Friday, April 25, 2025
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Eternal Boredom

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Is it only the boring who become bored?

The tired precept has prompted many to believe it true. To a certain extent, it makes sense; ‘interesting’ people surely must be equipped to entertain themselves infinitely given their predisposition for intelligence and curiosity? Yet it is increasingly argued that boredom should not be a state of mind to abhor and resist but rather one to embrace and work with. This notion has been speculated by philosophers, substantiated by science, and indeed demonstrated by artists and musicians through their creative endeavours. Now we can even appreciate the importance of boredom being a driving force behind creativity, and some of the greatest minds in history.

Before delving into the creative crux of the matter, a scientific explanation behind why boredom can actually nurture creativity, not stifle it, can be provided. In the 20th century, British philosopher Betrand Russel theorised that there were two types of boredom: stultifying and fructifying. Fleeing from fructifying boredom can endanger one to falling into stultifying boredom, which can worsen quality of life. 50 years later, Sandi Mann, a psychologist at the University of Central Lancashire, provided a scientific reasoning behind Bertrand’s claim that boredom can be an empowering and ultimately productive force. Mann describes ‘boredom’ as a “search for neural stimulation that isn’t satisfied.” A blank mind will naturally wander and seek for material to keep it occupied; at this point, the human brain becomes susceptible to creativity.

Think back to your childhood. Imagination would take over. “Pretend that you’re a…” was a common phrase floating around the playground. When faced with no alternative, children come up with their own games, powered by the sheer force of imagination. Nearly every child must have ‘played’ either ‘Doctors and Nurses,’ ‘Families’ or ‘Teacher;’ games that required no props but rather just the willingness of its participants to invent their own entertainment. Due to the rapid development of technology, there is no need to ‘pretend’ to entertain anymore. Mobile apps and video games are so advanced they can create these worlds themselves and allow children to merely follow the instructions. Games like Fortnite allow players to team up and engage in combat in a dystopian, zombie-environment. All players are required to do is to press buttons. FIFA encourages similar button pushing, where children play as their favourite team without having to go outside. It stands to reason therefore, that this absence of external stimulation motivates children to push their creative capacity to amuse themselves – which they most likely would not do, were they not bored.

A lack of stimulus leading to ingenuity can also be seen in adult life. Western civilisation, in particular, ingrains within society conforming to a path of school, university, a job, etc. The most important requisite in a job is that it earns enough money – not that it is enjoyable. And hence, monotonous. Prescribed existence, the tired trope of ‘adult who hates their job and by extension, life’ has permeated through reality into books and films alike. Take ‘The Incredibles’ for example – Bob despises his grey and dreary office job and finds it underwhelming and wholly unsatisfying. He is bored out of his mind. The complete lack of inspiration he finds in his day to day life inspires him to change it and make it what he wants it to be – so he returns to his previous career as a superhero. His boredom drives him to create the life he actually wants and to carve it into his reality. Transformation of lifestyle can also be seen in real life; consider that acquaintance who could not stand their HR office job any longer and so packed up and spent a year travelling around South America – their boredom inspired them to create a new path for themselves simply for satisfaction. A powerful and creative mindset is borne of an utterly insipid context which then motivates an inspired mindset.

There is also no escaping the prescence of boredom within art. Ennui is critical to the world of arts, whether it be the switch that sparks a passion, or inspiration for an individual piece. The former is often seen in the formation of an artist’s career – a reason for pursuing their craft in a particular field. For instance, the French painter Henri Matisse was interested in law until he was twenty-one. However, when struck down by appendicitis and the subsequent lengthy and wearisome recovery, his mother bought him some paints. With little else to do, he gave it a go. Soon he became riveted by the activity, eventually leading to his status as one of the most prominent artists of all time. It seems probable that had he not been in the throes of a monotonous recovery period that he would never have picked up the brush at all.

As well as igniting an interest, boredom can also inspire pieces. George Harrison of ‘The Beatles’ learned to play sitar after he became disillusioned with the music his group were producing. He studied under Ravi Shankar to hone his technique and soon ‘Norwegian Wood’ (1965) became the first commercial song in the Western hemisphere to use a sitar. Harrison’s boredom lead him and his band to become pioneers in pushing the boundaries of Western pop music, to give their audiences something they had not heard before. Similarly, American composer Mark Appelbaum said that he was bored of music in general – it all sounded the same to him. His motivation when composing is thus to make something “interesting”, something unheard before; he neglects the limitations of genre, instrumentation and time signatures to create “experiences of sounds” that are novel in their existence. Boredom of the conformity within artistic spheres allows artists to push their own boundaries of creativity and innovation.

