Friday, April 25, 2025
Blog Page 544

Lenin’s on sale again

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On the face of it, our modern cultural landscape is absolutely filled with ‘revolutionary’ things. Some of our most popular franchises have been founded on revolution – what else is the appeal of Star Wars if not seeing a bunch of plucky and loveable rebels topple an evil regime and bring peace and prosperity to a galaxy far, far away? We love the idea of effecting change, of putting our own mark on the world. But take a peek under the hood, and the truth is a little less empowering, and far more complicated.

‘Revolutionary’ stories like Star Wars take place in a world of moral simplicity, in which the bad guys are unspeakably evil, the good guys are embodiments of honour, and where there’s always an exposed exhaust port on the Death Star which, if shot in just the right place, leads to the entire evil regime going up in smoke. It’s no surprise that there have been three Death Stars in the Star Wars franchise to date; it’s the perfect symbol of achievable defeat.

Then there’s the matter of where these ‘revolutionary’ stories originate from. Star Wars, of course, is now under the ownership of Disney, itself the Death Star of the 2019 entertainment world, but any revolutionary story with the reach and influence to get its message out is likely to be backed by one mega-corporation or another. That’s not to say that subversive themes are impossible under this capitalistic scheme; The Last Jedi took plenty of fire from certain corners of the Internet in large part because it actively challenged and questioned the simple assumptions which had lain at the core of the franchise since the 1970s. Ultimately, though, any big Hollywood production with revolutionary aspirations is going to have to settle for a compromise that’s amenable to the floors upon floors of corporate lawyers concerned about merchandising, or appeal to foreign markets, or fidelity to the overall brand. This doesn’t just apply to blockbusters, either; when Disney acquired 20th Century Fox, they took Fox Searchlight, the studio responsible for producing several indie-styled awards contenders a year, under their wing, and will be exercising tighter oversight over Searchlight’s output now the merger is complete.

This kind of climate means that, when films or television with apparently genuine revolutionary aims do make their way down the pike, they exist in a strange, paradoxical state. For instance, the show Mr. Robot launched in 2015 to critical raptures and audience buzz thanks to its scathingly anti-capitalist sensibilities, unfurling a story in which an underdog hacker took on a corporation knowingly nicknamed Evil Corp in a bid to unveil the insidious influence of “the 1% of the 1%” within society. The slogan for season one’s extensive marketing campaign was “f*** society” – that might be fodder for a legion of ‘we live in a society’ memes in 2019 – but back in the comparatively backwater days of the Obama administration, such unrestrained anger was genuinely striking. Mr. Robot has fallen in the ratings significantly since that lightning-in-a-bottle first season, but it’s been able to make its way to its now-airing fourth and final season thanks to a network that’s been consistently supportive of its creator’s idiosyncratic vision.

Mr. Robot is a genuinely great show, but it’s hard to ignore the ironies inherent in its success and longevity. It airs on the basic cable USA network, which is owned by NBCUniversal, a mass media conglomerate with a massive portfolio which includes the film studio Universal Pictures and the NBC network. In turn, NBCUniversal is owned by Comcast Corporation, one of the biggest media companies in the world with a yearly revenue of nearly $100 billion. Comcast is not a beloved company in its home country, the US, synonymous as it is with notoriously poor cable services and an apathetic/hostile customer service, but its monopolies over cable and TV means that its customer base of tens of millions is safe forever. In short, Comcast is the kind of company that Mr. Robot’s hero, Elliot Alderson, would spend his life trying to expose and take down. But in the real world, Elliot’s revolutionary activities are marketing fodder for Comcast, and are routinely showcased at NBCUniversal’s annual ‘upfront’ presentations to advertisers. It’s an equation that’s difficult to square, and which adds a deeply bitter note to the revolutionary thrills of Mr. Robot.

The more revolutionary the story, the stranger the explanation for its existence within today’s entertainment industry. Boots Riley’s debut feature Sorry to Bother You, produced under the comparatively small-scale Annapurna Pictures, had some trouble making its way to the UK. It’s not hard to see why. For one, it’s a film with very American sensibilities, in its brash soundtrack and garish colours, and grounded very specifically within its Californian setting. Perhaps more importantly, though, Sorry to Bother You is the epitome of a difficult-to-market film. It starts with the quirky conceit of a black call centre worker adopting a cheery ‘white voice’ to achieve more success in telesales and accelerates from there into a lunatic corporate satire which makes Black Mirror look pitifully tame by comparison.

