Monday 13th October 2025
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BlacKkKlansman review – Spike Lee’s return to form?

Jonnie Barrow
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BlacKkKlansman review – Spike Lee’s return to form?

From the opening proclamation that “Dis joint is based on some fo’ real, fo’ real sh*t,” Spike Lee’s latest incendiary comedy-drama, BlacKkKlansman, promises to provoke – and succeeds in the most profound fashion.

It follows the true story of Ron Stallworth (John David Washington), the first black cop in the Colorado Springs police department, who decides to infiltrate the local branch of the Ku Klux Klan. He telephones them to establish contact, but for obvious reasons must be impersonated by a white colleague, Flip Zimmerman (played with typical quiet intensity by Adam Driver), who in turn must hide that he is Jewish as he operates undercover.

It’s a story that is rendered by turns comic and horrifying, as Ron and Flip respond to the manifold intolerances necessary to navigate their mission. Plenty of fun is poked at white supremacists: from a scathing, hilariously inept opening monologue on “white genocide” delivered in a deliciously repulsive cameo by Alec Baldwin to the Tarentino-esque comic mundanities of Ron and Flip’s attempt to gain their KKK membership.

While Ron phones up David Duke himself (played with pitch-perfect polite bigotry by Topher Grace), who ironically claims he can tell Ron is white by the sound of his voice, Flip finds that “ropes and hoods [cost] extra” on top of his membership fees, to which a fellow KKK member interjects: “Fucking inflation.”

Perhaps one of the most surprising elements of BlacKkKlansman is how cineliterate it is, and how Lee uses the history of cinema to inform the film’s thematic poignancy. Lee has transplanted the events of the film from 1979 to 1972 partly in order to capitalise on the imagery and themes of Blaxploitation films from the 60s and 70s, spiking the film with rallying cries for black empowerment.

When contrasted against sparing but powerful invocations of Gone with the Wind and horrifying footage from D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation, Lee weaves a complex tapestry that keeps the viewer alert, demonstrating the agency and complicity of cinema and, by extension, the viewing audience, in perpetuating harmful stereotypes of African-Americans through history.

Lee has a lot of fun with the period setting – particularly during a hilarious conversation where three lead characters profess their undying admiration for OJ Simpson – but the setting serves more serious ideas too. Another effect of the film’s slight time shift from the true story’s setting is the concurrent re-election of Nixon, which was widely considered to be aided by support from the Klan.

Subtly placed posters of Nixon throughout the film remind the viewer that tactics such as the Southern Strategy and dog-whistle politics only work if there are swathes of intolerant voters to draw on. This fact is not-so-subtly underscored by reminders that David Duke had serious designs on public office, and on dialogue exchanges that tragi-comically underline how little has changed between Lee’s portrait of 1972 and today.

The film is dedicated to Heather Heyer, a counter-protestor who died during the Charlottesville “Unite The Right” rally last summer. Lee seems to have taken her final Facebook post and made it the mantra around which the whole film is based: “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” David Duke in the film talks about what needs to be done “for America to achieve its greatness again”; Ron almost turns to the camera at one point as he says, “America would never elect someone like David Duke President of America.”

Lee’s righteous anger hasn’t diminished over the 30 years he’s been making films; it has simmered in the crucible of systemic injustice long enough for Lee to refine it into a form as seething as it is measured. As in Malcolm X, he ends BlacKkKlansman with a wrecking ball of righteous anger which smashes through the fourth wall and demands that the audience not be lulled into complacency by the film’s period setting.

Drawing a clear line between the white supremacy evident throughout BlacKkKlansman and the neo-Nazi protests we saw a year ago, Lee closes the film with shocking footage from the protest itself, and Trump’s limp condemnation of the violence “on all sides.”

If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.

UK universities issue new suicide prevention guidance

Angus Brown
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UK universities issue new suicide prevention guidance

This article contains reference to suicide.

A new set of suicide-prevention guidelines has been issued to universities at the annual Universities UK (UUK) conference.

The renewed effort to reduce student suicides comes after 95 students at British universities died by suicide in the last academic year.

The conference also laid out new guidelines on the disclosure of confidential data by universities, partly in an effort to increase information sharing between universities and families.

These changes come amidst controversy surrounding restrictions on how universities are allowed to contact families of students at potential risk of suicide.