Tavi Gevinson, creator and editor of ‘Rookie’ magazine and website, ascribes her career to her teenage boredom. As a freshman in high school, she found that there was no resource for teenage girls to share their art, stories, lifes and problems in a non-judgemental yet engaging format. ‘Vogue’ was too highbrow, ‘Red Tops’ only interested in surface emotions, nothing deeper. And so, she created an online publication that invited teenage women to share their creativity and the pains of adolescence to an audience that craved their content as much as these girls needed to share it. Gevinson’s boredom not only launched her career and gave her an outlet to read the things she wanted to but shared that opportunity with a generation of young girls and allowed them to give their creativity a channel and an audience.

Ultimately, boredom should be embraced. It has a productive power that is absent in other mental states. Boredom is a state of searching, needing, and wanting – when there is so little to occupy the brain, there is nothing to hold it back. People can be utterly reckless in their creativity, whether that be within their chosen medium of art, or implicated within their very own lives. Indeed, if you choose to believe Kierkegaard, boredom is at the very essence of our being and genesis; “the gods were bored; therefore, they created human beings.” Boredom is a natural occurrence of human life and cannot be ignored.

Peaky Blinders Season 5 Review

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For all its sex, drugs and violence, Peaky Blinders is starting to get tired of itself. Its response? A gripping foray into the world of political deal making, so scandalous it makes even members of the Shelby family feel uncomfortable.

Series five of the hit BBC drama follows its protagonist, the now exhausted, frustrated and paranoid Birmingham gangster Tommy Shelby, on his next adventure, as he gives his support to the intensely creepy Oswald Mosely MP (Sam Claflin) and his nascent fascist party. What follows is a top-secret plan to bring down the fascist operation from the inside that leaves both the audience and the Shelby family feeling conflicted. How far will Tommy go to prove he is a good man? And what values might he sacrifice?

In his deteriorating mental state Tommy Shelby ponders his exhaustion. “I need to sleep.” he tells a hallucination of his dead wife. Indeed, tiredness is this series’ dominant theme and in many ways seems to parallel the feelings of the show’s creators. The familiar formula of gang warfare which intensifies over five episodes until its sudden resolution in the sixth has been dispensed of. Quantifiable threat has succumbed to an exhilarating chaos.

In his crusade against the fascists, Shelby’s response must escape the confines of family politics and vendetta. This new context renders the behaviour of the characters and the progression of the plot rather unpredictable. It’s as if we’ve been shaken awake, unable to rely completely on our much-beloved protagonist and uncertain that the writers will show him mercy.

With this new strategy comes new dangers and perhaps an even more profound suspense. Both Tommy and the audience are left increasingly confused about what his values really are. Conflicting feelings about his methods serve to break away from the simplistic, binary morality of the earlier series in a way that is immensely refreshing. More than this, unable to work out just how ‘good’ our ‘good guy’ really is, he can no longer be trusted to win.

Collectively, we have been plunged into a clammy state of anxiety, emphatically alive. We feel wide awake and can be sure that the protagonist does too. It is from this point of heightened anxiety that the liberal use of heavy-breathing sound effects and artificial mist serve to drag us into the character’s eventual breakdown

This downward spiral is far from complete. Tommy’s conversations with ‘Grace’ serve to negotiate his emotions and suicidal impulses. From the outset the brakes are applied to his inevitable mental collapse: “So much to do, Grace…I need to say goodbye.” The energy-sapping misery that characterises the first few episodes dissipates. “I will continue ‘til I find a man that I can’t defeat.” becomes a believable claim.

So we leave Tommy as we found him, stumbling through the mist, lost. Having invigorated the format, he has, in one sense, emerged a hero. Newly energised he shouts, “anyone who is tired of this old-fashioned, backstreet fucking razor gang can leave”. This is a statement directed against accusations of predictability and ‘sameyness’. The show lives to fight another day.

Film School- Tales of Coming of Age

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In the language of the Aymara, an indigenous South American nation, it is the future and not the past that lies behind you. The logic behind this idea is immaculate. What has been done and seen and experienced will be laid out in front of you, visible at all times. Turning the other way is futile; there is nothing to see.

It is something of a shame, then, that the tyranny of looking forward has settled on the rest of us. It has become a symbol of stoicism and progressiveness. Memory is now a dehumidified place, a container for postcard anecdotes that can be safely retrieved, shared, and put away again. Anything else – anything more – would be wallowing.

But there is something deeply atavistic about people’s needto take stock, and the pressure to avoid doing so has sprung a market for spaces where quick and unceremonious attempts can be made. A lot of these offerings go for cheap sentimentality, proving that the past is only palatable when kitsch. Admit it, everyone who has ever been to a noughties club night went with the small hope of recapturing something oftheir childhood, and no one has ever emerged from one convinced that Flo Rida helped them do it.

