pokes fun at
theatrical conventions from courtroom scenes to death scenes and
a hilarious recognition scene. Actors, directors and critics all
come under fire as we are invited to laugh at the melodramatic
play within a play. A silly play, maybe, but a fun evening’s entertainment
and, dare one say, compulsory viewing for OUDS members. Thespians
and critics alike, we could all learn something from Mr Sheridan.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

Rape, violence, murder, jealousy and tongues being cut out may
not be the ideal night out, but Love of the Nightingale
(Wertenbaker) is a punchy and engaging production that should not
be missed. It is an adaptation of the Greek myth of Tereus and Philomele,
in which a young woman journeys from Athens to rejoin her older
sister in Thrace, under the care of her brotherin- law. The story
focuses on the relationship between Philomele, the younger sister
played with affecting vulnerability by Poppy Burton- Morgan, and
her brother-in-law Tereus (Tom Richards), only recently married
to her sister Procne. As the journey progresses and is delayed by
Tereus, it emerges that his motives are far from honourable, and
he is crushed by the weight of his passion for Philomele, leading
him to violence. The play is occasionally confusing and the split-stage method
does not help this uncertainty. As the play develops, the
separation becomes more obvious and it begins to seem compulsive
viewing. This is helped not only by excellent direction but also
by an extremely talented cast: Raj Gathani is particularly good,
and his opening fight scene with Huw Davies is a treat. Fight
director Miles Warner has obviously put real effort into the
choreography. Where the production falls down is in its casting
of one actor to play so many different roles. It becomes hectic
with the same actors changing persona within seconds. However the
performance remains slick, professional and satisfying
throughout.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

Kill Bill Vol. 2
Phoenix & Odeon No single figure in recent years has influenced the world of
movie-making as resoundingly as Mr Tarantino. His place in
cinematic history is already firmly assured, thanks to the slap
in the face that his first two films gave to Hollywood and all
its cosy conformity. Following lukewarm reaction to Jackie Brown,
though, he was faced with the challenge of finding a new
direction in order to remain creatively relevant amid the horde
of copycat directors striving for that trademark Quentin
‘cool’. The answer? A hibernation of six years followed
by Kill Bill, the self-proclaimed realisation of his moviegeek
dreams. Volume 1, with almost every scene saturated in pumping
blood and littered with dismembered limbs, showed him taking his
penchant for ultra-violence to ludicrous levels. Yet the audacity
of the battle choreography and the sheer innovation of his
directorial vision made it a relentlessly entertaining
experience. It’s almost hard to believe, then, that Kill
Bill was originally intended to be released as a single movie, so
different are the tone and pace of this second half. Elaborate kung-fu remains the staple of the story but there is
no trace of the cartoonish gore of Volume 1. Instead, Tarantino
opts to give his violence a brutal, palpable realism reminiscent
of his earlier work. Most surprising of all, though, is that the
movie ventures boldly into sentimental territory wholly
uncharacteristic of its director – and die-hard fans will no
doubt be equally shocked that these latter stages are actually
handled with a sincerity which belies their idol’s cynical
persona. Still, credit where credit’s due, it is Tarantino’s
muse, Uma Thurman, who carries these scenes and indeed the whole
movie. She gives another dazzling turn as ‘The Bride’,
which, with its hints of an insecurity and emotional rawness
beneath her character’s icy exterior, saves Kill Billfrom
descending into a mere “roaring rampage of revenge”
with no human interest whatsoever. As she mercilessly ticks off
those last few boxes on her ‘Death List’, the
cliff-hanging revelation of Volume 1 is interwoven into the
story, giving her mission an added poignancy, whilst flashbacks
also shed light on the tangled relationship between The Bride and
the previously unseen Bill. Sadly, though, this still can’t save the film from
ultimately being something of a disappointment when compared to
the first. The ending, in particular, is a definite let-down as
the script simply peters out in dialogue rather than concluding
on the monumental bang Tarantino’s been teasing us to expect
all along. During production, he told the press “I’m
making this movie for me. Everyone else is along for the
ride”. Self-indulgent and flawed as Kill Bill may be,
it’s still one hell of a ride worth taking.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004 

