Saturday, May 24, 2025
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Catz mourns Master’s passing

Cherwell News
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Catz mourns Master’s passing

Master of St Catherine’s College, Professor Roger Ainsworth, has passed away following what the College called “a short battle with cancer.”

The College will be flying their flag at half-mast as a token of respect to the Professor.

Professor Ainsworth became Master of the College in 2002, having been a Tutorial Fellow in Engineering since 1985. During his time at the College, he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Aeronautical Society and a Fellow of the Learned Society of Wales. He also fostered connections with Denmark, which saw him being appointed a Knight of the Order of Dannebrog by HM the Queen of Denmark in 2005.

Closer to home, the Professor served as a Pro-Vice-Chancellor from 2003 and supervised a £750 million building programme as Chair of the University’s Building Committee.

He was originally both an undergraduate and graduate at Jesus, and became an Honorary Fellow of the College in 2002.

A spokesperson for St Catherine’s said: “During his time as Master, Professor Ainsworth presided over an immense amount of change at St Catherine’s, with thousands of students coming and going during his tenure. His dedication and commitment to ensuring that St Catherine’s remains a welcoming college and a remarkable environment in which to live, work, and study was extraordinary. He will be sorely missed by students and colleagues alike.”

The Vice-Master, Professor Penny Handford, said: “The entire College community is deeply indebted to Roger for his loyal friendship, his outstanding leadership, and his immense contribution to the advancement of St Catherine’s College. He will be greatly missed and we will continue to honour the tremendous impact he has had on our community. In the meantime, as Roger himself said, the College must march forward together.”

Well-wishers can sign the book of condolences at St Catherine’s College Porters’ Lodge, and messages for the family are being received at ww.stcatz.ox.ac.uk/roger-ainsworth/.

Details of a memorial service will be announced in due course.

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Review: Velvet Buzzsaw – “rebellion of art against the pretentious world”

Andrew Hallam
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Review: Velvet Buzzsaw – “rebellion of art against the pretentious world”

In Velvet Buzzsaw director Dan Gilroy teams up with the leads from his directorial debut Nightcrawler. Whilst Nightcrawler set out to condemn local news television this time he casts an unfavourable judgement on the world of high art.

Morf Vendewalt (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a vain and pompous art critic with the mythical illusory power to make or break exhibitions and careers with his words. Meanwhile, Rene Russo plays Rhodora Haze, a cold and powerful art dealer. The film centres around Haze’s protégé and Vendewalt’s love interest Josephina (Zawe Ashton) finding a collection of paintings after a man in her building dies. Against the wishes of the departed the paintings are not destroyed and are instead sold to the highest bidder. That is until they kill anyone who was seeking to profit from them.

The horror aspect of this film was done well. In many horror films, the victims are complicit in their own deaths, failing to take even basic precautions to ensure their own safety. There was none of that here as victims were either taken by complete surprise or killed despite concerted efforts to escape. The rational behaviour of the victims evokes greater fear as unlike other horror films, the audience are similarly unable to identify a route to survival.

The film is a successful satire of the behaviour of those around high art. The scene where a dead body is mistaken for an installation and children are allowed to play in the blood is an exaggerated statement of the film’s essential ideas. People so detached from reality that they cannot differentiate a dead body from an art instillation. In the aftermath, attendance to the other parts of the exhibit soars. To the people of the art world, death incites a perverse curiosity. This disconnect from reality is again highlighted in one of the films deliberate laughs when an art dealer stops at a pile of bin bags astonished with their beauty only to be informed by the artist that it is indeed just trash.

The rebellion of art against the pretentious world in which it is forced to live is seen throughout the film. The art enacts revenge on those who lack integrity and have exploited it for their own greed. It is not just Dease’s paintings which are killing – characters are attacked by any art installation around them, including a twenty-year-old tattoo. At the end of the film the art appears to be content with being sold on a street corner for five dollars. That the art chooses to be sold in an unassuming manner to ordinary people serves to reinforce that high art profiteers were the target of its contempt. The attractiveness of the colours that kill Josephina shows us there is some beauty, or at least justice, in these deaths.

Velvet Buzzsaw conveys a clear distaste for the people who operate around high art. Satire is used particularly well to this effect. Nonetheless, the movie struggles to find its rhythm.

Early on it has a slow and unspectacular build up; it’s forty minutes until anything supernatural happens. Then, the main three characters die in a dozen minute killing spree at the end. In light of this, the film feels rushed, and the storyline truncated. Despite its flaws Velvet Buzzsaw is a fun and thought-provoking film and ultimately two hours well spent.

Review: Kinky Boots – ‘a poignant message amongst the glitter and glamour’

Maxim Mower
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Review: Kinky Boots – ‘a poignant message amongst the glitter and glamour’

Introspective, pained, gritty – these are the adjectives that are often bandied around nowadays in praise of new hard-hitting, meditative plays. The world seems to be getting more and more serious, and our arts, serving to some extent as a reflection of reality, have naturally started heading down the same gloomy route.

