Saturday, May 10, 2025
Blog Page 780

Ireland and the impossibility of Brexit

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In religion or politics, the zeal of a convert is hard to match. Theresa May’s overnight conversion from soft-Remain to full blown, patriotic, red-white-and-blue Brexiteer is no exception to this. For months we were told “Brexit means Brexit” and other such vaugeries, underpinned by the constant threat of a “hard Brexit”, a total break from the EU, it’s markets and it’s open borders. May built an alliance with Davis, Johnson, Fox and Gove – four of the Tories’ leading eurosceptics – and set Britain on a path not only out of the European Union, but out of absolutely everything with the word “Europe” attached to it. This caused controversy, to be sure, but for a long time it appeared that dreams of a “soft” Brexit were doomed. That is until Brexiter hopes slammed into the hard reality of Ireland.

The issue of Ireland and it’s border has plagued British politics since the Ulster Covenant of 1912 and the start of the Troubles. A free and open border with the Republic of Ireland has existed in one form or another since 1923, on Irish independence 2 years prior a hard border had been set up, with inspections, tariffs and border checkpoints. It was a disaster. The economies of both Northern and Southern Ireland slowed and communities who had developed across the border were split up – the Common Travel Area was created to allow people and goods free travel between the two countries. It has become an essential part of Anglo-Irish relations and treaties including the Good Friday Agreement, which ended the Troubles in Northern Ireland. If Brexit shuts this border off just as happened 94 years prior, tensions will rise, economies will crash and communities will be destroyed. This time however, we could see a complete breakdown of civil political discourse in Northern Ireland, which has already been bereft of a working government since June.

To shut this border down would have been unthinkable just 2 years ago. However with Ireland a member of the EU, a hard border with Europe would mean a hard border with the Republic of Ireland or a border between Northern Ireland and Great Britain. May, in an abortive and horrendously executed effort, attempted the latter and earned the ire of every single Unionist in Ulster, who see any difference between Northern Ireland and the rest of the UK as the start of a slippery slope towards Irish Unification. With a hard border with the Republic made near impossible by both economic dependency and Irish Republican anger and a hard border between Northern Ireland and Britain made impossible by Unionist anger and DUP opposition, it became clear. There would be no hard border between Europe and Britain. In one fell swoop, May and Davis relented on a myriad of points; suggesting a €50 Billion settlement fee whilst “the United Kingdom will maintain full alignment with those rules of the Internal Market and the Customs Union”.

The implications of this are utterly bizarre; the United Kingdom is paying fifty billion Euros to follow all the same economic rules as before but have no say in making them. Until now, British MEPs voted on every single law, regulation and rule that the EU enacted – now however we will be deprived of our voting rights but forced to accept and abide by rules made by French, German and Irish politicians with zero input. European immigration too would continue as the rules of the Customs Union include the free movement of people. It’s an utter embarrassment and a total surrender, but, deprived of any other workable solution, it is all we have.

There is an argument, and for some a hope, that such “alignment” will be a temporary affair; followed for 2 years or so before Britain really leaves the EU. If this is the case however, then all we have done is kick the issue into the future. When we do “really” leave the EU, what then? Why would a hard border, in contravention of nearly 100 years of tradition, political sense and the wishes of most on either side of the border, be more workable then than now? The answer is simple, it just wouldn’t. The UK and RoI are joined at the hip, despite historical amity, and to separate them would cause massive, unnecessary trauma. It cannot be done sensibly now, it cannot be done sensibly in 2020 or 2025 or 2050.

If we can’t close the door to Europe, we can’t leave it. Respecting the democratic will of the people is important and I don’t think anyone can say that this government haven’t tried but at every turn on every issue, it becomes more and more impossible. Now we’re stuck in limbo; even the government seems unsure of just what post-Brexit relations with Europe will look like. At the moment, all we seem to be doing is paying to give up power, to become a strange economic protectorate of Europe, a passive player in an increasingly high stakes game. Even today, as the EU allows negotiations to move forward into the stage of trade deals, those deals turning into a complete surrender seems almost inevitable.

Ireland makes a successful Brexit impossible and there are now three solutions: a brutish, damaging split with tokenistic attempts to reduce the economic and political toll on Britain; an awkward compromise as “full alignment” continues and Britain loses control of her future; or finally the simplest, easiest solution, one that would maintain our close links and our influence, that would be best for the economy and easiest to implement, the obvious and simple answer – cancel Brexit.

Restaurant Review: Cinnamon Kitchen

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In order to reach Cinnamon Kitchen and its much-touted ‘panoramic views of the vistas across Oxford’, one must first navigate the bit of Westgate that still looks like a construction site. This juxtaposition of the polished and the unrefined, the exalted and the humble, is good psychological preparation for a menu that features a £20 kebab.

