Friday 18th July 2025
Blog Page 584

Sex, drugs and gender roles: Frank Turner’s historical concept album

Sam Millward
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Sex, drugs and gender roles: Frank Turner’s historical concept album

I often hope that those who attempt to play Frank Turner’s songs, on whatever instrument, struggle as much as I do. It is never really a question of the technical aspect, or rhythm, or forgetting the lyrics, but the overwhelming sense that a terrible injustice is occurring. You reach the end of the first verse (or you’ve already lost it by then), and have to witness the unending expansion of the chasm between the intended output and whatever sonic foolery has instead transpired. Any bedroom or music lesson rendition of a song from one of Turner’s eight studio albums strives in some way to replicate an energy and identity which, to even the cursory listener, is unmistakable, and for this very reason remains continually elusive. In looking through reviews of said albums, some modal descriptions appear and reappear: “intensely personal”, “sincere”, “earnest”. Whoever he may be, whatever he is saying, there seems to be a wide consensus that Turner says what he means, and sometimes problematically, means what he says. 

The latter part of this chiasmus rears its head in relevance almost exclusively in the fields of Turner’s politics and social background. The son of an investment banker, educated at Eton and grandson of a former BHS Chairman, any claims to proletarian roots or comments on the necessity of class struggle would have likely borne a short flight, before falling into accusations of hypocrisy and sceptical reflection on his upbringing. Yet, unlike many artists who inhabit the NME- jargon-styled semi-genre of “folk-punk”, Turner does not address left wing issues, or really many political talking points at all in his music. There are a few obvious exceptions from his early work (cf. ‘Thatcher Fucked the Kids’ on the EP Campfire Punkrock), but relationships, common human experiences and emotional struggle more frequently figure the subject matter of his balladry. There is a fairly simple reason for this. A lifelong Libertarian, Turner found that expressing his right wing views (collected and arranged into a suitably accusatory highlight reel here) met with nothing, but vitriol and condemnation. Commentators both musical and political, and even various Members of Parliament have jumped to deride his condemnation of the left, a leap I too feel compelled to make at times, but Turner consistently, if paradoxically, denies any engagement with the political sphere. 

As quoted in a 2012 article by his illustrious confrere in the folk scene, Billy Bragg (both a stalwart and vanguard of British protest music), Frank Turner has refused to align his self-expression with traditional definitions of political discourse. “No, it’s not [political]” he said. “It’s just me saying what I think”. Bragg himself goes on to assign this position the moniker of “post-ideological”, resistant to the vocabulary of a bygone era of cultural and counter revolution. Turner did not play on the picket lines and would therefore not stand by and watch their fading remnants divide his music from his beliefs. This is arguably a valid defence of his refusal to ‘bite’, when so often questioned about his ideological stances. Just as the anarchist movement refused to partake in the electoral politics of Billy Bragg’s youth, Turner refuses to implicate himself and his work within a discourse that he does not feel offers fitting vestments. Following in the footsteps of various artists before him, the voraciously well-read Turner tends not to chime in on the issues of the day, even if he does make broader comments that many would deem political; “There is no God…There never was no God” being perhaps the most incriminating refrain in this regard. 

Whether this is a clever and sensible extraction, or a retreat to a (conspicuously) ivory tower remains in our hands to judge. The combatant in me favours the latter, the pragmatist the former. 

However, my sophomoric attempts to perform Frank Turner’s music offer a natural illumination of another recent criticism. One that is not so easily evaded. As I mentioned in previous paragraphs, the most difficult hurdle to vault in playing Turner’s music, especially for fans and gig attendees, is the fallacy of replication. Taking the transcribed, castrated, notated husk and playing life back into sheet music is a doomed task from the start, if the endgame is some rough facsimile of a groggy Nambucca, Empire or Ally Pally- wherever you saw him last, whichever night had an energy whose half-life has aged in concert with your inclination to look up chords and tab. 

That is to say, we cannot avoid being present in the songs we play. Even if we take the roles of filters, prisms or translators, we still catch, scatter and reinterpret. The salience of this becomes clear in the discussion around No Man’s Land, Turner’s most recent album telling lesser known stories of women from throughout history, most of whom are of some cultural relevance to the artist. The 13 tracks all attempt to revitalise and reanimate the women they address, reigniting, in the folk tradition, the spirit of their music and hopefully ensuring the longevity of their stories. Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Godmother to Rock and Roll in the US, Egyptian feminist pioneer Huda Shaarawi, Catherine Blake and a mass grave of London prostitutes all feature on the latest record. 

Naturally, critical voices sprung from the ranks as soon as the subject matter became public knowledge. A white, cis gendered, successful male has produced a record to broadcast the voices of those whose stories were buried, burnt and eclipsed by white, cis gendered, successful males: discussion of this fact was necessary and inevitable. 

Quick to anticipate the reaction to the album, Turner has been inviting such discussion for a while, even releasing a blog post specifically addressing the potential controversy. I am eager to emphasise the potentiality here, as genuine outrage and condemnation seems to have been fairly minimal. In fact, the online discourse surrounding the album is far more centred around hypothetical discussions of theorised intention, and the assumed inevitability of a negative response from apparently unmentionable corners of the internet’s politicised communities. Such responses themselves are relatively thin on the ground. Kudos, perhaps, to Turner’s pre-emptive firefighting, as any inflammatory reactions seem to have burnt out before vinyl hit shelf. Although, this fireless affair does seem to have choked on a smokescreen of unfavourable reviews, emphatic of nothing except the mediocrity and lack of progression the record displays. 