But who says the theatre can’t be thought-provoking and fun? The cast and crew of Kinky Boots certainly don’t. This production is jam-packed with show-stopping numbers, rip-roaring dance sequences and, of course, glitter and glamour galore. The plot follows the life of Charlie Price (Joel Harper-Jackson), the son of a Northampton shoe factory owner, as his attempts to break away from his family’s legacy are complicated by tragedy. He is abruptly thrown into the deep end in being appointed the factory’s reluctant new boss, and is eventually faced with the choice between an easy but lucrative escape, and a bejewelled moonshot that could save the business.

The first act soars by, the songs combining melody and meaning perfectly, with ‘Take What You Got’, ‘Everybody Say Yeah’ and ‘The History of Wrong Guys’ all fitting the Disney, or The Greatest Showman, mould that is currently in such a purple patch. Joel Harper-Jackson and Kayi Ushe provide stunning vocals, their on-stage chemistry elevating the production with every twist and turn. The latter adorns ‘Land of Lola’ with triumphant sass and charm, but then reduces the self-assured strut to an anxious tip-toe in the most moving moment of the play, a duet with Harper-Jackson on ‘Not My Father’s Son’. It would have been easy to overdramatise the part of Lola, but Ushe carries the persona with elegance, lacing each line with the acerbic wit and charisma that makes the character such a crowd favourite.

The humour that pervades the plot is well judged throughout, perhaps pushing the line a little too much in its stereotyping of transvestites as less sophisticated than drag acts, but generally giving the audience plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. Act two is just as effervescent as the first, with Harper-Jackson leaping from scene to scene with the energy and stamina of a Jack Russell terrier. His buoyancy matches the breakneck pace of the plot, keeping us invested in the story, yet the play benefits from the respite offered by the aforementioned low lights of ‘Not My Father’s Son’. The momentum is then built back up, before reaching boiling point when Charlie finally cracks on the heart-rending ‘Soul of a Man’, emphasising the versatility of Harper-Jackson’s performance.

The staging is slick, with the pizzazz being tempered by inventive lighting, particularly during the slow-mo boxing match between Lola and Dan, preventing the glitz from sliding into tackiness. The costumes are, of course, unforgettable, with the runway finale being the cherry on top of an already rich and extravagant cake. There are moments where the plot jumps a little too suddenly from harmony to sharp divisions in the factory, and back again. Equally, some of the songs feel a tad twee, and more High School Musical than The Greatest Showman. But make no mistake, this play is full of feel-good fun, sugarcoating a poignant message. When Lola encounters the narrow-minded Don, who ridicules the drag act and zeroes in on Lola’s lack of self-confidence when dressed as a man, they end up agreeing to set each other a challenge. Don asks Lola to compete in a fight with him, while Lola asks for just one thing – “Accept someone for who they are”. What better cri de coeur to champion during LGBT History month?

Listening to Music on Repeat

Alice Williams
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Listening to Music on Repeat

There’s one sure-fire way to lose interest in your favourite recordings, and I do it on a daily basis. I can’t stop obsessively listening to the same tracks over and over again. My Spotify runs on a rotation of the same two or three albums for about a week, and then a new two or three albums take their places. I couldn’t possibly take my headphones out around the house for fear the incessant repetitiveness would drive my housemates to kick me out. In fact sometimes the aural equivalent of groundhog day actually starts to drive me to distraction. Someone please send help.

Oddly enough, this causes me fewer problems in the classical sphere than it does with other genres. I simply cannot face the live gigs of my favourite artists, because the variations of a live performance jar so painfully against the recorded track branded into my internal ear. I’m used to hearing the same piano trio or symphony in many different forms and interpretations but hearing Florence sing ‘Shake it out’ with any deviation from the studio version that pounds through radios, shop speakers and club nights just feels wrong. Such musical rigidity seems a shame, that songs are so ingrained in my mind as one version that I can no longer appreciate variations or live versions. I wish remixes, live gigs and even covers didn’t irritate me, but they often do. Whether or not I can listen to them purely depends on whether I know the original too well.