While many blockbuster films, especially those of Disney, include some greedy businessmen in dark suits as foil for their lovable heroes, presenting the problem as a few bad apples within a generally acceptable system, Sorry to Bother You presents a capitalist system which has completely rotted from the bottom down. Rather than pulling back from a wide-ranging critique as it goes on, it becomes angrier and more determined in its tone until it presents its solution; armed revolution. The viewer is left with the impression that capitalism is broken and must be burned down by almost any means available. In short, it’s a film that can be accurately described, without judgement, as Marxist in its intent. When Sorry to Bother You was finally picked up for UK release months down the line, it was the UK branch of Universal Pictures who stepped in to give the film a wide release and a mainstream marketing campaign.

It’s difficult to say. As frustrating as it can be for viewers wary of the influence of mass media, so little of the content we consume, even the most rebellious and anarchic of it, comes from a truly independent and small source, and even companies that are independent are routinely tied up in corporate relationships with larger entities, like the deal that indie outlet A24 struck with Apple a couple of years ago.

There’s a kind of vicious cycle at work here, where the greater success of a revolutionary piece of art, the easier it becomes for big companies to monetise and hone into a readily marketable brand, even when the product begins in a genuinely independent place. Either the work of art is made prohibitively expensive to enjoy, as with many recent ‘revolutionary’ art exhibitions, or the message is watered down to the point where there’s nothing much revolutionary about it at all. Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale was an incendiary piece of dystopian fiction back in the 1980s, but its recently released sequel was met with midnight release parties in enormous bookstores and Q&A sessions streamed nationwide to cinemas. None of that prevents Atwood’s book from courting controversy, but it certainly makes that struggle a lot more difficult.

Searching for culture that’s both popular and genuinely revolutionary is a lengthy and frustrating endeavour, ultimately. But the more that films like Sorry to Bother You and shows like Mr. Robot are produced, the harder it becomes to avoid the paradox of revolutionary content backed by companies who would very much like it if the system remained just about the same, and the likelier change one day might come.

Hogarth: Place and Progress

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Prostitution, criminality, madness, lust, and squalor.

William Hogarth’s collection of paintings and prints at the Sir John Soane’s Museum satirize 18th century urban crudities through graphic pictorial dramatizations and dark wit. Brought together from the National Trust, the National Gallery, Tate Britain as well as private and in-house collections, Hogarth’s series use the urban spaces of London’s streets, home interiors, brothels and public hangings to narrate stories of the exaggerated every day. The Rakes Progress, A Harlot’s Progress, Marriage a la mode, and Four Stages of Cruelty amongst others, document descents into immorality as urban fashion spurns on vulgarization, and industrial wealth breeds greed and idleness alongside endemic poverty. Hogarth is a brave critic of London and its moral topographies, and the grandfather of the modern political cartoon; he speaks in generalization but shouts for the injustice of the individual. 

The Rake’s Progress begins with a fortune. A young and handsome son to his miserly farther, Tom Rakewell seeks to flaunt his wealth and status through public displays of indulgence. In ‘The Levee’, Tom, in his own home, is surrounded by court-men of the likes of Frideric Handle and Charles Bridgeman – real life characters, who act as objects of curiosity and symbols of sophistication in his lavish harem of entertainers. In mapping the moral geographies of London, Hogarth moves the story to the Covent Garden brothels, where Tom parties wildly with syphilitic prostitutes, who steal from their inebriated clients. With immense artistic skill, Hogarth generates a dialectic of debauchery; the spaces of the brothels are diseased and dissident, social structures are subverted, yet the scene is paralleled by the extravagancies of the aristocratic drawing room and the criminality on the London streets. Hogarth holds a conversation with society which simultaneously holds account the wider forces industrialization and capitalism and their injustices, whilst implicating the individual in the minutiae of everyday actions both because of and regardless of intersections of class, race and gender.  