I would not term this a departure from the previous idiosyncrasy of earlier releases, No Man’s Landdoes bear a consistent tone (thematically and lyrically, if not musically), but it is one more of superficiality, a reluctance to engage in more than a sweeping gesture or a perfunctory mention. In this way and despite his every intention, we might say Turner’s attitude towards political engagement has migrated to his music. No Man’s Land seems evasive, with normally insightful, illuminated lyrics making way for generic balladry and innocuous nods to landmark figures. For someone who is not usually afraid of the sweat and carnage of human experiences, Turner here favours pointing at the mountain from a distance, over the long climb. 

An avid historian, having studied the subject at LSE only fifteen or so years ago, he is eager to emphasise publicly that “The record is, first and foremost, a piece of story-telling – a history record, if you will, a pretty traditional folk approach.” No Man’s Landrelates to its listeners stories that have not been and are currently not being told anywhere else. A very commendable endeavour from an artist whose charitable involvement, dedication to the industry and very public desire to foster a bright future for music in the UK lend him nothing but credibility and integrity. But we cannot ignore the response to this claim, that historical significance and the necessity of telling forgotten stories are an easy shield to raise against accusations of tokenism, understatement, and in the most extreme, exploitation.

In a manner similar to the avoidance of political labels, designating a record as ‘historical’, may be interpreted as an attempt to try and exempt oneself from the contemporary political discourse, which in this case is unlikely to have been favourable to the race and gender dynamics present in the thirteen tracks of No Man’s Land. Despite his calls for discussion, Turner has arguably protected himself from the criticism he invites. Credited with the virtue of being the sole voice sounding the memories of these women, the argument that he has usurped stories which are not his to tell, in order to fuel a messianic folk- singer persona quickly fall away. There is a little merit in these accusations, mainly as the focal point of the album does still remain Frank Turner. Despite the female instrumentalists and producer, it is clearly a Frank Turner record, whose main showcase is the singing- song writing abilities of the named artist, something some may see as putting paid to his efforts to foreground the important figures the album features. 

Such accusations may hold water in some contexts, but I take issue with their purpose and direction. The current capital focus and identity driven nature of the music industry makes any form of immortalisation nigh on impossible, save for the few artists lucky enough to habitually sell platinum. In the previous paragraph, I mention how critics may condemn Turner for centring the record on his own musical efforts, using oppressed voices as a vehicle his own career progression, but I challenge any such naysayers to find me a modern record whose sole protagonist is not the artist or group who created it. 

If fault is found with No Man’s Land, it cannot be laid at Turner’s door. As he earnestly emphasises, very little money is to be made on selling an album of this form, and much effort has been made to convey the significance of the figures discussed, as well as to highlight and support women in music: the circumstances of production seem to spell good intentions.

Redemption, an excellent track on an earlier Turner album, is nigh for the artist, but No Man’s Land does also invite structural criticism. There is some greater fault, some wider injustice at play if these are the sole conditions under which the forgotten tales of such formative and ground-breaking women can surface. As Billy Bragg said of Turner’s reluctance to politicise his work “Who can blame him?”. This question, now bearing even more significance, does well to identify the extent to which such artistic output is a product of its environment and the conditions of its creation, both in terms of the critical and popular response, and the fact that the lone voice coming in aid of these fading legacies is one so readily comparable to the forces behind their original silencing. 

This album, akin to shoddy bedroom renditions of Frank Turner’s own work, will forever offer first the creator and then the subject matter; such is the immediacy of music. This detracts from neither the ethos behind the record or the vital and necessary criticisms of cultural privilege that No Man’s Land so forcibly demands. 

The Raft of Medusa: 200 Years of a Masterpiece

Olivia Hicks
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The Raft of Medusa: 200 Years of a Masterpiece

There are around 35,000 artworks in the Louvre, though of course nobody goes and sees them all. Or even anywhere close – most of us queue, check out the five or so things we’re there for, wander around a bit, then head off. Which pieces specifically will vary, person to person, but The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault is usually included: an oil painting of enormous proportions, which celebrated its 200th birthday on the 25th of last month.

The Raft of the Medusa was first exhibited at the Paris Salon of 1819, when Géricault was still relatively young (just twenty-seven). It’s a shipwreck scene, two pyramids of human figures, most dead, on a raft amid stormy waves. In the distance; a tiny ship, the small hope of rescue.

The painting was presented under the vague title ‘Scène de Naufrage’, but this fooled no-one; Géricault had quite clearly depicted the wreck of the French warship Méduse, which had run aground two years before. This caused murmurs and no small amount of controversy within the Academy, because the wreck of the Medusa was not a simple maritime accident – it was intensely political.

In 1816, shortly after the restoration of the French monarchy, France was preparing to take the port of Saint-Louis, in Senegal, from the British. The frigate Méduse set sail for the coast of Africa, carrying military men and their families, who would run the new colony. On the 2nd of July, she ran aground.

The Méduse hit the rock at high-tide and so couldn’t be re-floated. Passengers began to construct a sixty-foot life raft as a means of escape. When a storm threatened the integrity of the Méduse, 147 passengers climbed onto the raft: the plan was that the ships’ few lifeboats could tow the raft to shore. The lifeboat crews, however, worried that those on the raft would soon panic and start clambering onto the boats, overloading and overwhelming them. They cut the ties to the raft and sailed on to shore.

Things on the raft turned horrific pretty quickly. Thirst, suicide, drowning, murders, cannibalism. By the time the raft was found on the 17th of July, just fifteen men were still alive, and five died shortly after rescue.  The horrified response of the French people moved from a specific criticism of the incompetent captain, to a wider criticism of the Bourbon monarchy – the captain’s appointment was far more due to his monarchism than any of his seafaring capabilities. Géricault’s The Raft of the Medusa was more than a lament for the lost souls of the raft; it was targeted at the French establishment.