The rise of the singer-songwriter has, I think, created a much more symbiotic relationship between recording and song. A singer writes, performs and records a piece exactly how they wish, and that is the definitive version that everyone knows. even artists’ covers of older songs have a tendency to subsume the original, such as Adele singing Dylan’s ‘Make you feel my love’ or Jeff Buckley’s version of Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’. How many people have heard ‘Valerie’ in any other version than Amy Winehouse’s? We want to associate songs with one particular person (or band), to define them by one sound. This trend in popular musical is so different to the approach taken by jazz or classical musicians, where ownership is more fluid. The old-fashioned jazz standards of the (?)1940s-(?)1960s for example were passed around from artist to artist, performed and recorded in completely different ways and styles each time. I have no intractable sense of what the version of ‘Summertime’, ‘Stormy weather’ or ‘I’ve got you under my skin’ is because they exist in so many covers, re-imaginings and re-fashionings. But I think slowly this sense of collective musical ownership is being lost. Artists seem determined at the moment to stamp their songs with as much of themselves as possible (take Ariana Grande or Beyoncé’s last releases), to demonstrate that a song is theirs perhaps in defiance of the fact that their recordings will be played in shops and restaurants as background music as well as on the radio, in clubs and headphones. I clearly don’t help myself. I should perhaps listen to shuffle, or the radio, but it’s not half as satisfying. The albums I listen to I know absolutely back to front, from the basslines upwards. It’s only through listening to ‘Hey Jude’ 20 times that you discover that John Lennon, faintly, shouts out ‘oh fucking hell!’ five minutes in. But I think my disturbing inability to appreciate alternative performances of a song is possibly symptomiatic of a music industry slowly becoming too rigidly artist-focused, perhaps at the expense of live performances.

Math Roberts discusses his new song cycle ‘What Comes After’

Alice Williams
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Math Roberts discusses his new song cycle ‘What Comes After’

How did ‘What Comes After’ come about, is it a new piece or have you had it in the pipeline for a while?

The idea came from many different places, but the most prominent spark I can think of was when I went to see ‘How to Use a Washing Machine’ in the BT last Trinity term. It struck me then that Oxford gave such great opportunities to put on new writing and gave me the push that I needed to go ahead and actually write what had been stewing in my head for quite a while. The first couple of songs were written over the following summer and then it all took off from there!

Do you have any favourite scenes?

That’s a difficult question, as all of the scenes are essentially songs. I guess I did prefer some songs to others originally, but it all changed when we started rehearsing. Grace and Henry really bring out the nuances that even I didn’t realise were in these songs and make my views shift! I’m assuming by the end of the run all of the songs will have been my favourite at some point. Saying that, I do like the duets that they have together, as they really highlight the dynamic of the whole show.

What’s the some of the joys and challenges of the production?

One challenge I didn’t see coming was having to look at everything objectively (culling songs, changing lyrics etc) and how difficult that would be. Another challenge, that became a joy in the end, was letting people trust me and my music. Josh, the musical director, hadn’t heard all of the songs when he got on board, and so to know that he trusted me to write the rest was something that really propelled the writing process forward!

Tell me a bit about how your ideas translate into the visual scene on stage?

The cycle of songs will be presented as a quasi concert production, so when writing the songs I was always thinking about how they would be performed. One song is a sort of twisted waltz, and so I’m looking forward to breaking it to Henry that he’ll be dancing by himself..! One of the best things about developing new writing is that a lot of the ideas come from working on it together. Movement and blocking all merge into the content of the songs; the music is almost narratively written with passages accentuating certain actions and scenes so I hope to convey this!

‘What Comes After’ is described on the BT website as being about ‘two actors contemplating the many puzzling aspects of death’. Tell me a bit more about ‘these puzzling aspects’ and how they pervade the production?

The idea of death has always intrigued me because it’s something that applies to everyone. No one can monopolise it but equally no one has the right to tell others what they should be feeling, or, more importantly, what they should consider ‘death’ itself to be. We see many characters in the show, each having their own experience of death. Some are more significant, such as grief or acceptance. Others are more superficial; the end of a year or the end of a relationship. I hope, out of all the stories, that there’ll be something for everyone to engage with!

Are the words your own or written separately? How do you view the relationship between music and lyrics, or are they essentially separate entities?

Because the show is told entirely through song I felt that both music and lyrics needed to be written together. A song would usually start by mapping out the idea of the narrative and the arc of the characters. The rest of the process changed from song to song; sometimes a lyric hook would come first, sometimes a musical motif or groove would trigger a domino effect, and sometimes I would spend two or three days pondering over what the characters wanted to ‘actually say’! By writing both at the same time motifs would completely flip some of the lyrics on their heads when repeated in a different context, and musical nods to other songs link everything up in a way that proves that they’re not separate narratives at all!

91st Academy Awards: Predictions

Jonnie Barrow
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91st Academy Awards: Predictions

The Oscars have never felt more chaotic than this year, which is amazing considering the fact that two years ago they literally mis-crowned Best Picture on live television. Yet the 91st Academy awards have been mired in indecision from the get-go.

Back in August, the Academy’s decision to create a Best Popular Film category was met with a storm of (justly deserved) backlash that gave them little choice but to cancel the idea a month later. Then came the process of choosing a host for the ceremony. Weeks dragged by with no announcement, before Kevin Hart stepped in to take up the mantle. Within two days, he was ousted over controversial “homophobic” material in his Twitter feed, refusing the Academy’s offer to publicly apologise in return for keeping the job. The Academy elected to run the show with no host for the first time since 1989, but the ceremony was still a wellspring of malcontent thanks to announced changes in the ceremony format. They revealed that only two of the five Best Song nominees would be performed in the ceremony itself, and then announced that ‘lesser’ awards (including, inexplicably, cinematography and editing, two of the prime building blocks of filmmaking) would be presented in the ad breaks in order to keep the ceremony shorter. They swiftly revoked both decisions after sustained campaigning from Oscars fans and industry heavyweights alike.