It’s a tragic ending. Tom Rakewell ends up in Fleet debtors Prison which prompts his descent into madness and eventual transferal to Bedlam, his existence in the urban ultimately determining his fate. In A Harlots Progress and Marriage a La Mode, shown alongside Rakewell’s reversal of fortune, the characters are similarly doomed; a country girl-turned prostitute dies of venereal disease, and the wife of a murdered husband and hanged lover commits suicide. Hogarth insists on human subjectivity yet utilizes caricature and hyperbole in order to achieve a notion of reality and verisimilitude. In other words he exaggerates plot lines and individuals in order to discern a truth about wider society. The city is the ultimate culprit of social disarray and is an actant in the fates of those forging a life within its boundaries. However, Hogarth is on the side of the riotous, the rowdy, and the disorderly; he unfolds stories with a humour that pervades the real, extricates London’s familiarity and homeliness from the turmoil, and softens his pointed commentary. He is a performer and an agitator – prints are as shocking as they are perceptive- rather than an activist and executes his prints with an agenda to entertain and to receive artistic recognition; despite his own criticism of institutions, he seems to seek their approval.

The spaces within the Sir John Soane’s Museum spar with the curated disorder within Hogarth’s series. An architect and a collector, Soane generated a world of a thousand histories through the juxtaposition of disparate objects; antiquities dating 250bc are placed amongst 19th Century.  It is eclectic, but its arrangement invokes a multiplicity of stories supporting an overarching ‘whole’. This is paralleled in the array of characters and narrations which constitute Hogarth’s wider social observations. The audience’s physical proximity to the pictures – hung at eye level on panels – enables an intimacy with the scenes which engulf the audience in their complexity and playfulness.

Hogarth; Place and Progress offers a striking portrait of 18th Century London life which transects immoralities that permeate all aspects of society. Through parody and exaggeration, he exposes the lived realities as forced by the difficulties of urban existence, and through unrivalled artistic merit generates humour from the squalor and desperation. It is simultaneously heartbreaking and riveting; the audience is pulled through London and its doorways and alleys into a world of dissidence and jarringly human relations.

The revolution turn-over

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 “At least,” a friend of mine started, breaking into the muted normality and sourceless white sunlight of the morning after the referendum “at least we might get some good art and music now.”

It’s an age-old correlative drawn between times of political upheaval and creativity; passionate political convictions are what petrol is to fire and bops are to Freshers’ flu. And three years on, I would argue there is a palpable revolutionary spirit in the air; between calls to topple a monarchy with the power to say ‘yes’ to prorogation, to ones wishing to suspend parliamentary democracy altogether so we can just ‘get Brexit out the way’, and, of course, Extinction Rebellion currently camped outside Westminster, the existing social and political orders are being questioned and confronted from all sides.

While we can debate the chicken-and-egg relationship between art and revolutionary spirit (as Sofia Sanabria de Felipe does here), it’s certainly true that the political situation has given rise to a plethora of consciously political cultural responses. From satire series to street art, and pro-European exhibitions to musical apologies (see ‘The Ignorant Englishman’ by Beans on Toast) frustration and outrage has been translated into agenda-rife wit and beauty.

The thing about self-consciously revolutionary art, however, is that it rarely has a particularly long shelf-life. Perhaps this remains most obvious in pieces that are pragmatically revolutionary; demonstration posters, graffiti, propaganda. Things like Guerrilla Girls and posters of Johnson and Trump’s lovechild are destined – designed, even – to become quickly dated. The frantic energy exhibited in the Dada movement in the early 20th century (insert Hugo Ball wearing cardboard tubes for trousers, pseudo-satanic chanting and an idiophonic triangle) evokes at best a sense of entertained bemusement in a modern audience. At the time, the group’s performative cross-media art was an insurgence against a political system that had emotionally, psychologically and financially bankrupted its subjects. It was anti-war, anti-state, anti-institution; anti-everything – including the institution of language and art itself, through which it begrudgingly expressed its dissidence and because of which it eventually fell apart out of hypocrisy.

A fate comparable to many a political revolution too, coming to think of it.

Another example is seen in the ongoing resentment of modern art (of the Duchamp’s urinal type) which gave rise to the trend of lampooning articles on gallery-goers taking photos of forgotten glasses and misplaced skateboards. Nowadays the old ‘painting a chair red and calling it “introspection III”’ inevitably borders on platitude. We get it, you’ve decontextualized art. But the only reason it annoys us so much is because the revolution was successful; we’ve moved the goalposts, revised the boundaries between art and the ordinary. ‘Modern’ art has become historical artefact.