The coming-of-age genre is no exception, and many of its products have their faults forgiven by a culminating wide-angle of the protagonist pulling out of the driveway and heading to college (hey, remember when you left for uni? Great! Now cry, you anxious, regret-fuelled adult-thing, and don’t pay ten quid for a cinema ticket if you’re going to track your imposter syndrome onto the carpet). There are exceptions, though, and the past twenty years have seen some of the most subtle and sublime films of this kind ever made. They are less about becoming someone else – older, better – than they are about having that often-discouraged dialogue with who we once were. As Joan Didion put it, “I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.”

Freshers’ week is a time when the cultural expectation to never look back is at its strongest, and when who you used to be seems most unattractive. The curtain is pulled back on your new life, you’re shown around and reassured about its superiority, and without warning comes the plunge into its demands and rhythms. Besides, you can’t toss in bed thinking about the past when you’re at a different club everynight (which you definitely will be because no one in the history of this university has ever chosen to admit their social inferiority by skipping out on going to Fever, ever). If, however, you happen to find the time or the willingness, now or at any point in the next few years, here are a few films that demonstrate how looking back can be done with dignity and style.

1. Lady Bird (dir. Greta Gerwig, 2017)

Greta Gerwig restages her adolescence against buttery Californian sunlight. Not quite autobiographical but, if you’re a daughter who has a certain kind of mother, it may at times feel autobiographical to you. The film follows Christine McPherson – or “Lady Bird”, as she has styled herself (quotation marks included) – in her last months of high school. At its centre is her relationship with her mother, and equally, her mother’s relationship with her. Both are stubborn and angry in their own way, loving and empathetic in quite a similar way, and Lady Bird is as much about dealing with someone growing up as it is about growing up yourself.

2. The History Boys (dir. Nicholas Hynter, 2006)

Yes, it is about a group of sixth- formers being trained for their Oxbridge exams and interviews to study History, and for that reason alone many of us are guaranteed to sense the past raise its head while watching it. But both the play and the film also encapsulate a common frustration that quietly plagues seventeen-year-olds: the suspicion that you might be a bit clever and the desperate need to be seen as such. They also nod at something many of us realise years later, that teachers are people too, and sometimes the ones who are too eager to make us feel clever aren’t necessarily the best for us.

3. Eighth Grade (dir. Bo Burn- ham, 2018)

A coming-of-age film that throws out every trope John Hughes ever started. Swollen soundtracks and prom night are eschewed for the blue light of a phone screen under the covers after bedtime and the clumsy, undersubscribed YouTube channels that form one’s early online footprint. Also, if you were fortunate enough to have experienced middle school as it is constructed in the American and international systems – those three self-contained years that replace childhood optimism with a generous selection of complexes and insecurities – please watch,and squirm, and redeem your thirteen-year-old selves. We may have been embarrassing, but we often still are, and bless us, we never stopped trying our best.

Matsubara: Lifelines

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Dynamic red and orange patterned planes of abstraction framing icy-blue Himalayan skies – Matsubara’s Tibetan Sky B (1987) seems to embody the essence of her exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum. The woodcut, inspired by her visit with her husband to Tibet in 1985, hosts a conversation, one that is sparked by contrasting complexity, pallet and energies evident in her representations of the elaborately decorated monasteries and the palpable coolness and expanse of the landscape beyond.

This dialectic is a recurrent theme throughout her exhibition which displays an assortment of woodcuts; ranging from buildings and figures for book illustrations, to organic forms from over 60 years of artistic endeavor. Yet despite their eclecticism, all images are unified in their invocation of a time, a place, and of the artistic varieties which compose her culture and heritage. Growing up in Kyoto, Matsubara’s father was the head priest at the Kenkun Shrine where she spent much of her childhood and often performed. These formative years are manifested in the pinto figurations of traditional Japanese lifestyles and dwellings, her continual references to landscape and setting, and her desire to marry spiritual and physical beauty. Likewise, each woodcut is mounted on silk panels, reminiscent of Japanese folding screens, suggesting a peripheral connection with her homeland within the typically modernist exhibition space at the Ashmolean.

Beyond geographical influences, the dynamism and diverse subject choices can be traced back to a concert she attended by Indian sitar player Ravi Shankar, whose highly emotional and intimate performance is depicted in a figurative and grey-scale woodcut (1962). This sense of excitement and momentum distinguishes this exhibition; Matsubara’s retrospective is a collection of defining moments catalogued in a series of joyous compositions, but which sensitively allude to wider cultural tropes.