Then we get to the films themselves, where the nominees are a real mixed bag. Black Panther is officially the first superhero film nominated for Best Picture, and Roma’s ten nominations are game-changing for a Netflix film. Ten well-earned nominations for a film as brilliantly eccentric as The Favourite provides much-needed fuel for any cinephile heart, especially in light of the many high-profile snubs in major categories.

Seeing the Academy under-nominate or even outright overlook If Beale Street Could Talk, First Man, Can You Ever Forgive Me, Suspiria, You Were Never Really Here, Widows and First Reformed would hurt much less if it weren’t for the genuinely atrocious films that have been nominated for top prizes, and for the two available spots in the Best Picture field the Academy chose not to fill. It’s oddly depressing to see a film as racially regressive as Green Book nominated in the same year as BlacKkKlansman or Black Panther, but it’s downright disturbing to see Bohemian Rhapsody and Vice receive huge nominations when they’re movies that seem to hate their audiences as much as they hate themselves.

It’s a fascinating mixture of nominees, especially considering the variety of outcomes in precursor awards ceremonies (such as the Golden Globes and BAFTAs), but guessing what should or will win in each category is as subjective as it’s ever been – and even more difficult than ever.

Best Picture

Should win: Roma

Will win: Green Book

As mentioned above, trying to decipher what could win Best Picture this year is a total crapshoot. Maybe the current state of global politics has made me overtly pessimistic, but it feels as if there’s enough Academy voters who are cranky and ancient enough to overlook a film as quietly revolutionary and emotionally devastating as Roma in favour of a regressive, aggressively average, glorified remake of Driving Miss Daisy (which, incidentally, won Best Picture back in 1989).

Best Director

Should win: Damien Chazelle (First Man)

Will win: Spike Lee (BlacKkKlansman)

I promise I won’t devote too many “Should Wins” to people who weren’t nominated, but Chazelle is a legitimately astonishing snub in a category that somehow also managed to overlook Barry Jenkins, Marielle Heller, Lynne Ramsay, Debora Granik and Bradley Cooper in favour of nominating Adam McKay of all people. Regardless, this is the perfect opportunity for Lee to pick up a deserved Lifetime Achievement Oscar (as this is, inexplicably, his first ever directing nomination!), but I wouldn’t be surprised to see Alfonso Cuaron sneak a win here if the evening goes Roma’s way.

Best Actor

Should win: Bradley Cooper (A Star Is Born)

Will win: Rami Malek (Bohemian Rhapsody)

This category is incomplete without Ryan Gosling (for First Man) or Ethan Hawke (for First Reformed), but Cooper’s work in A Star Is Born is close to flawless and should be receiving the bulk of the attention in this category, especially with so many nominations (and no wins) to his name from years past. But despite the mountain of negative press BoRhap has attracted this season (from accusations of straight-washing Freddie Mercury’s story, to director Bryan Singer’s cavalcade of sexual abuse allegations), it seems there are still plenty of people who will happily confuse overbearing prosthetic teeth with a good performance, so Malek may do well here.

Best Actress

Should win: Literally any of them

Will win: Glenn Close (The Wife), maybe? Or maybe Olivia Colman (The Favourite)…

This is a strong category this year, filled with incredible work from genuine Hollywood legends to first-time actresses knocking it out of the park on their inaugural run. There’s not a single undeserving performance here, but for me it’s a two-horse race for the winner. Close’s turn in The Wife is the kind of subtle, mesmerising performance the Oscars usually overlook, but clearly they’ve realised it’s about time she win a golden statuette after 7 nominations without a win – a record, incidentally. Colman’s incensed, hilarious, and tragic performance in The Favourite has definitely caught Hollywood’s attention, though, and could upset the ballot before she plays another iconic queen in the upcoming seasons of The Crown.

Best Supporting Actor

Should win: Richard E. Grant (Can You Ever Forgive Me?)

Will win: Mahershala Ali (Green Book)

This category is funny because, as good as Sam Elliott is in A Star Is Born, and as lovely as it is to see Adam Driver nominated for something, there’s probably only two potential victors here. Ali already triumphed in this category a couple of years ago for Moonlight, but the marketing team handily included his overtly Oscar-baity scene in the trailer for Green Book, so plenty of people are well-aware of how great his performance is even if they’re less aware of how sometimes insensitive and generic the actual film is. Grant, however, has been utterly delightful on the campaign trail, which is sure to sway some voters, and his performance in CYEFM is a stunningly acerbic, unexpectedly sweet turn that easily ranks among the best supporting performances of the year.