The Raft of the Medusa is so engaging because Géricault’s method was meticulous and morbid, to the point of the unhinged. If you are chilled by the deathly pallor of the corpses splayed across the raft, there is a reason why. He frequented the hospital morgue opposite his studio, he took limbs to his studio to copy, and acquired a severed head from a convict to do the same.

Géricault made himself as familiar as possible with the real events that inspired the masterpiece: he met with survivors of the raft, he read the published account of the wreck, he commissioned a carpenter of the Méduse to build a model of the raft in his studio. If it seems obsessive, well, it obviously worked: it’s very difficult to look at The Raft of the Medusa and deny it the centre-of-stage place it’s received in art history.

The painting is known as an example of French Romanticism, a monumental work early on in the movement, but the painting’s social and political influence is arguably just as strong. The Raft of the Medusa is often touted as an abolitionist piece – Géricault met with prominent British abolitionists when he toured The Raft of the Medusa here. When he died, aged only thirty-two, he was working on another monumental piece, titled The African Slave Trade. Géricault certainly draws attention to the black soldiers on the raft, focusing particularly on one black man, held aloft, waving desperately at the ship on the horizon. Of the final fifteen survivors of the raft, only one was black, though Géricault has painted three. Géricault’s inclusion of black figures in The Raft of the Medusa is intentional, significant.

There is a danger of oversimplification – abolitionism often sat alongside racist sentiments and didn’t necessarily entail anti-colonialism. But many have chosen to understand race in art through The Raft of the Medusa, and this has become an undeniable aspect of its legacy. Toni Morrison saw relationships of race, human movement, and despair in The Raft of The Medusa as part of her The Foreigner’s Home exhibition at the Louvre. The painting also features prominently in the music video for The Carters’ APESHIT, Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s takeover of the museum. Jay-Z casts an impressive figure in front of the painting, and the music video focuses on the detail of the black sailor waving his flag to the faraway ship.

While there is the temptation to view death at sea as belonging to a lost time, a Romantic, archaic way to die, this is of course not true. In fact, after just a moment’s consideration, the relevance of the Romantic masterpiece to the present is painfully obvious: the passengers who were safe in lifeboats, became convinced that they were threatened by those in peril, and their response was to condemn them to the sea rather than offer them the help they were more than able to offer. Banksy stencilled a miniature version of the Raft of the Medusa onto a wall in Calais in 2017, one of three works in direct protest of the handling of Syrian refugees in the French port.

A 200-year-old painting is never going to be a substitute for policy, but the age of Gericault’s work has in no way dimmed the empathy and horror The Raft of the Medusa imparts on its viewer. What art can do is remind us that this is a crisis of life: the they-are-human-ness of politicised disaster.

Intricate Designs: Stanley Kubrick at the Design Museum

Alice Robijns
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Intricate Designs: Stanley Kubrick at the Design Museum

Walking around the Stanley Kubrick exhibition at the London Design Museum in South Kensington, the overwhelming impression you get is of a man meticulous to a fault. Intricately planned schedules, hundreds of notecards of research and excruciating attention paid to the final edit of his films. Kubrick, for all his imagination and creativity for which his films are known, was truly a man of detailed planning and preparation. The exhibition provides a deep and insightful exploration into Kubrick’s now renowned films and the man himself.

The exhibition marks twenty years since Stanley Kubrick’s death and is the first time that the internationally acclaimed touring exhibition about his life and work is coming to Britain. This is only fitting since Kubrick worked and lived in Britain for forty years. Often cited as one of the most influential filmmakers in cinematic history, Kubrick was born in 1928 and raised in the Bronx in New York City. He first began work as a photographer for Look Magazine in the late 40s and early 50s which then evolved into making short films, and then his first major Hollywood film, The Killing in 1956. Evidently, this wasn’t a one-time foray into filmmaking for Kubrick, who went on to produce a number of now classics such as A Clockwork Orange (1971), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and The Shining (1980).

The exhibition starts with a room dedicated to Kubrick’s creative process. A demanding perfectionist, Kubrick asserted his vision and control over many aspects of the creative process. Kubrick’s attention to detail and fascination with all the aspects of stage design is evident from the beginning; the exhibition brings to the fore the in-depth detail he put into each of his projects. The exhibition features about 700 objects, films and interviews but a personal standout was the model of centrifuge-set that Kubrick had built for 2001: A Space Odyssey. Exquisite attention to detail for this set is clear (the actual set being 38 feet in diameter and 10 feet wide) even in just the model. My friend who accompanied me, he himself an engineer, was delighted at not only the detail but its conceivable functionality, explaining why the space travel in the film seems so possible. The juxtaposition of art and film with technical aspects of design and science was interesting to see since so often artists are portrayed as ‘bohemian’, lax creatives. Kubrick was far from this stereotype. Case in point, hundreds of notecards of research about Napoleon including what he ate and said, where and when. The exhibition shows this attention to detail was nigh on obsessive; the film about Napoleon was never actually made!

Moving through the next rooms of the exhibition, you walk through a series of rooms, each dedicated to one of Kubrick’s films. Now we see what Kubrick is so well known for: his innovation, creativity, and unique cinematography. Kubrick’s films spanned a variety of genres from Spartacus (1960) which tells the story of the real historical figure Spartacus and the events of the Third Sevile War to Lolita (1962), a controversial film after the Nabokov novel about an adult man courting a young girl. Fans of his films will be delighted by props included in the exhibition including helmets from Full Metal Jacket and parts of the space station set from 2001: A Space Odyssey. The exhibition also includes some short film excerpts so that people can familiarise themselves with pieces they don’t know. As his filmmaking progressed he ventured from realistic portrayal of events (e.g. Spartacus) to more surrealism. As Kubrick’s experience and status grew, Kubrick became more explorative with his ideas and the stories that he took on, which is evident as we move through the exhibition. His films are well known for their stunning visuals, often encapsulating the entire mood and atmosphere of the film and becoming famous beyond the film itself. A Clockwork Orange, for example, while controversial for its violent themes, had a very ardent following who took fashion inspiration from the costumes.