Image: Naoko Matsubara, Foliage A 1992 © Naoko Matsubara. Photo: Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford)

William Blake

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William Blake was never the artist he wanted to be, nor the one we want him to be. As with all the great Romantics, both our view of him and his view of himself are a bit too, well, romantic. The Tate Britain’s new exhibition on him is labelled “Rebel, Radical, Revolutionary”: “an artist for the 21st century”. Blake was a man of his time, but one who made a career out of revolting against it. He didn’t do that because he was some ur-Lenin, a Jeremy Corbyn of 1800 making a career out of countering an ill-defined establishment. No, William Blake was what you might call “a bit of a character”. In layman’s terms, he was bonkers.

I came to Blake as most schoolkids do: the tiger. Plus, seven years at public school meant I had my fair share of singing Jerusalem. But unlike his poetry, Blake’s art has seemed more mysterious to me. Those who know about it will have images in their heads of huge muscle-bound Gods fighting Satanic serpents; or men with big white bushy beards poking life into their world with their fingertips; or swirly, colourful scenes of pretty angels in near-psychedelic environments. It’s like Michelangelo on a bad trip. Often, even, rather terrifying.  

But the Tate’s exhibition sets out to establish Blake’s position as an artist as well as a poet and to chart the whole of his not-inconsiderable career. Confronting you upon entry is his beautiful Albion Rose. It was chosen no doubt because it’s emblematic of his work for the popular imagination. It portrays a serenely powerful nude figure ringed by beautiful colour with their arms open onto the world. Albion is a central character in the complex and unwieldly mythology Blake created – think Tolkien, but less film-friendly – which runs through much of his work. As such, it could be said to be a good start to an exhibition on his life. But it’s also signifies the kind of Blake the exhibition consciously or unconsciously pushes. The figure embodies the liberating power of imagination; this is Blake the free spirit railing against the chains of conformity. This is Blake, implacable opponent of everything from traditional marriage, to contemporary politics, to mainstream Anglicanism. It’s nice that the next picture along is a supposed self-portrait, as the message of the curators is clear: Blake’s a Rebel Rebel, (though his face ain’t a mess).

The impression we actually get is that the vision of Blake as an ‘implacable maverick’ isn’t wholly accurate. Some of the featured work is impressive: I particularly liked watercolours of Joseph and his brothers (despite them lacking a technicolour dream coat) as well as early works based off his mythology. But this sits alongside the jobbery that he produced in order to make a living. In a section entitled “Money”, we see Blake’s commercial engravings. A lot of the information provided is interesting, and fitting for Blake: we’re told of a few of his patrons including the Earl of Egremont’s mistress and Jo Jonson, a noted radical. He also illustrated works by Mary Wollstonecraft whilst working on his more famous watercolours at night. But unfortunately for the Tate, they’ve already inadvertently let the cat out of the bag. The great secret about Blake is clear: he could be just as much of a hack as the rest of us.

Of course, the man had to make a living. But it’s not alone in the exhibition in taking the shine from Blake’s idiosyncratic image. We learn about the role his long-suffering wife Catherine had in assisting with colouring his engravings and finishing his work after he died. For a supposed loner, she was one of many who helped him along his way. The famous collection of aspiring artists that worshipped at his feet when he was going as grey and beardy as his pictures were just the latest in a long line of friends and patrons who, somewhat bemusedly, supported him throughout his life. It begs the question as to why the Tate wants to market the exhibition through Blake’s image as a maverick whilst going so far to undermine it.  

The answer’s simple. The popularised version of Blake that this exhibition seeks to promote is fundamentally revisionist. It’s a product of the 1960s’. Contemporary academics working in the arts and humanities sought to reinvent him as a precursor to one of them; some sort of quasi-hippie, all free love, psychedelic visions and railing against the system. He was an obvious candidate; not only a writer and painter, but a friend of Tom Paine, eulogiser of the American Revolution and author of the theme tune of radicals the length and breadth of England. No public-school classical education a la Wordsworth and Coleridge for Blake; he was the son of a Soho shop-owner but driven by visions and his own force of personality to charge against his qualms at his contemporary society. He was the perfect fit for a generation of artists and curators of the Vietnam, LSD and Woodstock generation. It’s this vision of Blake that the exhibition, rightly or wrongly, tries to push. Creaking under the stubborn refusal of Blake’s actual idiosyncrasy to conform to this model, it almost causes this exhibition to collapse under its own agenda.

Which would be a shame. Not only because it would miss what makes Blake so fascinating, but because it would rob you of the parts of this exhibition that are really worth your time. By that I can only mean Blake’s unique, brilliant and rather terrifying imagination. Yes, there’s a lot here that’s underwhelming. He repeats the same pictures repeatedly and he can’t paint an animal to save his life: the tiger in the original Songs of Experience collection looks more like a cuddly teddy bear.  