In fairness, it is a veal kebab, and it isn’t served from a van that operates until 4 am, nor does it have weird grey lumps that you try to pretend you’re too drunk to notice. It did also suggest that this was not a ‘maintenance loan-friendly’ restaurant. But it wasn’t just the strong north-easterly winds making it rain tonight: my friend’s Grandma Barb had put up a generous tab, and so we contented ourselves with blinking rapidly at the prices, instead of ‘going out for a fag’ and never coming back.

A sampling of the ‘cocktail range created with influential mixologist, Tony Conigliaro’ came in the form of two glasses ornamented with what appeared at first glance to be prison shanks. On fifth glance (sticks? chocolate? very stiff leaves?), they proved to be pieces of cinnamon bark reclining in a blushing, ombre bath of peach bellini. It was a perfectly nice bellini, with inflections of the east, or perhaps just fierce multi-level branding, from a brown fog of cinnamon syrup lurking at the bottom of the glass. However it was nothing too refined for our less-exalted tastes, and almost sweet enough to blend into the last traces of blue VK lingering about my palate.

We ordered the Bombay street food trio as a starter: vada pao, tapioca cake and chilli paneer. Much like myself, the vada pao is a dumpling-shaped item consisting mainly of potatoes, with a rough skin that glistens with oil. The similarities end here, as the vada pao has been deep fried and put in a sandwich. The addition of chutney, rather than own-brand ketchup, managed to stop it tasting like an extremely expensive chip butty. The tapioca cake felt a little like a polenta fry that had been through a messy divorce and lost its sense of fun. Its tiny, perfectly square form had the thinnest of oily crusts from a brief, guilty pan-frying, and the rest was an all-too-brief crumble of sad, mildly bland starch. This was perhaps needed to soak up the chilli paneer, a joyfully exuberant tangle of salt, spice, and grease.

A quick scan of the main courses demonstrated Cinnamon Kitchen’s emphasis on regional ingredients. Avoiding the mildly aggressive “Chukka spiced 35 day dry aged LOCAL beef rump steak”, we went for chargrilled sea bass and butter chicken. Costing around £20 each, these dishes were, naturally, hilariously small. “Is this a butter chicken for ants?” asked my friend, in her best Derek Zoolander voice. I found a portion of rice the size of an eraser lurking under a decorative banana leaf. However, the fish and chicken on centre stage were simple but delicious, tender and lightly spiced, melting in the mouth as swiftly as my early dreams of JCR presidency.

We split a lassi panna cotta for dessert – one of several Western-palate-friendly options, including a £9 chocolate mousse that didn’t even pretend to have an Indian twist. As complimentary prosecco arrived at the table (Grandma Barb is quite the charmer), we reflected on an excellent meal: the food, surroundings and service were beyond complaint. But when the maitre d’ handed back our coats from a rattan wardrobe and opened the door onto the dark, wet terrace, dotted with posters apologising for its “unfinished appearance”, it felt like a welcome return to the real world, full of sane people who do not pay £20 for a grilled aubergine.

Is it possible to release too much music?

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It’s a question that seems more appropriate than ever, with the streaming boom and the advancement of music software meaning producers can create beats in a matter of hours. On sites such as Soundcloud and Datpiff, artists frequently release tracks directly to their fans, often before they have been mixed and mastered. We now hear about an upcoming album a few days before it is dropped, whereas in other media genres such as film and television, we are already counting down the days until the new Game of Thrones series comes out, even though it is over a year away.

But who has got it right? Music and Film & TV are undoubtedly the two heavyweights of the entertainment industry, but clearly they both operate in starkly different ways. Music is to be gobbled up as soon as possible, then chewed over a couple of times before being quickly spat out as another album arrives on your carefully curated menu. Films and television series are to be savoured, with the build-up just as important as the actual product itself.

Of course, these are generalisations. Many albums still invoke a tremendous amount of anticipation, and are savoured just as much as any revered film. Equally, franchises such as Fast & Furious certainly seem to simply churn out material purely to keep fans satiated and are not created to be considered masterpieces.

But particularly in Hip-Hop, music is being released at an unprecedented rate. Rapper of the moment, Future, has released a startling 8 LPs and mixtapes since 2015, including two full-length albums in the space of just two weeks this year. Fellow Atlanta rapper Young Thug has matched Future’s startling production rate, but it seems this strategy of flooding the market originated from rap mogul Gucci Mane. Since 2014, Gucci has released an astounding 30 projects, a stint which twice saw the release of three mixtapes in one day. Considering he spent a significant portion of this period in prison, as well as the fact that he also somehow found time to write an autobiography, Gucci’s production rate seems bordering on the ridiculous. But is such an incredible output to be admired, or frowned upon?