Best Supporting Actress

Should win: Anyone but Amy Adams

Will win: Regina King (If Beale Street Could Talk)

We need to run through each of the nominees here one-by-one because this category could go any number of ways. Adams has been overdue a win for years now, but she rarely rises above serviceable in Vice. Marina De Tavira’s nomination for Roma was a gorgeous surprise considering the lack of precursor attention she received, but she probably won’t win. Emma Stone and Rachel Weisz, each nominated for the same film, may cancel each other out (though Weisz could edge it), which leaves Regina King’s stunning performance in If Beale Street Could Talk as a likely frontrunner for the win.

Best Original Screenplay

Should win: The Favourite

Will win: The Favourite

I’m beyond pleased that First Reformed got a nomination here, but a screenplay win for Roma would be a well-deserved outcome for Cuaron’s masterpiece. But only one of the nominees here contains duck-racing, mud moustaches, and coins an inimitable phrase for sexual obsession that rhymes with “blunt-struck.” The Favourite juggles tone flawlessly and hangs some gorgeous dialogue on a subtly idiosyncratic structure that definitely deserves a statuette. Go on, Academy – pick your Favourite, please.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Should win: The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Will win: If Beale Street Could Talk

The snub for Widows in this category still hurts a little, but the nomination for Buster Scruggs made me yelp with joy when I streamed the nominations live. Beale Street almost definitely has this in the bag, though: Barry Jenkins’ work adapting James Baldwin’s novel is exactly the kind of faithful adaptation the Academy tends to reward. It’s a gorgeous and worthy script whose win was set in stone the moment Jenkins opened the film with a block-quote from the novel in place of an establishing shot.

Best Animated Film

Should win: Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse

Will win: Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse

Spider-Verse, Spider-Verse, best cartoon in the universe; will it win this great award? If Disney does, we’ll all be bored – justice for the Spider-Verse!

The year of the underdog: will outsider nominees come out on top at this year’s Oscars?

Jack Womack
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The year of the underdog: will outsider nominees come out on top at this year’s Oscars?

Awards season is well and truly upon us. After last week’s BAFTAs and Grammy awards, it is inevitably time for the Oscars, the Big Daddy of them all. Once again, those little golden statuettes will be awarded to Hollywood’s biggest stars. Can you feel the excitement building in the streets? Me neither.

Whilst the awards show regularly drew an audience of around 45 million throughout the 1990s, last year’s ceremony was watched by only 26 million – the lowest figure since viewing records began in 1974. Significantly, the proportion of viewers in the 18 to 35 age bracket are also rapidly declining, indicating that the Oscars are increasingly failing to appeal to younger audiences. Whether or not the infamous Best Picture announcement mix-up of 2017 was a desperate attempt by the Academy to claw back some of its relevance is open for debate, but what is certain is that the Oscars are fading fast as a serious cultural institution. The criticisms levelled at the awards are both well-known and valid. Despite the #OscarsSoWhite campaign, nominees from ethnic minority backgrounds are still largely underrepresented. Of the 25 people nominated for Best Director in the last five years, twenty-four were men. The Academy claims to reward excellence in film yet remains almost completely oblivious to cinema from the non-English speaking world. Moonlight’s win in 2017 was a rare exception to the rule that films with small budgets cannot compete for the major awards in a competition.

Last year’s ceremony was the first since the #MeToo movement entered the mainstream, yet despite the series of impassioned speeches from actors like Frances McDormand and Ava DuVernay, the shadow of Weinstein still looms large over the Oscars. This is an institution which was dominated by Weinstein for years. We may never know how many awards were swayed by his bullying and manipulation, but many have come forward detailing Weinstein’s aggressive campaigning tactics. “Everyone knew if you were in a Harvey movie, chances are you were going to win or be nominated for an Oscar,” Sasha Stone, founder and publisher of AwardsDaily.com, an industry awards tracker since 1999, told Forbes. “It’s a sick thing to be in a business where that was the collateral used to coerce women.” While Weinstein himself has now been cast out of the Academy, it remains to be seen whether his style of campaigning based on financial and personal aggression can also be successfully purged. The Awards remain deeply in thrall to big money, and their falling viewing figures may mean they are even less willing to reward less commercially successful film ventures.

Yet despite this, there are reasons for cautious optimism if you look hard enough. There are three films nominated in the Best Picture category this year (BlacKkKlansman, Green Book, and Black Panther) which centre on different elements of African-American experiences. The two films with the most nominations – The Favourite and Roma,with ten apiece– have been lauded for their complex, emotionally sophisticated female roles. In different ways, these films challenge the idea of what a conventional Oscar-winner looks and sounds like, meaning that this year is proving difficult to predict. The initial frontrunner of this year’s race, and still the ‘favourite’ in the eyes of many bookmakers, is Bradley Cooper’s remake of A Star is Born, starring himself and Lady Gaga. It isn’t hard to see why: as a remake of a successful film it is already on safe ground, and both of its stars are already firmly established as Hollywood royalty. After the highly political nature of last year’s ceremony, Academy voters may feel it is time for a more conventionally ‘feel-good’ film, one which appeals to as broad a base as possible.