James Murray, whose son, Ben, died by suicide at Bristol University earlier this year, told the conference that there was “too little sharing” between universities and families. He also argued that universities are “too fixated” on privacy and need to “start giving more priority on information sharing to save lives.”

He said: “If we had had more information maybe we could have intervened, maybe things would have been different.”

Together with the charity Papyrus, UUK has published the new Suicide Safer Universities guide, which includes advice on developing a strategy focused specifically on suicide prevention, covering difficulties, best practice for responding to student suicides and case studies on suicide prevention.

Chief Executive of Papyrus, Nina Clarke, said: “When lives are at risk, normal confidentiality rules can, and should be bypassed.”

Chair of the UUK’s Mental Health Advisory Group, Steve West, added: “When students take their own lives, it has a profound impact on family, friends, staff and students.

“This new guide offers practical advice on understanding and preventing suicide, as well as guidance on how best to support those most affected.

“We urge university leaders to work with their student support services to develop a strategy which focuses on preventing, intervening, and responding to suicide as part of an overall mental health strategy.”

UUK’s new guide also contains steps which university leaders can take to make their communities safer as part of a wider bid to prevent further suicides.

Suicide is one of the most common causes of death for people under 35, with more than 1,600 cases in the UK every year.

If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this article you can ring or make an appointment with the University counselling service:  https://www.ox.ac.uk/students/welfare/counselling – 01865 270300 – [email protected].

Anonymous support services:
Nightline – http://oxfordnightline.org – 8pm to 8am in term time at 01865 270 270;
The Samaritans – http://www.samaritans.org – 01865 722122.

Let’s Talk About: The Year Abroad

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Let’s Talk About: The Year Abroad

I have a confession. This piece is completely different to the one I initially wrote. You see, when it comes to the year abroad, I feel like most articles are either startlingly anxious or very impersonal. Not that there’s anything wrong with being out about the year abroad (it would be untrue to say I’m not), but, equally, fear isn’t my overriding emotion.

Nearly two years ago, when I was asked in my Russian interview how I’d view spending eight months in a country where it’s “very cold, gets dark at three o’clock, and you’re hundred of miles from your family,” I said I thought it would be an adventure. This is still what I think about the year abroad. So when I started writing this, I got two paragraphs in, and then realised I wasn’t writing what I actually thought about the year abroad. I was writing what other people wrote about it.

It’s now less than a month to go until I leave to spend eight months in a town called Yaroslavl’, north of Moscow, in Russia. This means that while my Oxford friends are only really halfway through the vac, I’m nearing the end of mine – frantically doing admin, making packing lists, and buying those last few things I’ll need. Somehow, I’ve got to get everything I need for eight months in Russia into a 23kg suitcase and hand luggage, and I’ve got a frankly silly number of packing lists.

So why am I going to Yaroslavl’? I’m on the ab initio Russian course (my other language is German), and our year abroad is in second year rather than the normal third year, which means by the time we get back we are, in theory, caught up to the post A-Level students. We go to Yaroslavl’ to study a course designed especially for Oxford students, which is pretty similar to the first year post A-Level course.

This will involve literature, translation, grammar, vocab, and, of course, we will be speaking Russian 24/7. We will have to deal with things like paying rent, taking public transport, and talking to our host families in this still unfamiliar language. Hopefully this will improve my Russian beyond what I’ve managed to plough through in first year. My conversational skills are still limited to fairytales and biographies of composers and writers, thanks to the slightly odd Oxford syllabus, but soon I will be able to have a proper conversation.

I feel like so often, the year abroad is seen as a big, scary hurdle in a degree; something to be overcome, especially since people normally go in third year, when their friends are graduating. For me, this image is significantly lessened by it being in second year. I’ve always enjoyed speaking different languages in other countries, and the year abroad was part of my motivation for doing my degree anyway. Whilst that means that this hasn’t made for a particularly sensational read, it feels kind of refreshing to write about the opposite side of what I’ve always read about the year abroad, and what I believe a good chunk of students about to take flight are really thinking.