Super fans of his films will delight in the rooms dedicated to these films with many of the original props on display. It is interesting for any budding filmmaker or anyone interested in filmography to see how he worked. Evidently, his well-thought out plans and attention to detail is really what underpinned the success of his movies and allowed his extensive imagination to take shape in a way that has really stood the test of time.

See the exhibition at The Design Museum until 17th September.

Dark Trends: Sexy Sociopaths

William Atkinson
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Dark Trends: Sexy Sociopaths

Not for the first time, I blame Wuthering Heights.

I’m talking about the book, though I’m sure anyone who’s heard my rendition of the Kate Bush classic would say that’s pretty reproachable too. No, what I’m blaming on Emily Brontë’s iconic novel is something far more scandalous than my bad karaoke. I’d argue she started the current increasingly worrying fad of idolizing sociopaths and killers. She took the genie out of the bottle, and in the most terrifying way possible. She made them sexy.

Let’s back up a second. Google tells me a sociopath is a someone with an antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). Those with ASPDs can’t understand the feelings of others. That means they’ll often break rules or make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they might cause. From Sherlock’s titular character and his nemesis Moriarty, via the more worrying examples like Ted Bundy and Villanelle, pop culture in recent years has seen many sociopaths and killers that viewers have found fascinating – and fancyable. For that Brontë needs reprimanding.

Anyone can admit there’s something attractive about Heathcliff’s character. He’s an impassioned and mysterious loner that treats most people abysmally but still won’t let death keep him from the woman he loves. He’s obviously, blatantly, a villain. We really, really shouldn’t like him, let alone find him sexy. But people do. Maybe it’s sympathy for the unhappiness he’s suffered. Or maybe it’s because we find something inherently appealing in a talk, dark, handsome stranger who’s willing to break all the rules.

I’m not going to get into psychoanalysing a character from a book published 200 years ago. Brontë wasn’t representing a sociopath. She wasn’t going off a Wikipedia page of symptoms. She just wanted to write a bloody good book. But she created an archetype that appealed enough to readers that it hasn’t gone away since. As we’ve learnt more and more about the confusing grey splodge of the human mind, we’ve uncovered more and more of what makes sociopaths tick. As such, they’ve increasingly inhabited that attractive idiosyncratic loner role in our popular imagination. That’s a much more worrying legacy than inspiring a song by Kate Bush.

Why do people find sociopaths appealing? Psychologists suggest it’s because they have skills and abilities that today’s society needs. They’re fearless, confident and charming. James Bond would certainly be one (well, probably not Roger Moore). Don’t we all want to be a bit like that? Confident and charming, I mean, not Roger Moore. I can’t count how many times as a bookish teenager I wished I could be as clever as Sherlock, or effortlessly charming as James Bond. Sociopathic qualities aren’t necessarily a bad thing. You need that drive in leaders, whether in politics or business. The ability to stand up and go against the grain is what enables people to push boundaries and challenge received wisdom. We’d be in a poorer world without sociopaths.

But it’s when we come to the contemporary fascination with monsters like Ted Bundy that this attraction becomes not only worrying but deeply disturbing. From the young women who once swooned over him at his trial to the legions of male and female devotees and the ever-growing number of true crime series about him and others like him, there’s something about his ilk that many just can’t turn away from.  His nightmarish story has the same appeal of Heathcliff, Sherlock and Bond but twisted to the most terrifying degree. Like the Joker in his upcoming titular film, killers like him represent what people could do if they totally rejected the constraints of normal society. There’s a dark part of all of us that wishes we could do that; every time we wish we had a bit more power or charm. So, we can understand why people find these figures appealing. But they should still be horrified that they do.

What figures like Bundy show us is why we should wish we never do. Misquoting a childhood hero of mine, our idols shouldn’t just be those who aren’t scared, nervous or shy. It should be characters who are all that but do the right thing anyway. Give us the Atticus Finches of the world, over Ted Bundy, any day.

A Hiatus for Fantasy?

Sofía Sanabria de Felipe
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A Hiatus for Fantasy?

May 19th 2019. It’s 1.45 AM. A room full of comfortable chairs, a pool table, and most importantly, a projector and screen. No people in sight. 15 minutes later, the scene changes. A group of young students – all dressed in comfy pyjamas—sit crowding around the screen. Red, Gold, Black and Grey banners flood the scene as their porters frantically highlight the superiority of their house. The topic of conversation? None other than the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the culmination of George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy trilogy turned Award Winning, HBO TV series Game of Thrones. An hour and twenty minutes later, the room goes back to its original state. A lonely House Lannister banner has been left behind. With three beeps the projector finally turns itself off. No more fighting. No more fire breathing dragons, favourite characters left to die, or, arguably, tears left to cry. The War is over, the Iron Throne has been occupied by a — seemingly stable– government at last. The tale has been told, and with no new book in sight, one is left to wonder: is this the end of Westeros?

Or, worse, is this the end of fantasy in our lives?