Yet the film’s frontrunner status has taken somewhat of a hit as awards season has progressed. Roma and The Favourite have slowly but surely made up ground. In different ways, both these films are innovative; Roma is the first ever Netflix production to score a Best Picture nomination, whilst The Favourite represents a completely new way of depicting the past onscreen. Oddly, A Star is Born now appears somewhat like the ‘safe choice’, despite the fact that one if its leads is a global pop star with relatively little acting experience. The contrast between these films is sharp, and it will be intriguing to see which direction the Academy decides to go with their awards. Should Roma pull off Best Picture, this would represent a significant change in the Academy’s attitude towards cinema from outside America; only eleven foreign language films have ever been nominated in the category. The Artist is to date the single example of a Best Picture winner wholly financed outside the United States, and sceptics would argue that as a silent film, the lack of an audible foreign language was crucial in its success with American voters. Roma’s success further demonstrates the inherent ridiculousness of the Best Foreign Language Film category, and should it triumph in a week’s time, perhaps the Academy will finally decide that ‘foreign’ films should no longer be consigned to a separate category.

Another film which is sparking similar discussions this year is Paweł Pawlikowski’s Cold War. This is an emphatically European work, which flits breathlessly between capital cities, retelling the story of Pawlikowski’s parents. His nomination for Best Director is highly deserved, but the omission of Joanna Kulig from the nominees for Best Actress is baffling, and evidence of the Academy’s continued disregard for non-English speaking actors. In terms of the potential for an underdog shock, it is hard to see Cold War pulling off a win in either of its two categories. Perhaps Roma has exhausted the Academy’s limited reserves of tolerance for foreign cinema.

So where are the potential shocks then? A welcome upset would be Richard E. Grant winning Best Supporting Actor for his turn in Can You Ever Forgive Me? – a part which is essentially Withnail thirty years down the line. To see how much Grant is obviously enjoying the nominations process is genuinely heart-warming, and serves as a reminder of why, despite its many and serious flaws, the Oscars still appeal. “This is the ride of my life!” was how Grant described it to The Guardian recently, having never previously been nominated for any award. It would be great to see him, and the other nominees for whom this experience is still fresh and new, with a statuette on 24th of February.

Entitled to return?

Colleen Cumbers and Joe Davies
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Entitled to return?

Forget it , says Colleen Cumbers

In 2015, Shamima Begum chose to leave the UK to join the Islamic State. From that moment, she became a traitor to our country, an enemy of British citizens and a threat to all that the Western world stands for.

That she now wants to return to the UK would be humorous if only there were not a real risk of this actually happening.

The most important thing to note here is that Begum does not show remorse for her decision to join IS.

Aged only 15 when the left the UK, some people argue that she was a naïve, brainwashed girl, unaware of what she was getting involved with.

The reality is that Begum knew exactly what Daesh stood for and this was what attracted her to the terrorist group. In her recent interview with Sky News, Begum admits that she was aware of the beheadings and executions carried out by IS and that she “was okay with it”.

Have Begum’s views changed? No. She does not want to return to the UK because she has had a sudden realisation that IS is evil, but because IS has lost its strongholds and so life has become more difficult.

Begum is a classic example of somebody who hates western culture and wants it destroyed, yet also wants to benefit from the positive aspects of this society, i.e. to raise her child in better conditions.

Whilst Begum claims that she was not directly involved in any acts of violence, she is nevertheless a threat.

She maintains strong links to IS: she is still in love with her husband, an IS fighter, and in her interview, she used the pronoun “we” when discussing IS – “when we lost Raqqa” – she still considers herself a member of the organisation. She is dangerous. Should IS or another similar organisation’s fortunes improve again, Begum would seemingly be the first to join back in. Begum recently said that seeing a severed head of an IS enemy in a bin “didn’t faze [her] at all”.

She believes that the Manchester Arena attack where children as young as eight were murdered was “justified”. Begum is an evil, dangerous woman who cannot be reintegrated into British society. She has no place here and to bring her back would be a major security concern for British citizens as well as an enormous insult to victims of IS brutality.

If she must return to the UK, life-impris- onment for treason is the only solution, with her child being taken into care. The cost of this to taxpayers however means that, ideally, Begum will be left where she is.

She states that “a lot of people should have sympathy” for her. I personally will not be shedding any tears.