And yet this can’t be the case for all ‘revolutionary’ art. How else would 1984 continue to be the go-to comparison for governmental overreaches, or the Guy Fawkes masks the symbol of protest and anarchy in light of V for Vendetta?

In a few weeks’ time the Oxford Playhouse will be hosting a performance of Frank Wedekind’s Spring Awakening, a play written at the end of the 19th century and universally either banned or heavily censored at the time. Addressing themes of sexual assault, abortion, suicide, child abuse and sadomasochism, the piece remains unsettling to the present day. At the time it was all the more deeply disturbing for being a direct attack on the sexually repressed society of the Weimar Republic – and all of the institutions, from education to marriage, that perpetuated that culture. Why then, is a play that is ultimately about advocating sexual education, still relevant to a society that is, arguably at least, sexually liberated?

The unifying theme in Wedekind’s disjointed play, however, rings hauntingly true even in the present day. Generations are pitched against each other as the adults’ institutions not only fail to prepare their teenagers for real life but use them as scapegoats for societal ills when their botched safeguarding causes tragedy and misery all around. The teenage protagonists are left to explore, explain and take action themselves. Watching Greta Thunberg accuse preceding generations of apathy, ignorance and looking the other way makes a scary comparative, especially when the response is a life-size effigy of the sixteen-year-old being hung by a noose from a bridge in Rome just over a week ago.

Equally, with unplanned teen pregnancy an ongoing issue, abortion debates, consent issues, a worrying trend in unrealistic sexual expectations in adolescents as a result of unrealistic portrayals in pornography and a lack of proper LGBTQ+ information in sex-ed – it seems like we still have a way to go on the sexual revolution front.

This, perhaps, is the bottom line: pieces remain inflamingly revolutionary so long as the problems they address are present. Once the social or political order is successfully challenged, the pieces take on the status, more than anything, of historical document – just as William Hogarth’s caricatures now recede into the quaint British tradition, as will, one day, the editing of Johnson’s face onto the body of a pig.

In a sense, then, revolutionary pieces that go out of fashion are a sign of successful change. In which case, one can only hope that Spring Awakening, and the performative demonstrations of XR go out of fashion very, very soon.

Art by Amber Mae Yilmaz

Review: Anthroposphere

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From Greta Thunberg’s resounding message to Extinction Rebellions protests and strikes, there has been a major revolution in the way we think and talk about climate change. Every aspect of our lives has become linked to the climate change dialogue in some way, whether it be the food we eat, the clothes we buy, or the companies we support. The general public is growing more and more aware to how climate change impacts our lives at all levels.

    Anthroposphere, Oxford’s Climate Review, embodies the shift as an interdisciplinary journal, which looks at climate change through the lens of not only science, technology, and policy, but also of history, popular culture, literature, and the arts. Released termly, it features material from people of a broad set of backgrounds and interests on four continents, all wrapped  in a beautiful artistic package. Whether it be a feature on the detriments of the Greek mining industry or food security for native Fijians, each article delves into the impacts, seeking to expose climate change as an undercurrent to daily life.

       Anthroposphere has grown into an international publication which draws readers, writers, and editors from across four continents.  Started in Oxford in 2018, it is the first interdisciplinary climate magazine produced by university students. The staff believe that the magazine’s goals are strengthened by greater diversity of perspective and are working with students and young people from California to the Philippines to spread climate writing opportunities. 

Anthroposphere hopes that its accessible prose and style will mean a broad audience will be enticed to pick it up and engage with the daily experience of  climate change, from its scientifically attributed impacts to the most local and personal experiences. The climate revolution cannot fizzle: too much rests on pushing back against the status quo. Anthroposphere hopes it can be a small part of keeping that ember burning.

Review: Cuntry Living

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Cuntry Living is a free termly zine which invites any gender, race, class, sexuality, or background to submit contributions which speak out against the oppression, subjugation and degradation of women – ‘in its many guises’. These submissions create an empowering college of art, poetry, essays, personal anecdotes and everything in-between; with the message of each zine being guided by what every feminist wants to say, and how they want to say it.