The 21st century has borne witness to a number of fantasy booksellers and blockbusters. Current twenty-year olds grew up watching adaptations of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth adventures on the Big Screen, reading Rowling’s Hogwarts shenanigans and dreaming of getting lost in Lewis’ Narnia. The last Harry Potter book, however, came out in 2008, it’s two-part movie adaption in 2011. There have been no sign of Frodo, Bilbo, Sam or Legolas on movie billboards since 2014, and don’t even get me started on the last time I heard anyone discuss the Pevensie siblings. I must have been sporting a Spanish football t-shirt, glued to my family TV, celebrating the World Cup championship result. Martin’s world seemed to be the last pawn standing, a sprinkle of fantasy in the dystopian-obsessed late 2010s. And now it too is over.

Only, not really. The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring are still a work in progress, fantasy is not, as of yet, fully dead. No. Never. Fantasy is, perhaps, merely on…on…hiatus?

I know what you are probably thinking. Another fantasy geek. Refusing to let go. Refusing to acknowledge that the fantasy genre just isn’t a “thing” anymore, it’s no longer “cool” or “in”. But let me ask you something…when was it ever like that?

Fantasy, not unlike science-fiction, has never been regarded as “hip”, or “high school jock” type of cool. People have been mocked, ridiculed and shunned for scribbling spells in their science text books, walking around speaking Elvish or deciding to stay in and go on a mad, D & D quest instead of partying. So, when asked if fantasy is dying out, if it’s suddenly out of fashion, coincidently shortly after the end of Thrones, one cannot help but wonder… do we actually know how the fantasy genre works, what it’s all about?

Fantasy was never about infamous spoilers, feeds filled with memes and expensive TV subscriptions. The Technological Revolution and the Social Media world we live in have incorporated these aspects into the genre, but don’t be deceived by these mainstream developments. Fantasy, after all, has always been about going beyond, exploring extraordinary worlds that differ from ours, and yet still feel like home. And that is something a lack of episodes, or even new books, will never be able to change.

As we speak, over 700 different stories under the generic “fantasy” tag, are being published on Wattpad, one of Internet’s community of online readers, writers and self-publishers. Another 1,650 under “vampire”, “werewolf”, “magic” and “adventures”. If that wasn’t enough, CNBC published an article on March 16th 2019 highlighting a dramatic increase in the sales of D&D merchandise, doubling every year for the last five. Let’s not forget the number of publications made in non-anglophone countries belonging to this genre, something perhaps Hollywood hasn’t been fond of sharing but is, nonetheless, of major relevance in an evaluation of its livelihood. Fans, as always, are taking good care of it, making the best out of the advantages this mediatised world has given it.

Maybe I am too much of a geek. Maybe I’ve romanticised those worlds too much. Maybe there was never more to them than ink blobs in the shape of letters on a page, or flashy battles on TV. But something tells me that isn’t quite right. Something tells me that while those books are still being checked out of libraries, while people still get into heated conversations discussing Frodo’s utter incompetence, tear up at the mention of Dobby The House Elf, and condemn whoever made the decision to exclude Hermione’s activism from the movies, fantasy as a genre will be far from over. No, the point of those stories was to lay the ground work for extraordinary worlds and tales to be narrated and felt by millions all over the world. And that they have accomplished, and will continue to do so, long after George R. R Martin types the final word of his Dream of Spring. Until then, for critics out there, far from “dying”, they might consider fantasy’s status as, if “alive” and “strong as ever” does not please them, on hiatus.

Mary Quant: a fashion revolution

Georgia Corrigan
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Mary Quant: a fashion revolution

The eponymous popularity of the Victoria and Albert Museum’s sell-out exhibition, Christian Dior: Designer of Dreams, needs little explanation. The escapist splendour of Dior’s dresses and the ethereal showrooms, which feature ceilings gloriously adorned with billowing blossom petals and a dimly lit hall-of-mirrors evocation for the evening wear pieces, conjure the mood of escape that the designer cultivated in his collections. His joyful and fantastical sartorial creations incarnate themselves as a stark contrast to the horrors of the second world war, (his sister, Catherine Dior, survived imprisonment in a concentration camp), and even his copious use of fabric broke free from the necessarily restrictive nature of war-time rationing. Though no world war is raging today, modern visitors can perhaps similarly appreciate a magical escape into the designer’s visual world of pure beauty and unreality, a momentary flight from the political turmoil of pre-Brexit Britain.  

However, much less covered is the V & A’s smaller Mary Quant exhibition, displaying the 1960’s designer’s mass-produced, affordable, short-hemlined pieces for the young working woman who wants wear fashionable clothes that let her move freely. While Dior draws on visions of the ‘other place’ for his inspiration (looking to the visual cultures of Mexico, Japan, China, Egypt and Renaissance France, as well as the female deities of Ancient Greece), Quant brought fashion away from the fantasy of femininity evoked in haute couture, and back to the real woman living, working, breathing in her clothes. Escape is still an integral part of Dior’s rhetoric, the 2015 advert for Miss Dior perfume features Natalie Portman running away from her own wedding. But breaking free is an integral element of fashion design in general, and Mary Quant is no exception; the difference is that her clothes embody an inverse escapism, escape from the escapism of Dior’s fantastical imaginary world of the idealised feminine. While Dior designed for the likes of Princess Margaret (who herself could also be seen as escaping the constraints of royal propriety), Quant designed for the real woman who is condemned to (or free to?) live in the real world.

During my time at the London College of Fashion on a summer course in Fashion Design, I could not help but notice the stories of escape that broke through in the design work of many of the members of our international group. From using clothes to break free from the allegedly constrictive atmosphere of Japanese social behaviour, or playing with the expectations of modesty in female dress in Malaysia, to drawing on fantasy narratives of female runaways from 19th century literature, escapism, even if unintentional, framed much of our artistic expression.