First Auditions: Getting Involved in Performing Arts at Oxford

Alice Blinkhorn
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First Auditions: Getting Involved in Performing Arts at Oxford

Like many freshers, I was eager to try something new at Oxford. I had always been interested in drama, but never quite had the confidence to actively get involved. The opportunity to try acting came in Michaelmas, in the form of Drama Cuppers. If there’s any chance you might be interested in theatre at Oxford, I would really recommend taking part in your college’s performance. There are lots of roles available, including directing, sound and lighting, promotion, and acting. It was my first experience of working on a proper, collaborative production and, from then on, I knew that I wanted to stay involved with the Oxford drama scene.

I signed up for the official OUDS newsletter at the Freshers’ Fair, where most auditions are advertised. Every week, an email is published which gives a brief overview of all the productions that are casting, and how to arrange an audition. Usually, the director requests that you prepare something for the audition; often, you will have a choice of extracts from the play (if it’s a musical production, you might have to prepare a song). These are generally about two minutes long. It’s worth thinking about what kind of piece will best demonstrate your skills, especially if the director offers you a choice of audition pieces. Choose wisely!

My first audition came later in Michaelmas. It was at a huge college, in a tiny room, across the quad, past the gardens, though a couple of archways, up the stairs, and tucked away on the right. Unsurprisingly, I ended up getting horribly lost and arriving very, very late. Not a good start (although the director was very understanding). As a result, by the time I arrived, I felt pretty tense. Make sure you know where your audition is before you set out for it, and don’t be afraid to ask the porters for directions once you get to the college!

Generally, in an audition, you’ll perform your monologue or the extract you’ve prepared (somebody else will read the other part if it’s a dialogue). After you’ve performed your chosen piece, you might be asked to do it again, but with directions. The director wants to see how you respond to their guidance. For example, in my first audition, I was asked to perform the monologue second time ‘as if I was saying it to my younger sister’. On another occasion I had to try and use as much of the space in the room as possible. In every audition I’ve been to, there’s also been a ‘cold read’. You are given a piece of the script, a brief overview of where it fits into the play, and then asked to perform it. You usually have time to read it through a few times first. Again, you might be asked to perform it a second or third time with prompts from the director. At the end of the audition, you’ll have the chance to ask any burning questions.

I have a contemporary monologue and a Shakespearean one that I know really thoroughly, and one of those normally serves me well if the director doesn’t ask for anything more specific. Performing a monologue I’m really comfortable with immediately boosts my confidence, so it’s worth working hard on a couple of different pieces and keeping them in your arsenal. It goes without saying that it’s best to know your audition piece by heart: not only does it help you to act more naturally, but it also shows suggests that you’re prepared to dedicate your time to their production. That said, it’s fine to bring a paper copy with you just to peek at if necessary – I always feel a bit more relaxed if I have it with me, even if I don’t need it. It’s handy to take a paper copy to your audition anyway, because often the director will want to take a look at it before they give you some prompting.

Lastly, don’t be disappointed if you don’t hear back. There are loads of plays, musicals and concerts put on in Oxford, and it might be a while before you find something you’re suited to. I’ve been involved in a wide variety of productions – from an ancient Greek comedy to a modern dystopia – and I’ve made lots of new friends through drama. Don’t give up!

The life-saving power of a hashtag

Eleanor Harris
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The life-saving power of a hashtag

This summer, the #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign raising awareness about male suicide has spread like wildfire across the internet. The initiative encourages men to post a selfie of themselves making the ‘okay’ sign and publicise the uncomfortable truth that suicide is the single biggest killer of men under the age of 45. Through these posts, the campaign seeks to raise awareness of the thousands of men who struggle with suicidal thoughts whilst feeling unable to seek help.

Does this campaign merely amount to virtue signalling? Critics argue that participants repost the #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay hashtag to show off how enlightened, progressive and open-minded they are without doing anything practical to support men suffering from mental health issues. In comparison, other anti-suicide initiatives encourage people to take a proactive role in suicide prevention for both friends and strangers. For instance, the Samaritans are running a campaign to encourage people to make small-talk with strangers who display worrying behaviour. As part of this campaign, the charity has published conversation starters suggestions in posters, train tickets and the like.

The impact of the #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign is less obvious than other suicide prevention initiatives, but this should not diminish its importance. Granted, posting a selfie will not directly save many lives. Yet such criticism overlooks the unique power this campaign and others like it have to influence attitudes. Whilst charities such as the Samaritans and ItMatters empower people to reach out to individuals who are already battling with suicidal thoughts, the #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign helps to build a culture in which men are less likely to develop such thoughts in the first place.