Created using the ecofriendly service GreenPrint, the zine is arranged in a punchy, unapologetic pastiche, with the literary submissions superimposed over magazine clippings. The range of media and content is fantastic, with 2019’s summer issue leaping from gritty minimalist poetry, to an interview exploring DIY culture and activism in the context of both the British film and punk scene, to an opinion piece on shaving customs. A few of Kanye West’s more narcissistic Twitter posts even made the cut. However, despite the sheer scope of ideas, the zine manages to maintain a collective and unashamed energy, rendering the challenges of every issue an intellectual delight.

The only real complaint I have with Cuntry Living is its disappointingly minimal reach. A submission invitation in the form of a Facebook event is buried discreetly in my feed every term, and one can’t help but wonder how many incredible potential contributors we are missing by virtue of the zine being relatively unknown. The relaxed nature of each issue certainly credits it with a distinctive charm, but I would like to see a longer list of less familiar names in the next index. And, more importantly, more people experiencing this celebratory message which is ever more important for us to hear.

Send in the Clown

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Controversy surrounded ​ Joker at just about every stage of its production. When it was announced that Warner Bros were developing an origin story set apart from any DC cinematic universe and directed by Todd Phillips, a man most famous for the Hangover trilogy, it certainly didn’t put a smile on everyone’s face. Best described as a character study, the film attempts to dissect the life of an introspective man mocked by society and shunned by his idols, a man who thrives in the shadows of his own reclusiveness. And though this is Gotham City and a world in which the Waynes exist, Phillips firmly lets us know that there are no heroes in this story. Because ​ Joker ​ is not a comic book movie.

Like ​ Nightcrawler, ​ Taxi Driver and ​ I, Daniel Blake before it, Joker holds up a lens to the disturbing and merciless world we inhabit, in many ways a commentary on the material excess and artificiality introduced by social stratification. Arthur is oppressed in just about every way possible, his infectious laugh (quite literally) exposes and isolates him in public, forcing him to intrude into uncomfortable social situations that make you sympathise with a man longing to shut himself away but denied by his own body. This is all credit to Joaquin Phoenix, portraying Arthur as a tortured soul on a journey of self discovery, whose laughter exhibits a combination of pain and anguish that wildly separates him from Heath Ledger’s nihilistic anarchist. ​ Joker ​ is a film about finding purpose, and for Arthur this starts with the epiphany that he not only exists but has some degree of power over others, a revelation which catalyses his transformation. Phoenix imbues Arthur with compelling confliction, in many ways wrestling with the mould assigned to him by societal norms and the identity which liberates him from his woes. At no point will you resent Arthur for his choices, and though you may not endorse it, you cannot help but understand the dark place where his motivations formed.

Shot with intimate close ups and in claustrophobic settings, the cinematography imposes on Arthur’s world, a world in which he exists alone and we as viewers are made to feel uncomfortably intrusive. But our intrusion is punished by Arthur’s unreliable narration, at several points realising that his lack of medication is impeding the truth of the narrative. Part of the film’s triumph is revelling in Arthur’s embracing of his transcendental identity, off his meds and no longer disturbed by his laughing condition, and so it all contributes to the ideological mindset we are delving into.

For all the praise and acclaim Joker has rightly earned, it isn’t without its faults. It is a film that doesn’t know how, or rather when, to end. Several moments that would have served as the perfect point to conclude then gave way to less effective scenes which, without spoiling, threatened to undermine Arthur’s story in favour of being faithful to the Gotham legacy we are all familiar with. The realism of Arthur’s journey feels ever so slightly forced when it decides to tease that mythology at the expense of Joker’s awakening. Nonetheless it is not detrimental to the film’s overall power. This slow, meticulous analysis of the human psyche and social rejection brings something Shakespearean to our screens, and despite whatever skepticism haunted it’s production, ​ Joker ​ will certainly be having the last laugh.