In response to a 1966 male interviewer who asked her if many girls had enough ‘panache’ to carry off one of her miniskirts ‘majestically’, Quant perplexedly replies ‘But who wants to be majestic?’. If Dior runs away from the harsh realities of a war-torn world, Quant runs away in turn from the fantasy of femininity he created. When Yves Saint Laurent became creative director of Dior the designs almost become what one could imagine to be what you would get if you mixed Dior and Mary Quant together: shorter hemlines and trendier cuts but retaining Dior’s regal elegance. It could be said that Saint Laurent’s fashion philosophy was closer to that of Quant; he claimed fashion ‘has to help people to play’, Quant makes fashion a game to play in the world, not a place to escape from it. She escapes from the imaginative function of fashion and breaks free, instead, into the real world.

The Dangers of Disney+

Louis Rabinowitz
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The Dangers of Disney+

For the past few years, the same small collection of streaming services has vied for the attention of UK viewers; Netflix as the default choice, Amazon Prime Video as the alternative, and a handful of other, smaller options of less notoriety. But things are set to change rapidly in the coming months, as practically every big media company will pitch their own tent in an increasingly competitive media landscape. Warner Bros. has HBO Max, Apple has Apple TV+, and NBCUniversal will have… NBC Universal. Yet it’s hard to ignore the effort most likely to take a stab at Netflix’s pole position; Disney+.

Disney has spent the last couple of decades steadily accruing a massive stake in the entertainment industry by buying up mega-companies like Pixar, Marvel and Lucasfilm, and Disney+ looks set to be a monument to its now-unstoppable success. They’ve leveraged what seems like property of remote notoriety under their ownership for a slate of both original content that looks like it’ll dwarf any competitor. No fewer than seven Marvel TV shows are on tap; and unlike the segregated efforts of Daredevil and co over on Netflix, these will star favourites from the movies like Loki and Scarlet Witch, as well as much-loved characters from the obscurities of the comics such as She-Hulk and Ms. Marvel. The same treatment will apply for Star Wars – the first on the slate, The Mandalorian, will drop at launch and, from the looks of the trailer, has the same glitzy special effects and star-studded cast of the big-screen entries, and it was recently confirmed that Ewan McGregor will be back as Obi-Wan Kenobi for another series – and an assortment of characters from the beloved Pixar roster.

And that’s just for original content. Disney+ will also be home to practically the whole classic Disney library – and, in a move that would have seemed completely baffling before Disney snapped up 20th Century Fox, it’ll be the streaming home for every episode of The Simpsons. It’s a hugely impressive package, backed by a seemingly limitless pot of money, and available for a reasonable price of $7 a month on launch (so probably about £6 when it eventually comes down the pike for the UK). Apple TV+’s offer of a handful of untested original shows, or even the dwindling slate offered by Netflix, who will lose rights to the Friends and The Office when the new streaming services kick in, doesn’t seem all that appealing by contrast.

Unfortunately, not a lot that Disney does these days can be viewed in isolation. They’re an industry behemoth whose influence, with the Fox merger, now seems monopolistic; five of the top six highest-grossing movies this year belong to them, with new Frozen and Star Wars near-certain to join the ranks this winter. Some might argue that this isn’t anything sinister, but rather a reflection of Disney’s ability to make better and more appealing movies than its competitors, and there’s certainly some merit to that; Avengers: Endgame and Toy Story 4 have been two of the most satisfying cinema experiences I’ve had this year. But both those properties came under Disney’s stewardship because of record-breaking acquisition deals; ones which other studios, self-evidently, simply didn’t have the resources to strike. And there’s another pair of billion-dollar successes from this year that bear further examination; the remakes of The Lion King and Aladdin. Plenty of critics and fans have decried Disney’s new strategies of taking their old animated classics and giving them a reskin in live-action form, with few (if any, in the case of The Lion King) substantive narrative changes. Disney didn’t attempt to make viewers forget the old versions in order to enjoy the new – the marketing strategy for their remakes is built upon cultivating nostalgia for those childhood classics, and then loyally reproducing them in full. It’s not as if this is a wholly creatively bankrupt exercise, because the classics are full of antiquated gender roles or racial stereotyping that a modern version can fix or even choose to scrutinise through a more modern and progressive lens. But it’s certainly the case that Disney has proven that it doesn’t need a great deal of new or original ideas to fill their coffers; the ones they’ve already come up with, or those under their ownership, are more than enough. That philosophy is just as true for the ‘original’ series set to hit Disney+ – one of which is titled, maybe ingeniously, High School Musical: The Musical: The Series. It’s open to parody, but nostalgia sells like few other things.

While it’s a smaller issue, there’s also the slippery nature of streaming content itself. Millions of customers have abandoned physical media such as DVDs in favour of the multitude of more convenient options for downloading or streaming films and shows online. But as streaming has come to dwarf physical media, some genuine issues have come to light. For one, because streaming content exists in the cloud, it’s completely malleable; if a company wants to amend one of their films, or if a streaming licence has expired, it’s just one click of a button. All control is in the hands of the company rather than the consumer, and the content available is subject to change at any moment. As Disney+ is set to be Disney’s main ‘vault’ for all of its properties rather than physical media, with Disney having ended deals with Netflix and the like for their content to be available elsewhere, that means that viewers will only have access to a library which Disney has sanctioned as appropriate for 2019, as opposed to the more straightforward sense of ownership granted by physical media. This is an endemic to streaming, and most consumers have happily accepted that they don’t really own content in the same way anymore; but when Disney’s massive influence and very specific brand vision is taken into account, it’s a concerning step forwards. We’ve seen some of these concerns manifested already, with cinemas in the US reporting that Disney have elected to stop sending out prints of classic 20th Century Fox movies such as Die Hard for screenings, in order to prioritise films more readily identifiable as ‘Disney’.