Odeon S.A.D. has a lot to answer for. Obviously there’s the
escalating suicide rate in Scandinavian countries. And then
there’s my high expectations of Fifty First Dates. At the
end of a hot, lazy Sunday, I could imagine nothing, and I mean
nothing, more perfect than ending the day with a summery rom-com.
I could barely contain my excitement as I set off for an evening
with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore. First impressions were good: the tropical Hawaiian setting,
the sunny Bob Marley soundtrack, and the dancing walrus. All the
ingredients for a happy two hour saccharine fest were in place. The opening scene outlined Harry’s (or was it
Henry’s?) commitment issues. A dedicated marine vet,
Harry/Henry’s idea of fun was pursuing, in a nice romantic
hero sort of way, meaningless sex with American tourists visiting
the island. But when he spies Lucy (Barrymore) constructing waffle houses
in a crowded café, years of womanising are instantly terminated.
The only, although pretty fucking significant, problem is that
Lucy has no short-term memory; a freak car accident involving a
pineapple and a cow has caused her brain to erase the contents of
each day as she sleeps. It’s a challenging premise to work around, and
Harry/Henry has to pull out all the imaginative stops in his
charming attempts to capture the heart of an amnesiac. The ethics
of sleeping with a brain damaged woman who can only mentally
experience a one-night stand didn’t seem to trouble the
hysterical Odeon audience too much. The sensitive issues of Lucy’s fear and distress at the
daily news that she is seriously dating an apparent stranger are
efficiently bypassed by Harry’s clever use of multi-media
resources. It’s a shame to reveal the finely crafted
intricacies of the plot, but the innovative details of Harry and
Lucy’s courtship demand sharing. So, it goes a little something like this: boy meets
afore-mentioned female, waffle-house building amnesiac, is
irresistibly attracted, and intensely stalks and harasses for
some time (in a funny way). Then for the genius part; he makes a video for her to watch
each morning reminding her that she’s lost her mind, but
that she does know who he is, she gets a little upset for the
morning (fair enough really), and by the evening kind-hearted
Harry has got laid again. I don’t know about you, but the adjectives
‘tender’, ‘funny’ and ‘enchanting’
really sprang to mind. ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004

Odeon The Girl Next Door is the kind of film for which the term
fantasy really should be used, although thankfully not a single
orc appears. Instead, it depicts a creature far more readily
found in the collective imagination of the male contingent of its
adolescent target audience, and tells a story almost as
implausible as any sword and sorcery epic. This is the kind of fantasy where, whilst most of us spend our
teenage years living next door to smelly old crones with lots of
cats, one smart but overly-conscientious high school student
finds himself sharing a property line with the delicious Danielle
( 24’’s Elisha Cuthbert). As if that weren’t
enough good fortune, she adds the cherry on top and falls for
him. Alas, it turns out that the word cherry hasn’t been
used around young Danielle for quite a while; will her past as a
porn starlet ruin everything? The thought that such a thing could be considered potentially
ruinous, rather than merely a stroke of very good luck, may be
treated with incredulity by many young men out there. There are
feelings behind that swiftly-shed basque, however, and it is on
the people, rather than the porn, that the film focuses. Director
Luke Greenfield does surprisingly well and serves up something
that has a little more to it than most high-school movies. The
Girl Next Door is cute, funny, warm and well put together, with
few pretensions but more than enough coming- of-age wish
fulfilment to balance out the inevitable, and often very funny,
lashings of teen sex comedy. If the boys in the audience can suspend their disbelief (and
envy) regarding the unlikely coupling, and the girls can rein in
their jealousy when the camera lingers yet again on Cuthbert,
they’ll have almost as much fun as Dick van Dyke auditioning for Chitty Chitty Gang Bang.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004  

Miss Kittin is a female DJ and one of the main progenitors of
the electroclash movement. Electroclash happened in 2002, and we
all now pretend we never really liked it anyway. After work with
the likes of Felix Da Housecat, Tricky and Chicks on Speed comes
this, her debut solo album. And the results are quite dull. It goes on for a really long time, it’s quite European
and I bet some of you will think it’s really cool. Well, you
will be wrong. You see, Miss Kittin evidently has ambitions of
making a broad, diverse record which bursts out of the realms of
traditional electronica by mixing in some r&b, rock, dub,
soul and ambient noises. Which is fine. But I Com just sounds too damn polite and
conventional. I mean, Miss Kittin, come on, this is your debut
solo album, you should have tried a lot harder and made an album
which blows minds and will be played for years to come.
You’ve let yourself down. The ingredients are there but it’s all just crying out to
be a lot more spiky and exciting and fun. Kittin’s vocals
are thin and weedy. Her detached delivery doesn’t cut it
over a whole album. And the production by world renowned duo GLOVE
is flat and airless. An electronica record needs to sound
outstanding to be noticed in 2004. Too often, the music on this
album sinks into the background and occasionally it verges on bad
Europop. The single, ‘Professional Distortion’ pretends
to rock. On ‘Requiem for a Hit’ Kittin goes a little
blue with the call to “show me your tits and let’s make
a hit.” Most of the songs are steeped in irony, but she does try her
hand at sincerity on what proves to be the album’s emotional
fulcrum ‘Dub About Me’. Over seven gruelingly dull
minutes, Kittin opens her heart and asks, “Baby, what about
me?” She is responded to by a male robotic vocoder. Perhaps
worst of all, with ‘I Come.com’ Kittin gives us a title
which cannot deliver on its innuendo. And that sums the album up for me. It makes gestures to rock,
it attempts humour, it tries to be smart and it assumes
it’ll be the soundtrack to hip parties, but it never quite
gets there. The all too obvious comparison to Miss Kittin is Peaches.
Where Peaches succeeds is her ability to inject her music with
some blood, tits and ass. Judging by this dreary listen, Miss
Kittin has just confused cool with conservatism.ARCHIVE: 0th week TT 2004