But for all that the entry price can still be justified for one room. Coming about three-fifths of the way in, it shows Blake at the peak of his imaginative and artistic abilities. It is wonderful. It features images drawn from Milton, Shakespeare and Blake’s own mythology. There’s Newton charting the world from the bottom of the sea; King Nebuchadnezzar reduced to a mindless animal through his affliction of madness. They are so vivid, so striking and so utterly unique. This is the Blake we want to see: resplendent in his magnificent idiosyncrasy rather than pigeonholed into a political agenda.

The rest of the gallery is peppered with other similarly great works, from his horrifying muscle-bound Ghost of a Flea to a terrifying Cerberus clenching the soul of its victim. A highlight were his representations of the recently deceased (for him) PM William Pitt and Lord Nelson as classical heroes fighting monsters and serpents in a heavenly dreamscape. I can’t see that being done for any recent Prime Minsters, but that’s Blake for you. The only big serpent in the artistic garden is the supremely idiotic choice by the gallery to hang some pictures in a replica of an 1809 exhibition of Blake’s work. Nice in theory, but lamentable in practice; the space is gloomy and shadow-filled, meaning that the watercolours are even harder to see than they were after 200 years of fading. Though, to give the Tate their due they rectify their mistake on an opposite wall.

Blake long dreamed of making his works 30 metres high in order to act as national monuments. Via some helpful projection the Tate have shown us what could have been. The power and detail is incredible. It’s partnered with a computer mock-up of a small print blown up as a tapestry in Blake’s local church, another dream fulfilled.  It’s another good idea and well executed. But it’s also sad. Both these visions show that Blake’s mind and imagination were too big for typical constraints, and that he never had the chance to realise his visions how he wanted. Ultimately, this exhibition never truly shows the extent of Blake’s genius, as he never got the chance to.  

He was a man in his own world. Not only in the sense of seeing visions of angels and demons or by remaining stubbornly different throughout his life. Blake was a man who lived in and through his work. He used it to view the world wholly uniquely. His work was essential to his sense of himself and his personal world: he once attacked a Westminster schoolboy who mocked him as an apprentice engraver. I imagine that was because he felt attacking his work was such a powerful personal slight. His wife once said she didn’t see much of him since he was “always in Paradise”. That Paradise wasn’t only his visions, but his work through which he realised his own personal understanding of reality. He never fully managed that. That’s the thing that both curators with agendas and us as gallery-goers need to know. We can never truly know Blake; his world and his work were his own, and since he’s gone, we can’t every fully know what he was trying to do. It’s a good thing he was a fan of Milton; it is, in a very real sense, a Paradise Lost.

Bolton may be gone, but it is the President who has the most dangerous foreign policy

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For just a moment last month, a divided Washington came together to marvel at the defenestration-bytweet of John Bolton, the West Wing’s resident uber-hawk. In his 520 days as President Trump’s national security adviser, Bolton acted on his extreme beliefs, driving the world towards conflict with Iran and taking a bureaucratic hatchet to the processes that traditionally steer U.S. foreign policy. The bonfire of American prestige that is the Trump administration has left many hands dark with soot, but his are blacker than most.

While Bolton will be little missed, he and Trump were always something of an odd couple. Hired on the strength of his brash Fox News performances, Bolton functioned as a muse and a vessel for Trump’s most aggressive, unilateral, nationalist instincts. But consistency is not one of this president’s virtues.

There is another Trump: one who loves to make deals, no matter their terms; one who craves approval, even from the world’s worst. The dissonance between these two personas – between his provocations and his willingness to back them up – has become so dangerous that some of Bolton’s critics even found themselves hoping that his dogmatism might temper Trump’s strategic OPINION nihilism. In the weeks before Bolton’s departure, as Trump invited Russia to the G7 and the Taliban to Camp David, those contradictions evidently proved too great to stomach.

Bolton’s exit comes at a turbulent moment. While the Persian Gulf seems to have temporarily stabilized, violence can flare up with no warning, as with the September attack on Saudi oil facilities. North Korea’s arsenal continues to expand, apparently unaffected by Kim Jong Un’s ‘love’ for Trump.

Closer to home, Venezuela’s crisis is crushing its people, destabilizing the region, and entrenching a hostile regime in the Western Hemisphere. Most importantly, what began as a trade dispute with China has hardened into a comprehensive, explicit competition for global influence that looks likely to continue for decades.

Above all this now looms the House of Representative’s impeachment inquiry, the first in American history to focus on a president’s actions abroad. The evidence that has already emerged is damning. Trump appears to have weaponized American foreign policy against his domestic political opponents, leveraging the powers of his office to coerce at least one foreign nation to intervene in the 2020 election. Impeachment will consume Washington for the coming months. It will be the prism through which the president sees the world.