The pervasive perception that men should be stoical, encapsulated by the toxic saying “boys don’t cry”, contributes to an environment in which 41% of men who have contemplated suicide have felt unable to talk about their feelings, and thus unable to seek help. The #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign reflects acceptance and openness between men and their friends, and thereby tackles the unhealthy pressure to keep quiet about mental health issues. Every selfie posted is a contribution to this shift in attitudes. By normalising discussion of mental illness, more men and boys can see that they are not alone. The campaign counteracts the unhealthy expectations placed on many, and via the viral campaign reaches a mass audience and can have a genuine impact on attitudes towards men and mental health.

Due to the extent of its reach and the simplicity of its message, the #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign can play an important role in reducing the rates of male suicide. The hashtag is memorable, the selfies are a striking symbol of the campaign, and the tagging of friends allows the message to become widespread. The result has been a wide-ranging uptake involving men young and old across Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

The fight to reduce male suicide needs to take several different avenues. Many charities recognise the importance of teaching people how to help others they suspect are struggling. Yet for these campaigns to be as effective as possible, attitudes towards mental illness amongst men need to be altered.

The #ItsOkayNotToBeOkay campaign contributes to the slow erosion of outdated attitudes by showing men that they are not alone and can find a sympathetic ear amongst their friends, knowledge which could certainly save lives. If a minority of the campaign’s participants are motivated by appearing open-minded to their friends and followers, that should in no way detract from the key success of this campaign; putting an important yet neglected issue on the agenda.

Review: Floating Features by La Luz

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Review: Floating Features by La Luz

Rating: 7/10

Favourite tracks: ‘California Finally’, ‘The Creature’, ‘Floating Features’, ‘Lonely Dozer’

Despite its roots in the 60s, psych-rock is still very much alive: La Luz’s third studio album Floating Features is firm proof of this. The all-female quartet’s sound is a dark, warped take on classic surf-rock. The usual languid, jangly guitars, and summer melodies are twisted and more intense; rich harmonic textures are tinged with unnerving dissonance. If Tim Burton had been the artistic director of The Beach Boys it might have sounded like this.

La Luz are not alone in this Gothic take on the surf sound: their music forms part of a genre that has sprung up mostly on the USA’s west coast over the last decade. Bands like Oh Sees (ghoulish creatures feature regularly on their album covers) and Shannon and the Clams accompany them in this particular musical space. Indeed, this year La Luz played the Beach Goth festival in LA, whose ‘Danse Macabre’ aesthetic is an ideal setting for this album. Beach Goth is hosted by The Growlers, who are themselves pioneers of the 21st century surf-noir sound. Floating Features is defiant in the way it carves out an original niche in a genre that is as saturated as the reverb-heavy soundscapes that have come to define it.

The opening song, also called ‘Floating Features’, is a confident, dramatic instrumental: lead and bass guitars align in a spiraling riff that descends into the depths of its own sonic landscape. It makes you feel like you’ve been whisked away on a Mad Max convoy across the desert, and heralds the doom-laden music that is to come. This song embodies the cliché of a stadium-filler (but pick your cavernous space: it wouldn’t sound small in the Grand Canyon), and it would work well as a set-opener. This album smacks you in the face and tells you to keep listening.

Thematically, as might be expected from the Dali-inspired cover – where the band are framed by Triffid-like plants, a floating pair of red lips, and a pile of tentacles – this album frequently explores the realm of dreams. Songwriter Shena Cleveland often negotiates the unsettling space between sleep and consciousness, singing of the “metallic shimmering of invisible things” (‘Cicada’), “eyes rising out of the cream” (‘Loose Teeth’), and of sleep paralysis monsters (‘The Creature’). This focus on the surreal is supported by subtly unnerving chord progressions: for instance, the verse on ‘Cicada’ alternates between the major and minor of the same chord, resulting in an unsettling lack of tonal clarity.