Lenny Abrahamson Interview

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Never one to stick to convention, Lenny Abrahamson’s self-proclaimed lack of homogeneity in his work is what has led him along his distinguished career path as a director. What’s most striking about his films is their defiance of genre stereotypes. Take the critically acclaimed Room, for which Abrahamson was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Director in 2016. The film is based on the book by Emma Donoghue, and centres around a young woman, abducted and raped, and the child she bears subsequently. The film could easily have been a thriller focussed on the nail-biting escape of these two characters. However, while playing with this idea in the film’s middle act, Abrahamson creates an outstandingly sensitive commentary on the parent /child bond and, how, contrary to expectations, this little boy is able to have a normal childhood. Or take his later film The Little Stranger (2018), which was pigeonholed as a horror film but which in fact is far more a genre bending character study of the central character.

Abrahamson’s film making work has earned him many accolades and in 2016 he was appointed as visiting Professor in Film and Television at Oxford University. This professorship was part of a Humanitas programme funded by the Weidenfeld-Hoffmann Trust. From public lectures to intimate workshops, his yearlong engagement formed part of a four year programme involving three other prominent individuals within the film and television industry: Michael Winterbottom, Kelly Reichardt and Sam Mendes. It afforded students the opportunity to learn directly from individuals such as Abrahamson who have made names for themselves in the notoriously difficult world of film and television. Despite his success now, Abrahamson’s path into directing is less than conventional. Born and bred in Dublin, he excelled in science and decided to study theoretical physics at Trinity College Dublin. Although from his mid-teens he developed a real interest in cinema, he wasn’t sure he could pursue it as a career – “It didn’t seem like a real option” he noted when I visited his Dublin offices. However, whilst at Trinity he changed his studies to philosophy and set up a production company with college friend Ed Guiney. He and Guiney still work together and it’s in this company’s offices that we sit on a sunny afternoon to discuss his career and what defines his work; his process as a director; his views on the ever-changing film industry and his current project, a 12 part TV series based on the best-selling novel, Normal People, by Sally Rooney.

Abrahamson’s first critically acclaimed project came in the form of 2004’s Adam & Paul. Set in Dublin, it follows the tragically comedic drug addicted duo as they navigate a day in their life. This was followed by Garage in 2007, and What Richard Did in 2012. Then Abrahamson seemingly took a break from the darker subjects of his previous film to make Frank, a light absurdist comedy. Yet at its core, the film still has Abrahamson’s trademark serious, poignant message, this time about mental health. Then came Room and The Little Stranger.

Throughout this varied oeuvre of work, there remain several constants – one being the relationship between film and audience. Abrahamson has the knack of making his audience part of the narrative, almost creating another character. They are as involved and invested in the action as any of the characters on screen. Because of his subtlety in dealing with the narratives, he often forces the audience to visualise details of scenes themselves, rather than spoon-feeding action to them. “It’s a constant battle to prevent lazy mental habits,” Abrahamson says, “to crack open their normal way of seeing something”. He applies this mentality not only to his delicate storylines but also to the characters he presents. “You think you understand the character and are allowed to feel a comfortable familiarity with the type of person you think they are.” Then a metamorphosis creeps in, making it very difficult for the audience to continue in that frame of mind.

While he doesn’t allow his audience to rest of their laurels, he’s also very rigorous in his own exploration of the story: “the experience of breaking opening judgement and constraint is probably the thing that I’m most interested in.” In fact, when it comes to picking his projects, it’s the desire to

challenge himself that drives him towards a certain story. “The project has to wake something up in me that I can’t let go of”. With Abrahamson, it’s a very instinctive decision, which is a trait that he carries throughout his entire process as a filmmaker. Yet he also notes that while instinct is important, the ability of the director to collaborate sensitively yet confidently is the key ingredient to a successful film. “You have to work with people in a way which is respectful and exhilarating for everybody but which pushes the project into a shape that matches you. I have to make it, I have to understand it, I have to feel it otherwise it won’t work”. Being clear and convincing in his role as a director must be precisely the reason why his films are successful. If a director isn’t clear about where they stand and what creative authority they have, everything can fall apart. “And it can absolutely fall apart! To the extent that actors won’t talk to each other, no one knows what’s happening!” he muses.