What that means for the world is anyone’s guess. Will Trump quickly seal a cosmetic trade deal with Beijing to goose a weakening economy, or will he double-down on China-bashing to motivate his base? Will ending the so-called “forever wars” in the Middle East, irrespective of the situation on the ground, prove an irresistible opportunity to bolster his deal-making bona fides? What does any of this look like refracted through the far-right media, Trump’s last line of defence?

Whatever he does, Trump will not lack enablers. Bolton’s successor – Robert O’Brien, formerly a hostage negotiator – brings the thinnest resume to the post in decades, having only recently made a name for himself by shepherding A$AP Rocky, that prisoner of conscience, safely home from Sweden. A review of his career and writings (‘What Would Winston Churchill Do?’) serves as a road map to the once proud GOP foreign policy tradition’s descent first into cliché, then self-abasement. He is John Bolton without the mustache – or, it appears, the spine. And there are many more like him.

Ultimately, though, everything comes back to Trump. Confident in his judgement and freed from advisers that sought to control his impulses, he now sits alone in the cockpit of the American state. All the institutions, processes, and norms that should serve as guardrails lie demolished or ignored. With those hands firmly on the control-wheel, the United States will increasingly look to the world like its president himself – whipping back and from between warmonger and dealmaker, bully and coward, a source of fear and an object of scorn.

‘Blustery declarations, backed by unsustainable commitments, do not regain the strategic initiative,’ wrote Philip Zelikow, an American historian, in 2017. ‘Instead, they invite exemplary humiliation, this American generation’s version of Britain’s “Suez”moment, that some of our adversaries will eagerly try to arrange.’ Such a moment feels fast approaching, but only one thing is sure. For the foreseeable future, the United States will have no foreign policy beyond the self-preservation of Donald Trump. To a president who will not distinguish between national and personal interests, ‘America First’ has only ever meant ‘Me First.’

DEBATE: Should private schools be taxed?

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Adam Wilkinson-Hill: Yes, doing so will benefit children in state schools

What do 54% of journalists, 67% of British Oscar winners, and 74% of judges have in common? They are part of the privately-educated 7% of British society that grotesquely dominates the country’s leading professions.

I don’t doubt that many of the privately educated students reading this have worked incredibly hard to win a place at this great university. But their achievement means nothing for thousands of students in the struggling state sector who, despite working just as hard, don’t have nearly as many opportunities.

Millions go to underfunded state schools. They deserve the same chance to succeed academically, but they are put off. Perhaps this is sometimes due to intimidating stereotypes, but all too often, it’s because teachers must choose between using their to help students apply to top universities or aiding students whose families face crises and rely on food banks.

I welcome Labour’s new policy to integrate private schools into the state network. I recognise that it will require great legislative determination and cultural change to work, but I believe it’s a needed step towards creating a system which is as blind as possible to the number in your parents’ bank account. Labour’s policy is so radical that, for many, taxing private schools is more appealing. Whether as a stepping-stone or a compromise position, we should do so.

Why are privately-educated individuals dominating the upper echelons of British society? It would be insulting to suggest that it was because they were just “born brighter” (let alone the near-eugenicist drivel coming from some commentators). Rather, it is because the short, exclusive ladder from private school to high-paid job is made of one thing: connections.

If the point of a private education is making those connections, then people are paying for a commodity, just like private health insurance. This commodity too should be taxed, with revenues directed towards state schools. It’s shocking that Eton has been subsidised to the tune of millions of pounds whilst other schools can’t afford new textbooks. Classifying private schools as charities is also unjustifiable. Charities are organisations that promote the common good.

Having a tiny elite dominating politics, law, journalism, and culture is definitely not in the interest of the British public. Look at the mess we’re in right now. The answer is simple. We must tax private schools, ring-fence the money for state schools, and create a state education system fit for the 21st century

Yusuf Hassan: No, there are unintended, expensive consequences

aising standards in state education requires investment. But the independent sector should be treated as a valuable resource – not the enemy.

Government austerity measures have failed to ringfence the education budget over the last decade. In England, nearly a third of local authority secondary schools are now in deficit. 90% of English secondary schools are cutting creative subjects. 40% of state sector teachers intend to quit the profession within five years. Shockingly, spending on adult education has almost halved since 2009. Much of this is attributed to cancelling entry level and level 1 courses, often taken by disabled learners and refugees.

This unsustainable situation requires action. One policy proposal that has recently gained traction is the idea of placing taxes on private education. This could be done by collecting full business rates, after stripping private schools of their charitable status. VAT could also be levied on school fees. The money raised would be funneled into state education.