Cleveland’s lyrics are usually uncomplicated, which often complements the urgency of the music; but she sometimes risks sounding simplistic (“Will we ever have our own house? / Will we ever be in one place long?”). She is at her descriptive best when she paints the surreal images found in her dreams; but writing about dreams, while this sounds appropriately psychedelic, occasionally ends up seeming directionless. ‘California Finally’ is one of the strongest tracks because it combines imaginative lyricism (“Sun eye swollen across the ocean”) with direction and purpose: it’s a song of defiance, an answer to Cleveland’s critics about moving from Seattle to California, the natural home of the surf sound (“I made up my mind some time ago, / No one’s gonna tell me where I can go”).

This defiance may derive from an anxiety that some will lament La Luz’s new foray into a glossier production style. The band’s first two albums have all the lo-fi grit and charm of a band who could only record with whatever amalgamation of equipment they could find in their garages. Now, in the shining studios of Hollywood, and with the know-how of the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach (who has helped produce glittery pop songs like Lana Del Rey’s ‘West Coast’), La Luz’s sound shimmers with hi-fi polish. It’s true that such a severe change in style risks damaging the identity of a band. But the gleaming production of Floating Features works well because La Luz haven’t lost sight of their DNA by trying to over-produce and add studio gimmicks: they’ve merely let their own sound breathe.

La Luz’s arrangements are deceptively – and satisfyingly – complex: their songs offer a richness that belies the simplicity usually associated with this genre. Even so, many of the musical elements are strikingly nostalgic. The organ solos often sound like The Doors’ Ray Manzarek has suddenly arrived in the studio, and Shena Cleveland happily admits that her twangy guitar tone is lifted from 50s surf-rock pioneers like Link Wray or The Shadows. But collectively they manage to avoid sounding derivative. This is partly due to their keen ear for a good melody – ‘Lonely Dozer’, for example, is wonderfully catchy – but also because of the sublime vocal harmonies that wash over the album. Lena Simon’s bass playing is also worth mentioning for the driving urgency it provides beneath the woozy psych sounds.

Although there is no overtly political message in sight, Floating Features manages to tap into the neuroses of how it feels to be emerging as an adult in these times. Aside from the general impression of impending doom which saturates the album (their music has aptly been described as “doom-wop”), there is in particular a sense of mental suffocation in some of the songs, especially the ones inspired by dreams. ‘The Creature’, one of the album’s three singles, has been part of their live sets since 2016, when the most recent US election happened. The line, “The creature let me know that it would be walking with me”, and the physicality of Cleveland’s description of her nightmare’s monster, could just as aptly be attributed to bogeymen like Trump – similarly an oppressive presence that harasses in more ways than merely psychological. The last song on the album, ‘Don’t Leave Me on the Earth’, is a touchingly honest expression of anxiety at the world’s current state.

This album is a reflection of a band reaching maturity. The songs are better structured and less chaotic than those in their earlier albums, and they haven’t lost any of their original intensity in the process of cleaning up their sound. With Floating Features, La Luz have annexed an end-of-the-world vibe to the mellow sounds of surf-rock: an ideal combination to provide the soundtrack to this summer’s worryingly apocalyptic heatwaves!

Things to do in September

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Things to do in September

One of Oxford’s more likeable features is its start date.  You’ve come back from your trips of self-discovery around Thailand, your friends are nervously disappearing off to their respective freshers’ weeks around the country but you’ve got a month left. How are you going to survive the time, battling off both feelings of excitement and nerves?

Fear not, we’ve got a list.

The Work

I’m afraid this one is somewhat inevitable. No doubt by now you’ve been sent at least one hastily written, informal email by a tutor suggesting a distressingly large reading list. There’s no need to tire yourself out too early at this point – don’t waste late nights and early mornings reading everything you’ve ever heard of before you even get here. Even so, crucially, Oxford term-time is about staying above water. They’ll be essays, partying, heart-ache, working out how the bloody washing-machine works. You won’t have infinite time to study all the things you might want (or indeed need) in a very compact 8 week term. So get a base of knowledge down while you’ve got the time – you never know, you might even end up enjoying some of it.

Hit the shops

Nothing cures the soul like retail therapy. Grab yourself the perfect interior design features for your room. Worried about your cooking abilities for the year? Boom, get yourself a kettle and you’re set for instant ramen all year.  Want to spice up your room with minimal effort and knowledge, and express your distressingly vanilla personality? Famous movie posters are for you (extra points if you haven’t even seen the movie). Concerned you won’t come across as keen enough in your first lecture? Get yourself some of those sweet binders, file dividers, notepads and a full set of coloured pens. It’s like year 7 all over again.