Abrahamson’s collaborative mindset is something which starts long before filming. A lot of his films have been adaptations and for several he’s worked directly with the original author to create the screenplay. In fact, his current project, Normal People, is one such project. The book, written by Sally Rooney, centres around two characters as they transition from school to Trinity College Dublin. Both Abrahamson and Rooney attended Trinity, years apart, and won the same scholarship as the book’s two main characters, so there’s a personal connection to the story for both of them. Above all, however, Abrahamson emphasised that it was the sensitivity with which Rooney dealt with the relationships between characters, and how unusual they were as people that drew him to this adaptation. The book reflects the ebbs and flows in the lives of an essentially oddly matched young couple. It highlights the changes in the balance of power between them and lesser characters with whom they interact. They progress from school to university, and this voyage through self-discovery and awareness is something delicately developed by Rooney.

Abrahamson is vitally aware that the way people view and experience entertainment has become far easier, with access at anytime and anywhere. The entertainment business has embraced globalisation, particularly with the advent of platforms such as Netflix and Hulu. Directors who would have just worked in the film industry 20 years ago are having to embrace the world of streaming and television in order to remain current. Does the quality of the product suffer with this small screen target? Are we the audience missing out on the big screen experience by being able to download films to our phones? As Abrahamson muses, the audience can now view films and series on their phones to watch on the tube, walking along the street, in the kitchen. But what that means is they are never really focussing on the product. There is always an element of distraction. In a cinema you are subsumed, completely engrossed in the film, because there is no choice nor outside distractions.

It remains to be seen how Abrahamson translates his six episodes of Normal People to the streaming screen, and if he grabs the audience’s attention sufficiently to make them come back for more. If his past work is anything to go by and his understanding of present-day viewers, I have a feeling this next project will be collecting more awards.

Oxford Students Disrupt Mining Company’s Recruitment Event

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The Oxford Climate Justice Campaign protested at Glencore’s recruitment event at the Old Bank Hotel on Monday night. Glencore are a multinational commodity trading and mining company. They are the world’s largest exporter of thermal coal, as well as trading in oil, metals and minerals.

The event was advertised by the Careers Service as chance to, “discover the opportunities Glencore can offer you in the oil and energy industry”. 

Glencore staff and the police all attempted to move protestors, who were blocking the entrance to the event. When participants attempted to enter through the hotel’s restaurant, protesters leafleted outside. 

The campaign’s protest was attended by a group of around 15, consisting of students and local residents. 

A spokesperson for the campaign said, “Around 500 members of the public were leafletted and many hundreds more saw our huge ‘CLIMATE CRIMINALS: GLENCORE OUT’ banner. Attendants had engaging and supportive conversations with students, local residents, hotel and restaurant guests, and even those who had come with the original intention of attending the event” 

“With the exception of those with control over booking, we appreciate staff were just trying to get on with their jobs. However, a high class venue such as The Old Bank Hotel also has a responsibility to address the climate crisis. When it profits from renting its establishment to climate criminals such as Glencore, it becomes complicit in the crisis, and we hope it will make the decision not to repeat such events in the future.”

Glencore and the Careers Service have been contacted for comment.

Call to Science: Brecht’s Life of Gaileo

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Amongst the many, or few, reasons that young people take on the challenge of university, work or technical education is a belief we take for granted: that year on year, our lives will get better. On a grand scale, we call this ‘Progress’. We believe that Progress – such as scientific research to save our planet, yet more ‘innovative’ readings of Hamlet, and radical automation – is inevitable.

Let’s turn this on its head: if it were inevitable, surely, we would not worry about working so hard at it? This is precisely why knowledge, the fruit, and driver of Progress is valuable. Because we discover it by aiming at the imprecise, the hard-to-find. Scarcity, even here, is value. Knowledge is desirable not just because it improves our lives, but because the success of discovery is like an addictive drug – the joy and value of Progress lies in process, too. 

In short, all the research undertaken through hypothesis, trial and error, and brute force is a constant attempt at reaching what generations before us have deemed desirable. We start from the frailest of foundations and unearth the most durable truths. 

Rarely have our foundations seemed so frail as the present day: a time when we are most in need of innovation, and faith in the deftness of humanity, we seem to be at a loose end. When faced with calls for a Green New Deal to stop the climate emergency, we dare not contemplate the complete socio-industrial revolution required for it to succeed, from transforming our economy to revolutionising the minutiae of our daily lives. We try to make the United Nations work, yet we will never dare to question a bizarre, self-interested Security Council that dictates affairs as if it were still 1946. A world order that has seemed stable for over 70 years is now feeling the consequences. 