Forgive her, says Joe Davies

It goes without saying that if you go and fight for a terrorist organisation that throws gay people off of buildings and sells women into sex slavery and commits genocide and wants to bring ‘death to the west’, you must pay the price for that. That’s why I completely understand the instinct that says we should never allow this woman to return. But should we always listen to instinct? Being only fifteen years old when she left, Begum was brainwashed. Yes, she was the age of legal responsibility; but are we really going to give somebody a life sentence – and, yes, forcing her to remain where she is is a life sentence – for making a terrible, terrible decision when they were 15, and faced with incredibly persuasive propaganda? That is a difficult call to make.

Indeed, as far as I understand it, there is no legal basis for denying her return. In the words of Chris Daq QC, ‘she is a UK citizen and we do not make our citizens stateless’. You must be 18 and of sound mind to renounce your citizenship, meaning that she was still a British citizen when she left – and therefore presumably still is. From my understanding, there is no law that says we can deny re-entry to people for leaving the UK – and it is both illegal and a human rights violation (Article 7 of the European Convention on Human Rights grants us all protection from retrospective legislation) to subject somebody to a law that didn’t exist when they have committed the act in question: I don’t see how we can legally prevent her return.

Linked to this point is the moral argument that what separates us from Daesh is our belief in the rule of law; this woman must pay the price for what she has done, but she must do so with all of the normal protections offered to those facing criminal prosecution. Should she not be brought to justice, rather than left to die in a desert?

However you feel about these arguments, there is one point that I think settles this debate, and that is Begum’s newborn child. The child of a native-born British citizen is automatically a British citizen themselves, so – even ignoring the clear ethical obliga- tion that we have towards an innocent, vul- nerable child – we have an obligation to this child as a British citizen. Let us be clear: Shamima Begum’s previous two children died in Syria. If she is not allowed to return home, we should be under no illusion that her latest child will face the same fate.

How can it possibly be right to allow a child, a British citizen, to die in Syria because their mum is a terrorist? This child needs to be placed in a safe, secure and caring environment. That is never going to happen if Shamima Begum is not allowed to return. Forget everything else if you must, but we cannot turn our backs on this child.

Taboo: the work and legacy of Nobuyoshi Araki

Hannah Healey
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Taboo: the work and legacy of Nobuyoshi Araki

The explicit photographs of Japanese photographer Nobuyoshi Araki have been the subject of much controversy due to their blurring of the line between pornography and fine art. Over the course of his prolific career Araki has gained the support and acclaim of arts institutions around the world, but last year allegations of exploitation emerged which have drawn protests at his exhibitions and further complicated the legacy of this contentious photographer.

Born in Tokyo in 1940, Araki was witness to the sexual liberation that swept through Japan in the 1960s and the rise in popularity of kinbaku or shibari. This Japanese erotic tradition is a style of bondage that became prevalent in the 1950s through the photospreads of magazines such as Kitan Club and Yomikiri Romance which showed the practice of binding the body with ropes and suspending the individual in the air, often in asymmetric and uncomfortable positions. Over the past six decades Araki has produced a prolific output publishing over 400 books and participating in exhibitions all over the world, with several taking place in Japan alone each year. He has come to be considered one of, if not the, most important photographers in Japan.

Araki’s images obsessively portray beautiful young women, nude and often bound by intricate formations of rope, ranging from full figure shots to close ups of the face and genitals. Captured in black and white with a high contrast, his images depict the unblemished perfection of the model’s pale skin against her black hair. While kinbaku is an erotic tradition, it is also essentially aesthetic in its expression and prescribed formations of bindings and knots are used to create katas or forms to bind the body in unnaturalistic forms. With knees hoisted up to shoulders and arms held against the back, Araki uses these forms to create enigmatic images of contorted bodies and perfect flesh.

His photographs have been hailed as a celebration of sexual liberation, the man himself lauded as a bastion of expressive freedom in the arts. Such readings position the gaze of the model staring out of the image as the sexually empowered stare of an individual unashamedly celebrating her body and sexuality by relinquishing control. These images however have also faced strong criticism for objectifying the female form with the arrangement of the body for the viewing pleasure of the beholder reducing the model to the subject of male desire. Araki himself has dismissed such readings as simplistic, and prominent figures of the art world have defended his work. Creative Director of the New York Museum of Sex Serge Becker suggested that the viewer’s discomfort in looking at Araki’s photographs comes not from contention with his depiction of women, but from an unease with the urges which are provoked by his images: ‘Some of the discomfort is not necessarily because we disagree with him, but because he touches us and shows us aspects of ourselves we tend to cover up.’

This debate was further complicated in April last year when a former model and ‘muse’ of the photographer published allegations of exploitation during their 16 year collaboration. In a blog post about her work with Araki, Kaori detailed allegations of non-payment, failures of the artist to maintain the privacy of the model during shoots, and the use of images of her without consent. The claims provoked strong opposition to Araki’s work from feminist groups and exhibitions of his images became the subject of protests. In Berlin the activist group Angry Asian Girls Association protested a solo exhibition at the city’s C/O gallery, and in Warsaw the group Bison Ladies We Say No protested the Raster Gallery’s group show Foreign Bodies. The allegations of financial and artistic exploitation and his apparent lack of regard for the welfare of the model has given strength to the argument that Araki views the women he photographs not as autonomous individuals, but as objects for his own artistic and commercial gratification. Kaori herself wrote: ‘he treated me like an object.’