The possibilities are endless.

Get some parental knowledge

The thought of doing the dishes and making your own bed making you queasy?

You’ve proved yourself in the exam hall, now it’s time to prove yourself in the real world. Time for some proper learning. The best source of this? Parents. After all, they’ll probably miss you while you’re away, so they’ll appreciate the time you spend with them before you head off (even if it’s only long enough to ask about whether it’s safe to reheat takeaway rice or how insurance actually works).

Facebook investigation 

In just a month’s time, you’ll be meeting people who will become your life-long friends.

Don’t. Come. Unprepared.

Rebecca is into slam-poetry and rosé? If that’s your thing, solid friend material right there. Alex runs an Instagram account for his dog? Cool, I guess? Maybe you’ll bond over a lifelong passion for Chihuahuas? Harry posts inspirational quotes and pictures of his workout routine? Probably best to avoid…

It’s only a bit of fun, but may offer some vital talking points when Freshers’ Week hits.

Prepare your Freshers’ Week spiel

You’re going to be meeting a lot of people in the immediate future, and that means an endless number of introductions. Want to nonchalantly drop your super sweet banking internship or springboard into conversation? You’d better practise that until it’s needle-sharp and effortless (also, maybe, don’t do that).

Not to mention the dreaded group introductions/ speed friending your college might be unlucky enough to host. What is your surprising fact about yourself? What fruit would you be if you had to pick? Worth having a think about.

In all seriousness, though, ‘reinventing yourself’ for university is almost always a bad plan. Fill your September with packing, excitement, and as little panic as possible. Turn up being yourself, nothing more or less, and you’ll fit right in.

In Defence of Double Denim

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In Defence of Double Denim

Andy Warhol was famously quoted as saying “I want to die with my blue jeans on.” After all, what’s not to love to death about denim? It’s expressive, sexy, simple and looks great on (nearly) everyone. Originally the choice of cowboys and working folk, jeans were appropriated by 60s counter-culture before gradually establishing themselves as a universal wardrobe essential. We can all agree that denim is a must, yet nothing seems more divisive in Britain than questions surrounding the modishness of double denim (clearly nobody gives a toss about Brexit anymore).

Many who have embraced the trend are well aware of the stigma attached to such a decision; many Brits regard the ‘Canadian tuxedo’, as it’s known across the pond, about as trendy as socks and sandals. Yet as influencers have shown in recent months, double denim is set to be the gift that keeps on giving.

So why does a double dose of denim cause us so much anxiety? Perhaps the self-conscious British psyche fears regressing back to the days of tasteless 90s grunge. For many, double-d is a dark chapter in the story of fashion that should be consigned, alongside velour tracksuits and frosted tips, to the ash heap of history. Although we maintain a warm nostalgia for past fads, we are often wary of repeating them. Surely this justifies a more contemporary style of double denim as opposed to its complete abandonment! Whilst poorly matched and ill-fitting denim adorned with diamantes or studs is naturally hard to swallow, a more nuanced and tasteful ‘Canadian tux’ is very much on trend.

On the continent, we seem one of the last nations to embrace the style; apparently Germans don’t always wear lederhosen. Having visited Berlin, Rome and Prague in the last year, I can confirm that double denim is very much alive and well among Europe’s young cosmopolitan elite. Seemingly, a spectre is haunting Europe – the spectre of double denim (if only Marx had written fashion!). If we want to keep up with our progressive European counterparts, it looks like we’re going to have to bite the bullet. Or leave…

However, that’s not to say there aren’t rules! Firstly, the denim must be an exact colour match or alternatively the trousers should be distinctly darker than the jacket. Double denim needs to be deliberate to look good – rather than looking like you can’t be bothered to do the laundry or got dressed without the lights on. Secondly, the jeans and jacket should be relatively plain. Intense acid wash, studs, big rips, and diamantes are far too garish and, quite frankly, tacky. Double denim is quite enough of a statement without looking like you’ve joined the Sex Pistols. Finally, and arguably most importantly, double denim has to be worn with confidence.