At this stage we have a six-pointer to play – away from home. We need to convince ourselves that behind all progress is a utopia, triggered by the glint of a hint towards new possibilities: the desire to attack the imprecise with courage because it is worth a struggle. It is knowledge that is worth protecting for the sake of everyone, not just partisan interests – we aim for knowledge that has a life beyond policy briefings. Such knowledge, however, can make itself dangerous, because it threatens our status quo. It crosses borders, reminds the powerful of how powerless they risk becoming, and destroys illusions of supremacy.

There is one man that, more than ever, we can invoke when fear of the new creeps around the corner. Galileo Galilei, whose name adorns satellites, secondary schools, his hometown Pisan airport, and graces some of the greatest scientific writing – and writing, full stop – is our man. He saw that discovery was worth more than professional honour, or even putting bread on the table, and so he became discovery’s greatest huntsman. He recognised the personal contradictions involved in perilous work, such as questioning the cosmological status quo imposed by the most powerful institution in the world at the time – the Catholic Church. He realised that even if Padua gave him the freedom to research, he needed the power and money of Florence’s Medici to create a stir and proclaim heliocentrism, at the risk of persecution. He freely crossed both private and state borders, putting himself at the service of the fishmongers, housekeepers, and merchants who could question the world for themselves with a simple instrument: the telescope.

With that, too, Galileo saw value beyond the personal and political. The telescope first came from the streets of Holland, and he took it, improved it, gave it a wondrous importance unbeknownst to those using it to chart faster shipping routes. He reproduced the telescope, giving a new importance to its physicality: the lens grinders who built it became as crucial as the eye behind it. The man who knows how it works is the safeguard of its fragility. The work of craftsmen shows us what we need to achieve, whilst the scientists bring to light what we can afford to be. It is this collective effort that constitutes true discovery. Galileo took what he saw with his own eyes, and, at the risk of his life, committed it to paper. That too – his Discorsi – ran a perilous journey across the European borders to Holland, where, fittingly, its stimulus the telescope was born. 

All this history is also fruit for the stage. Bertolt Brecht’s Life of Galileo explores the relevance of Galileo’s remarkable attempts at revolution. It is Brecht’s mythology of Galileo that counts almost as much as the man himself, because it provides us with an icon to push forward our own frontiers, the same way John Milton wrote into Paradise Lost, the product of his own encounter with Galileo. But we must not forget that Brecht’s depiction of the revolutionary consequences of his work depends on showing the ordinariness of his attempt: a profoundly defeated man replete with flaws demonstrates that it is conviction, often exchanged for madness, that counts. His character did not possess the perfection of his calculations but served to prove not just celestial truths but a human one: that we can all follow his route, that his aims were attainable, and not the doing of a godlike, infallible scientist. 

It is this humble utopianism, to turn the world on its head and around the sun, to commit to making this revolution a worldly one for the sake of humanity, that should encourage us to see that a new world is possible, ready to be forged. The inspiration and the call to science, humanity’s most potent arms, is there, hidden behind humble treatises, and we have no excuse. 

Bertolt Brecht’s Life of Galileo is being performed at Keble College, O’Reilly Theatre, Third Week of Michaelmas Term (30th October – 4th November 2019).

A Definitive Guide to the Falafel and Hummus wraps of Oxford, ranked

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1. The Alternative Tuck Shop

The sandwich-press finish and unrivalled chat from our much-loved staff members means ATS’s offering is the true pinnacle of chickpea-based goodness – definitely worth the (fast-moving) queue.

11/10

2. Najar’s

Despite a slightly odd premises and long queues, Najar’s falafel is undoubtedly top-grade, authentic stuff.
9/10

3. Hassan’s

Tastes great after Bridge; admittedly not so great any other time. Points given for the sheer size of the thing and the unrivalled 3am atmosphere.

8/10

4. Taylors

Wonderful presentation and a real air of sophistication. However, too much crunchy veg (and therefore not enough hummus). 7/10

5. Kebab King

Used as a last resort after the hassan’s- hit-by-a-van fiasco last Hilary – would only recommend in the event of similarly distressing times. Overall lacking on every aspect while still managing to provide noteworthy stomach pains the day after. 4/10