There’s a lot to be excited about with regards to Disney+, in how it looks set to blur the boundaries between film and TV more than ever before, and the sheer wealth of resources dedicated to it. But it’s also a testament to Disney’s firm status as the biggest and most influential force in entertainment today, and its willingness to leverage that status to get anything it wants for its properties, and as such, should certainly be viewed with caution as it launches across the world over the next year or so.

Why a No-Deal Brexit could mean the end of British Film

Charlotte Hall
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Why a No-Deal Brexit could mean the end of British Film

“Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a f*cking big television.” 

Trainspotting: Real black comedy, grime, visual experimentation, tackling difficult subject matter with creative force and cutting wit, and above all else, an against-the-grain counterpoint to the relentless optimism of Hollywood blockbusters. To me that encapsulates the spirit of independent British cinema and TV; scenes to remember, scenes to rebel.

But it’s independent British films that have the most to fear in the looming shadow of a no-deal Brexit. Most people working in the film industry voted against leaving altogether – why? Because the European Union massively supports creative industries in a way that our government alone either can’t or won’t. 

For now, our film industry is doing well. In fact, it’s booming. Gordon Brown’s 2005 tax reliefs have made our little island into one of the top choices for international partnerships in film. Investments into studio expansion have paid off; in the last two years production spend has been at an all-time high. The tax reliefs mean companies can reclaim up to 25% of their spending so long as their project passes a cultural test. Generally, this means having a crew or cast with a portion of British or EEA nationals and spending over 10% of the total budget in Britain, for example in local studios. This is an attractive offer for production firms of all sizes, from the American bigwigs to small cross-cultural projects within the EU. Add to this a recent resurgence of the quirky British cult film and new sources of revenue like streaming sites such as Netflix, and there you have it: a financial and cultural boom. 

The government has promised to keep the tax reliefs in place post-Brexit, with or without a deal. So, what’s the problem? 

Free Movement of People

The film industry benefits immeasurably from the conveniences of EU membership, often in ways that are not immediately obvious and make the lengthy endeavour of filmmaking that much easier and more cost-effective. One of these benefits is the free movement of people across borders. 

In August Boris Johnson insisted that this free movement of labour will end with the Brexit deadline. Leaving aside exactly how he expects to implement this disastrous policy, this could be seriously bad news for our films. A huge portion of the workers on productions in the UK are EU nationals, from the construction teams building complex sets to the highly skilled animators that bring worlds and their creatures to life. In a statement in 2017, Lord Puttnam, producer of titles like Bugsy Malone and The Killing Fields and member of the house of lords, highlighted that of the 25,000 people employed by visual effects and animation departments “between 31% and 35% are EU nationals, and a further 12% are from non-EU countries.” Making it more difficult for Europeans to take these jobs won’t “free up” positions for British animators either: our education system lags notoriously behind in the push for STEAM skills and has consistently failed to invest in the advancement of special effects. There are simply not enough people skilled enough to take over and there is no coherent plan in place to address this deficit going forward. 

In the words of the British Film Institute, who commissioned this research project directly after the referendum, “abolishing free movement risks not only eroding the available pool of staff and talent across the industry, but would also adversely impact the highly skilled activities in VFX, post production, animation and video games.” 

Add to that the costs, complexity and logistical nightmare of acquiring visas for a full film crew and cast when filming in European locations – think James Bond bombing it down a beautiful mountain track in Siena –  and it’s easy to see why people are worried. 

Free Movement of Goods

Equally, the cost of transporting all the required equipment between countries, currently an easy and affordable undertaking thanks to the free movement of goods, will definitely go up in the case of no-deal Brexit. More costs, especially previously avoidable ones, are not good for any industry.

Similarly, the transferral of data is relatively straight-forward and cheap within the EU. In a no deal situation however, this would no longer be this case and in the globalised, internet driven world in which we live this could have a catastrophic impact across the board. When I contacted Margot James, the previous Minister of State for Digital and Creative Industries, she stated that “Data transfers between the UK and other member states are more substantial than even manufacturing exports. If we leave without a deal smooth data transfers will be at risk and this will affect the creative industries.” Data transferral is an indispensable part of modern global business and more industries than film will suffer from this change in particular.

Investment

Whilst the aforementioned complications would affect the whole of the screen sector, it’s nevertheless likely that big corporations, like American giants Warner Bros, Disney, Universal Pictures and, according to recent conjecture, the state-owned Chinese film industry, will continue to be attracted to the tax arrangement in the UK. Big companies can afford to pay the extra costs and outsource jobs internationally where skills and employees are lacking. But it will make it very difficult (not to say impossible) for smaller productions.

So, what gets lost? Ironically, British Film.  

Independent productions especially but production firms generally receive an admirable chunk of their funding from EU investments. Organizations like Creative Europe were founded by the Union to invest in creative sectors across the continent and encourage cultural projects. The King’s Speech, for example, almost never happened due to underfunding, until it received over £1million in EU money. 

And losing that funding means more than missing out on a few indie films. It could be crippling for the long-term future of the industry. “This kind of funding allows productions to take creative risks,” says Nick Hall, a Manchester film school graduate and free-lance assistant art director “in the context of a no deal exit from the EU those will become too big of a financial risk and would mean the cultural relevance of UK filmmaking would suffer.” Because in a world where only big, established corporations can afford to make films, the next generation of filmmakers is left with no way to develop themselves. “There’s nowhere for aspiring directors and producers to cut their teeth. You just don’t get entrusted with million-dollar budgets based on directing a few student films.” 