In the last few months Gigi Hadid, as might be expected, has shown a classy take on double denim that is both chic and exciting. Effortlessly combining high-waisted jeans with flattering crops, Gigi has hurled double denim back into the limelight. Meanwhile, Nick Jonas’ ill-matching (and ill-fitting) double denim was brash and aesthetically unpleasant. Clearly a statement no one’s ready to hear. Then, lest we ever forget, there’s Justin and Britney…need I say more?

Get it right, and the rewards are obvious. Double denim, worn well, looks good. Denim jackets are comfy, practical, and don’t deserve to be neglected for fear of being unfashionable. They give a rugged and youthful look that is unfailingly trendy. Likewise, double denim is such an obvious statement it imbues the wearer with a quiet confidence that can only be a good thing. As I always say: double the denim, double the confidence.

So there we go: it’s the dream team. Next time you spot that denim jacket that hasn’t seen the light of day for years, match it with the right jeans and you’re bound to have a better day because of it. Double denim is back on trend and it’s here to stay. A quick (slightly ominous) warning: get it wrong and you look like you’re about to go chasing rabbits with Lennie and George. Get it right and you not only look great, you feel great. Perhaps if Mr Warhol were still alive (if you’ll pardon the morbidity), he might have thought about doubling up his denim before he passed.

 

Crazy Rich Asians – it’s not just a film

Brian Wong
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Crazy Rich Asians – it’s not just a film

A lot has been said about the new blockbuster Crazy Rich Asians. Whilst the film has been flooded with praise centred around its ground-breaking representation of Asian-Americans in the traditionally white and Western-centric entertainment industry, it has also been subject to damning criticism over its erasure of non-Chinese minorities, its excessive glorification of wealth against a socioeconomically stratified Singapore and its casting decisions. However, independent of the film’s merits and drawbacks, the discussion it has provoked is exemplar of how pop culture can shape sociocultural dialogue.

Firstly, the polarised public reception towards Crazy Rich Asians aptly encapsulates the fact that one’s perceptions are greatly shaped by the context in which one lives or grows up. I’ve had Australian-Chinese friends on my Facebook newsfeed describe the opportunity to watch a Western production about Asian immigrants, delivered with cultural nuances and Chinese subtleties in place of the stale tropes, as an innately empowering experience.

Yet – as rightly noted by critics such as Sangeetha Thanapal – this observation neglects the lived experiences of ethnic minorities in Singapore, whose representation in the film varies from entrenched stereotypes to nothing at all. Additionally, Crazy Rich Asians captures only a monotonic impression of the immigrant experience by simply appealing to the alternative Western stereotypes of Chinese affluent families as both ‘conservative’ and ‘classist’ in how they appraise human relationships.

Whilst some individuals can deeply relate to the film, others feel alienated and misrepresented by it. Both responses are perfectly legitimate; rather than seeing Crazy Rich Asians as monolithically positive or negative, we are better off recognising it as simultaneously empowering and disempowering.

Secondly, the debate surrounding Crazy Rich Asians has significantly raised the profile of frequently disregarded social issues. Whilst activist discourse may struggle to reach politically apathetic members of the public, the recent fad for Crazy Rich Asians has given alienated minority groups a platform to denounce the institutional racism confronting minorities in Singapore.

Mainstream media outlets have been incentivised to publicise these voices of dissent towards Crazy Rich Asians to demonstrate ideological balance and differentiate their coverage of the film. The erroneous stereotypes in the film serve as visual embodiments of misrepresentation and non-representation, providing activists with prominent examples of how cultural erasure is perpetuated in popular culture.

Thirdly, the critique of Crazy Rich Asians has been pivotal in highlighting that non-representation can be just as bad as misrepresentation. The most common defence of the film against criticism over its presentation of minority groups is this: “It’s just one story about one aspect of Singaporean society – the Chinese experience. There is no reason why it ought to portray all ethnicities equally, if at all.”

This argument might have had some traction if the film directors had not chosen to cast ethnic minority members in largely stereotypical menial roles such as security guards and cleaners. In doing so, Crazy Rich Asians gives off the impression of being willing to offer representation to non-Chinese ethnic minorities whilst simultaneously perpetuating harmful stereotypes about them.