This well-intentioned plan could have unintended consequences. Either option would inevitably increase the financial burden on parents paying for private education. This could lead to students quickly moving into the state sector, swelling class sizes and stretching already set budgets to breaking point. Smaller private schools, especially those serving families in the ‘squeezed-middle’, may not be able to absorb the pressure. Some schools could be forced to close, leaving staff jobless. As private schools generally have more staff per pupil, not all staff would conceivably find employment in the expanding state sector.

Astonishingly, the policy is expected to cost more money than it raises. Private schools classed as businesses rather than charities will be eligible for VAT recovery. In addition, the 600,000 students currently attending independent schools are estimated to save the government £3.5bn annually. External research suggests that in the policy’s fifth year, the Government will experience a net loss of £416m.

Instead of this, legislation could be introduced to mandate real partnership between the state and independent sectors. All private schools could be required to sponsor state schools. This is a workable plan behind highly successful sixth forms like the London Academy of Excellence (LAE). In a nutshell, this ideological plan to tax private education is misguided. Although the policy aims to enhance state education, in reality it would further destabilise an already struggling system.

Greggs comes to central Oxford

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In early September, news broke that Greggs was finally making its way to central Oxford after observers spotted job advertisements in OX1. As someone whose local high street boasts not one, but two Greggs, it’s been a long time coming. Back at school, there was no better place to stop and get a quick coffee on your walk there, or a doughnut on the walk back from half an hour spent half-heartedly playing Badminton at the local leisure centre for PE. Its sausage rolls, glazed doughnuts and chicken subs brought me joy and comfort for years. Yet it also harbours dark memories.

Yes, in sixth form I was briefly employed at Greggs, and having to wear a hairnet under a red cap and pretend I didn’t hate my life every time someone I knew from school walked in soon took its toll. The burns I got from forgetting not to touch hot trays full of pasties served as a painful reminder of the tragedy of now working at a place I had once loved so much.

After handing in my notice, I’ve been reluctant to go back out of shame for abandoning my disaffected coworkers. Yet even after a taste of suffering, when I arrived in Oxford last year, the new-found emptiness in my life soon became apparent.

So often have I entered Tesco to find no sausage rolls in their hot food cabinet. And what student even goes to Pret? Surely that’s somewhere people are forced to go to when stranded in central London in the middle of a day out. Greggs is somewhere you look forward to visiting, not somewhere that makes you feel guilty for buying a £6 baguette. Not only do they provide delicious pasties, they now sell the famous vegan sausage roll, along with sandwiches, salads, soups, and sweet pastries. It’s a range of variously unhealthy snacks and lunch offerings that is simply unmatched. Greggs is worthy of being the nation’s largest bakery chain, with 1,953 locations. So, where has it been?

Oxford seems to be behind the times when it comes to providing for students. The next-biggest scandal after there not being a Greggs in central Oxford has to be there not being a Wilko. While students everywhere else across the country have a cheap and easily accessible option for buying stationery supplies, kitchen utensils and homewares, we’re left with… Ryman? Or that shop in Westgate with clearance adverts plastered over every surface? It may be the cynic in me, but this seems like a class issue. When am I ever going to shop at Jack Wills? Why is it there?

This Michaelmas, I will be eagerly awaiting the opening of Greggs. As an ex-employee, and part of a friend group at home in which 3/5 of us either used to work at Greggs or work there now, I know from experience the effort that goes in to provide the wholesome, unhealthy comfort food Oxford’s students not only need, but truly deserve.

Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance Review

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Jim Henson was a master of entertainment: I’ll hear nothing to the contrary. The Muppets were a genuine delight and, no matter how much Oxford has ruined you, you know that’s true. No doubt you may also have seen the deliciously weird Labyrinth, complete with tight-clad David Bowie. Henson’s original 1982 Dark Crystal, however, seems always to have had less cultural traction: it’s a ‘cult-classic’ for sure but it was flawed even in Henson’s own eyes, and its praise and love in the public eye certainly don’t represent its groundbreaking nature.

Netflix’s decision to relaunch this IP, then, is perhaps surprising, but the swell of nostalgia that has so far surrounded it proves they might well be on the money. It’s a prequel rather than a remake, setting out to tread new ground (niftily escaping accusation of destroying childhoods). To be clear, it’s a great success: beautiful, binge-able and genuinely staggering. Its failings are evident, but really little more than splitting hairs.

You’d be hard-pressed to find a more star-studded cast than is drawn together here. Overall, they’re extremely good. Taron Egerton, as one of the show’s leads, does start off a tad wooden, but anyone who has seen the original Dark Crystal knows that this is in keeping with its spirit. Genuine gems shine through. Awkwafina steals scenes as always, and Eddie Izzard’s brief appearance is extremely funny.