Christoph Jankowski, the Head of Culture for Creative Europe’s UK desk, pointed out in a recent interview that the HM Treasury had previously offered to replace any immediate funding for projects selected by the EU. Yet the reactionary and changeable nature of the new Conservative party as well as their historical reluctance to support independent British cinema doesn’t make the fulfilment of such promises seem particularly likely. And if Margot James is right that “overall the sector will be less affected by Brexit, with or without a deal, than manufacturing and farming,” then even if labour wins, what kind of priority does film take in opposition to farming and fishing subsidies?

The Verdict

Brexit in general, but especially a no-deal Brexit, will in all likelihood financially cripple independent film. If not in the short term (though very likely in the short term too), it will have carry-on effects on the next generation of filmmakers. We’ll lose access to a whole host of advantages, from funding to skilled experts, without which it’ll be hard to even get the ball rolling on a lot of projects.   

It’s not to say big production corporations don’t produce good films, but they rarely capture the unique voice of British TV created in our independent productions. For the sake of the well-knowns like LGBTQ+ staple Pride or sleeper-hit Slumdog Millionaire to the hundreds of smaller productions that made our favourite directors, actors, special effects artists, etc into what they are today, we need to find a way to ensure the future of our home-grown film industry. 

We don’t want big f*cking television. We want our independent films. 

Balliol students launch petition to bar PM from college premises

Luke Dunne
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Balliol students launch petition to bar PM from college premises

Balliol students today launched a petition to disavow the Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, an alumnus of the college.

The petition argues that Johnson’s recent prorogation of parliament is ‘effectively a political coup’ and ‘has seriously undermined democracy’.

The petition then calls on the college to publicly disavow Johnson, with measures including a ban on Johnson entering college grounds, a ban on displaying ‘depictions of or tributes to Boris’ and a suspension of his ‘alumni status and any benefits that may entail.

At the time of writing, the petition has 138 signatures.

The full petition is given below:

“Prime Minister Boris Johnson is a former student of Balliol College, Oxford. With his parliamentary shutdown, effectively a political coup, Johnson has seriously undermined democracy in the United Kingdom. Despite the far-reaching and devastating implications of a no-deal Brexit for many of its students and members of staff, Balliol College has yet to condemn his actions.

“With this petition, we hope to show the College that many of its members are appalled by these actions, and to call upon it to publicly disavow Boris Johnson insofar as:

“1) Boris Johnson should be prevented from attending any Balliol College events, and from entering College grounds;

“2) Depictions of or tributes to Boris Johnson, such as portraits, should not be commissioned or displayed on College premises;

“3) His alumni status and any benefits that that may entail should be suspended with immediate effect.

“Balliol College’s student body has consistently demonstrated its commitment to democratic values. We call upon its members to sign this petition in order to to put pressure on College administration to take definitive action in this matter. Please sign this petition, and share it widely. Thank you.”

One of the authors of the petition, Balliol student Andrew MacGowan, told Cherwell: “Nobody voted for the no-deal policy Boris is attempting to force through with his October 31st deadline, and he hasn’t offered any concrete evidence of progress in Brussels. The leak of Operation Yellowhammer details the economic devastation that would result from a no-deal Brexit.”

He continued: “A bomb went off near the Irish border 3 weeks ago; we’ve had enough. The petition is a joint effort between Balliol JCR and MCR members to make it known that Boris does not speak for us, the Bullingdon club is evidently not a political education, and to paraphrase Churchill, that Britain will not ‘give in’.”

A spokesperson for Our Future Our Choice told Cherwell: “Boris Johnson has disgraced the office of Prime Minister. His mandate comes from 0.14% of the electorate, and to force a No-Deal Brexit upon the UK by proroguing Parliament is deeply concerning and profoundly undemocratic. The public deserve to be consulted in the form of a referendum with clearly defined options, which should include our current deal with the EU.”

Balliol and the office of the Prime Minister have been contacted for comment.

This article was originally published on Medium.

Counter homelessness initiative launched in South Oxfordshire

Luke Dunne
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Counter homelessness initiative launched in South Oxfordshire

Soha House are jointly funding the ‘Housing First’ project with South Oxford District Council, which focuses on providing housing for homeless people with complex needs. Six homes are being provided in the ‘pilot’ stage of the initiative.

Soha House is one of the largest housing associations in the country when measured by growth and has over 6,700 homes in Oxfordshire alone. 

Aspire Oxford, a homelessness support charity, are also working with SODC and Soha House on the project. Their Chief Executive Officer Paul Roberts told Cherwell, “Aspire are delighted to be working in partnership with Soha Housing and SODC to deliver this Housing First project.”

“We applaud Soha Housing and SODC for showing leadership by piloting this model in partnership with Aspire, and hope that other housing associations will emulate this approach in their areas across Oxfordshire.”

“Aspire will be providing intensive, wrap-around support to former rough sleepers with complex needs, which allows them to make significant, positive changes to their lives. The Housing First approach is a vital way forward in tackling our community’s growing homeless crisis and we look forward to working in partnership with Soha Housing and SODC as the project develops.”

Director of Services and Communities at Soha Maureen Adams said, “Soha is committed to working in partnership with SODC to tackle homelessness. Our residents are fully behind this project and want to see us make a difference in their locality.”

When asked about the potential for expanding the project, Ms Adams said, “Soha is undertaking an independent evaluation on the findings of the project so that it can warrant additional support and be rolled out with partners in other locations”. 

Councillor David Rouane, cabinet member for South Oxfordshire District Council, said, “South Oxfordshire District Council is delighted to be working with Soha and Aspire to help some of the district’s most vulnerable residents.  Housing First provides a stable, supportive environment for former rough sleepers to rebuild their lives”. 

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