Yet even if we were to overlook the overt misrepresentation within the film, we ought to recognise that non-representation can itself be a form of misrepresentation. Its very title, Crazy Rich Asians, claims that the film is a story about ‘Asians’; yet this, when coupled with the apparent exclusion of most non-Chinese Asians from the storyline, transforms the seemingly harmless omission of non-Chinese individuals into an actively pernicious form of cultural erasure.

For many foreign audiences whose first impressions of Singapore may well be heavily shaped by watching the film, Crazy Rich Asians offers a prominent image of what Singapore looks like. Given this, the non-representation of ethnic minorities frames them, if not out of perceived existence, then at the very least as unimportant or secondary components of Singaporean society. In this way, the discussion provoked by the film’s release serves as a timely reminder that those who embrace greater representation on the big screen should not forget those who are left behind through non-representation.

Ultimately, it’s not my place to judge whether Crazy Rich Asians has on balance had a positive or negative societal impact. However, the sociocultural dialogue sparked by the film’s release highlights that whilst a work of art can be deeply flawed, discussion about that work, particularly regarding its interaction with wider society, may prove invaluable.

The Edinburgh Fringe experience in 2018 – the ‘magic’ of the Mile

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The Edinburgh Fringe experience in 2018 – the ‘magic’ of the Mile

It is 3pm on one of the main streets of Edinburgh, and a silent disco is making its way past on both sides of the street. An impromptu rendition of ‘Daddy Cool’ announces its arrival, to the great amusement of everyone not wearing headphones. I can’t help but think that for anyone who hasn’t come to this city for the Fringe – the largest arts festival in the world – that this entire thing must be incredibly annoying. As it is, it’s a wonderful, spectacular, surreal experience for the rest of us.

The sheer size of the Fringe can be hard to grasp even with numbers: in 2017 there were 53,232 performances throughout the month – and that’s not even to include the many unofficial events and the other Festivals which take place throughout the city.

Due in part to this size, most performances are short. The day becomes segmented into hour-long slots, organised through a mix of meticulous organisation and last-minute stress. The quintessential Fringe experience is wandering into a free show with a flier and a promise it’s starting in five minutes. Sometimes it’s fantastic, and you wonder why they didn’t charge full price. Sometimes it’s terrible, and interrupted by a disco beat emanating from the room next door. And sometimes it brings out the best in people – on multiple occasions I was offered a ticket by a stranger who had accidentally double-booked, free of charge.

Here’s the thing about the Fringe, with all its eccentricities and sold-out shows and rave reviews – most shows will have a near-empty audience. Even for big names, such as Matt Forde, I saw seats still available; for smaller, free, shows, operating on flyering and abject hope, you might have eight people in a 100-seat audience. And it is very, very hard to perform to this small an audience – particularly for stand-up or comedy, which often works by bouncing off the crowd. It is even harder to get up after a terrible show and do that again. And again. And again.

It might seem obvious, but I’m struck most of all by the bravery required to perform here, night after night for three and a half weeks. It’s an hour a day – but an hour in which you’re completely exposing yourself to the whims of an unfamiliar audience.

And a tough audience as well. The people seeing your show will likely see another that day – if not two, three, or even more. It’s a place where time is at a premium. Show recommendations are thrown around like confetti, and a show seen at midday can quickly become the first in a to-do list which involves running from one side of town to the other. With an audience as unfocused as this one, it’s important to catch their attention – but how can you even begin do that, when that audience is an elderly couple, a young family, and two people who just wandered in off the street?

And yet there’s still something magical about wandering down the Royal Mile – the only place where you would willingly take fifteen flyers in your hands while just trying to pass through. It’s here that the place really feels like a festival, and everyone is given an equal chance to shine – and although catching someone’s attention on the street is usually impossible, there’s something about the Mile which actually makes you want to stop for thirty seconds, listening to this person who desperately sells you their bizarre improv act. Yes, maybe you’ll never go back and see their show. But for a moment the possibility is there.

In many ways, this small stretch of road demonstrates just what’s so special about this festival – the sheer energy of the place, which permeates every act and kick-starts a relentless cultural exchange. It’s at times exhausting, but the Fringe still remains the best kind of overwhelming; and if there’s one thing this 71-year-old festival has proved, it’s that people will keep coming back for more.

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