At a whopping 10 hours the series is expansive, but also greedy. Apparently drawing on Henson’s wider plans and writing, there’s a genuine depth to the world.  It’s certainly not just fantasy copy-paste: while the early plot flirts with the predictable, there are some novel and exciting things at play here. Simultaneously, it’s effortlessly watchable. You don’t need to be a die-hard fan of the genre (read: as much of a colossal nerd as me) to lose yourself.

Now time for the criticism. It’s overly long, and consequently the plot meanders. I found myself, by episode 8 of 10, looking for some sense of conclusion. With the whispers of more content to come, could Netflix not have closed the book on a job well done, without stretching it thin?

It’s tonally that the issue of length really emerges. This is not a children’s show: Sesame Street it is not. The original was always praised for its dark and somber tone (if you saw it at all, it haunted your childhood nightmares), and here the prequel delivers in heaps. There are some genuinely shocking and upsetting scenes. Sure, it’s not exactly Tarantino, but be prepared for some surprises. Intertwined is perhaps a more traditional, soft tone (friendship is, after all, magic don’t-you-know), and some classic larger-than-life slapstick straight out of Henson’s playbook. This combination inevitably comes across as slightly odd. I suppose the critics will cry that this is the point, that the mix produces something both sweetly sincere and grippingly threatening. But for my money, the extraordinary length of the series causes too many flicks between tone. It’s all just a little bit jarring. Commit, as the series draws to a close, on which tone to side with.

The real victory here, however, is in form. Never have puppets looked so good, and so incredible believable. Of course there’s CGI at work here, but the meat of the show is effortlessly tangible. It’s a refreshing return to the cinema of real things, a move that Jackson and Weta Workshop championed then so ruthlessly abandoned (to universal criticism). We can only hope that Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance ushers in a new age of physical effects. Henson, I have no doubt, would be proud.

Nu Jazz – How it Began

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Although Nu Jazz has existed since the 1990’s, the current wave of Nu Jazz artists is emerging as a firm favourite among teenagers and young adults, particularly across Europe. Starting with musicians such as Finley Quaye -the son of Jazz musician Cab Quaye- the Nu Jazz movement represents a shift in musical taste whilst still honouring and respecting the legacies of the likes of Wynton Marsalis, Thelonious Monk and Dave Brubeck. Melodies and rhythms are being adapted and remixed into fresh new music produced by contemporary musicians such as Loyle Carner, Tom Misch and the London-based Nu Jazz band: The Ezra Collective.  

Nu Jazz, as it is often named, is a musical genre that incorporates aspects of various genres to create an innovative and refreshing approach to jazz, thus blurring the staunch conceptual lines of musical genre. Reggae beats, rapping and samba-style chord progressions are all present in Nu Jazz and can often be heard and appreciated in new releases. 

An abomination? I think not. Jazz puritans may claim that Nu Jazz provides the platform for temporary ‘one-hit wonders’ to corrupt the integrity and beauty of jazz in its original format and splendour. However, the evolutionary nature of the Nu Jazz movement demonstrates that these musicians don’t only recognise their roots in the greats that were contemporary to our grandparents’ teenage years, but also recognise the need for jazz to evolve to maintain its popularity among the youth of today.  

What’s more, the opening of new jazz clubs around the country – including Peggy’s Skylight in the Creative Quarter of Nottingham, illustrates the increased presence of jazz in people’s playlists. This means that rather than acting as a detriment to the integrity of jazz, Nu Jazz in fact provides jazz with a new musical platform and audience, expanding the reach and the richness of the genre; a phenomenon that in no way detracts from, and rather reinforces, the musical splendour and the listenability of jazz.  

Maintaining the presence of jazz in new music is crucial to keep the genre alive and current, whilst encouraging those who know little, if anything about the genre to delve into its richness. In this way, Nu Jazz acts as a portal for many who simply have no experience with jazz. 

While bands such as Koop are more readily associated with jazz in its traditional format, artists such as Le Club des Belugas, Bonobo and the Ezra Collective incorporate the sought-after rhythms of the present day including some Reggae drum beats which are particularly present in the Ezra Collective’s song: ‘Colonial Mentality’. Many Nu Jazz bands utilise this new format to explore political themes, mental health problems and the experience of adolescence; Loyle Carner also runs a charity called ‘Chili Con Carner’ that runs cookery classes for teenagers with ADHD. 

The reshaping of conventional jazz into Nu Jazz provides listeners with a fresh perspective on the jazz that many of us admire. In this way, Nu Jazz is a celebration of the jazz that has preceded it and a glimpse of what is yet to come.