Discussing his motivations, Araki claims to work in service of the overarching themes of art – love and death – which he believes are ultimately expressed in depictions of the female nude. In doing so, Araki aligns his work with the canon of art history among countless other artists who claimed that it is by portraying the naked female form that the essential themes of life and of art can be immortalised in pictorial form. Told that an intellectual could be defined as a person who had discovered that there were more interesting things in life than women, Araki vehemently protested. ‘There is nothing more interesting than women, and nothing more exciting. Their biggest attraction is being mysterious…You absolutely cannot understand them.’

With these views, the photographer betrays a strikingly traditional opinion of women as a subject for intrigue and fascination which begs the question; do the explicit images of women Araki produces actually challenge us with something new that pushes boundaries, or are they just a new vision of the objecthood of women that has been parroted throughout the history of art?

Restaurant Review: Oli’s Thai

Darius Parvizi-Wayne
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Restaurant Review: Oli’s Thai

It is high time that I write a negative review. After my gushing fascination with Peppers, infatuation with Pan Pan, and absolute satisfaction with Jee Saheb, I’m sure some of you are wondering if there is any restaurant in Oxford that I don’t like. Yes, of course there are, and someday I will review one of them. But today will not be that day, because today I’m talking about Oli’s Thai.

I feel somewhat guilty about reviewing Oli’s Thai because so many of you will be unable to go. In fact, just before a fortuitous invitation from a friend, I had booked a table for two at Oli’s Thai at the nearest possible date. This paper would have withered away, its fragments floating down St Giles, by then. Just joking: I managed to get a table on the 2ndMay. Nevertheless, May?! Three months down the line our Prime Minister will have probably expended all our capital on jet fuel for her flights to and from Brussels, and there will be 1000 more compilation videos of John Bercow bellowing ‘Order’. Far too long to wait. 

So how lucky I am to find myself in this tiny little restaurant in East Oxford, that everyone, from your tutor to the bouncer at Bridge, has been talking about. Rufus Thurston, who runs Oli’s with his Thai wife, Laddawan, has stated that “a lot of my favourite restaurants are in Brooklyn, and it’s not obvious where they are, they’re plain, food-focussed and the customers are people who walk there.” Upon entry, one can see that Rufus’s aims have been fulfilled. No more than six tables scattered all around, a soft glow illuminating everything: Oli’s could not be more welcoming. The attitude of the customers reflects the Williamsburg ideal too. Entirely nonplussed, very few students, one must assume that these are regulars. But even if they come to Oli’s every week, every day even, to not betray at least the slightest indication that what they are eating is something extremely special is an impressive feat. For the food at Oli’s is so stupendously extraordinary that one is left simultaneously pleased and astonished that such an institution can retain its effortless charm.

Where to start. Well, a chickpea salad came out first. You may be asking yourself how exciting that can really be. Really fucking exciting is the answer. At Oli’s the simple becomes the sublime, and such an ability to transform a simple chickpea to an entity of such flavourful depth is something to be marvelled at. Crunchiness and heat surge to the fore before being cooled off by perfectly juicy tomatoes. Next up is another salad, this time with cod as its centrepiece. Again, so so good. Flaky cod melts in your mouth, supplemented by fiery red chillies, onions and a wonderfully punchy, tangy sauce. The understated star of the dish, however, had to be the miang leaves. God, why do we not eat more of this stuff. Salad leaves simply won’t do any more. 

Then it was time for the main event: confit duck panang. Confit initially confounded me – surely more Paris than Pai? But it works ever so well. Like the cod, tender, juicy pieces of duck fall off the bone and then dissolve in your mouth, its softness balanced out by the crispiness of the skin. The heat is there too, bubbling under a sea of warm coconut. Subtly magnificent and totally heart-warming, it just does not get better than this.  

I simply could not stop there and opted for Oli’s take on a pastel de nata. A Portuguese delicacy in a Thai restaurant? Anywhere else I’d be apprehensive, but at this point I was far too smitten to care. And I had little to worry about. Creamy custard bursts under flaky pastry, bringing my tastebuds back to earth in the most satisfactory manner possible. Flawless.

I should also add that the service is pretty much faultless too. Supplies of water inconspicuously provided at all points, all questions regarding the spice of this and the spice of that handled with precision, knowledge and a charismatic lack of condescension. What was most striking, however, was the reverence for the food on show, and rightfully so. At Oli’s, food is nothing short of a pure expression of life. Is there any better restaurant in Oxford? I really don’t think there is.

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