Surely the quality of music must suffer if apparently so little time is being spent on each record. While technology has undoubtedly sped up the production process; lyrical depth and complex melodies still require time to create, with some of the greatest songs being polished over months and years, not a matter of hours and days. This deficiency arguably shines through in the work of the aforementioned artists, with the concepts covered in their songs rarely stretching beyond the shallow and often crass hedonism that constantly gives rap a bad name. Hooks are frequently repetitive and unimaginative, and sometimes they’re not even seen as necessary. The focus is most definitely on quantity, not quality.

Or is it? Are we being too harsh? Young Thug is renowned for his vocal acrobatics and innovation, and Future is largely credited with inspiring a new wave of rappers with the intensity with which he stretches and pushes his incandescent voice over the usually soft bed of Auto-Tune. Admittedly, Gucci Mane’s flow is largely static and unvaried, but is often embroidered by sparkling, eclectic guest features.

Also, perhaps we are not supposed to view these projects with such a critical eye as we would other works of art. These are much more commercialised, and pride themselves on their repetition, rather than shying away from it. When you want psyching up, you turn to these hard-hitting rappers because you know what to expect, and their often maligned consistency can work in their favour in this sense. Or maybe even this is doing them a disservice. Indeed, Future’s surprise double album release was heralded as revolutionary for the musical landscape, so maybe a high production rate is something to be applauded, either as a sign of their high work ethic or as a pioneering move. Now, in the streaming world, the demand is significantly higher than it used to be, and perhaps rappers such as Future feel they have to match this pressure with their creative supply.

The downside, however, is we can become anaesthetised by too much music from one artist. Many of Gucci Mane and Future’s joint mixtapes – aside from Future’s What A Time To Be Alive, the success of which was largely based on Drake’s star power – slipped under the mainstream, purely because we were only just getting to grips with the previous release as they began publicising the next one. Gucci Mane announced the name of his upcoming album less than two weeks after he dropped Mr. Davis earlier this year. While undoubtedly intended to whet the fans’ appetites, this can actually completely undermine the album currently in circulation, because it makes it seem like a throwaway, as though the artist cares little for it and is already moving onto the next project. Fans want albums to be the culmination of a lot of hard work and attention, because this then proves that the artist actually respects what the fans think of their music. Yes, a lot of mixtapes are released for free, but personally I’d rather pay for a well-constructed, well thought-out project, than receive three free throwaways in one go.

Take Bon Iver’s 2016 revelation 22, A Million, for example, which was praised as album of the year by critics around the world. It arrived after three years spent crafting the piece, during which time he considered scrapping the project altogether because he was worried it wasn’t up to the standard he was striving for. Purely as a fan, this strikes me as an example of an artist who cares more about the quality of his product than the likes of Gucci Mane and Future. But then again, maybe it shouldn’t matter. If it means we get more music, why should we complain?

The recent surge in producer-rapper joint albums has also helped propel this new wave of productivity in Hip-Hop. Future has spearheaded the use of a single producer throughout an entire project, combining with the likes of Zaytoven and DJ Esco. Recently, this has had the effect of moving certain producers more firmly into the limelight, with Atlanta prodigy Metro Boomin’ now releasing tracks as the lead artist and his producer tag, “If young Metro don’t trust you, I’m gon’ shoot you” already establishing him as a household name in the rap world. He too follows the example of Future and Gucci in pumping as many projects into the musical sphere as possible. In the last two years, he has released Savage Mode with 21 Savage, Perfect Timing with Nav, and then Without Warning last month with Migos member Offset and 21 Savage again, an album which dropped out of thin air to a generally positive critical reception. He himself argues that the rise in popularity of producer-rapper albums is only going to benefit the genre, seeing them as being more cohesive and structured than projects with disparate contributors.

So as young Metro, off the back of his Without Warning success, drops yet another joint album Double or Nothing with Big Sean, many may roll their eyes and sigh as they once again scroll quickly past the Hip-Hop page of Apple Music or Spotify. Personally, do I think Metro releases too much music? Probably. Do I think his production is sometimes repetitive as a result of this? Inevitably.

But will I be eagerly devouring this week’s Big Sean collaboration? Most definitely. Perhaps this highlights how more music doesn’t necessarily equal less quality and less hype. Or maybe this just shows that I’m a hypocrite. Go figure.

In conversation with Matt Maltese

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Matt Maltese is definitely one of the most intriguing and exciting new artists that I’ve come across in a while. At just 21 years of age the South London-based singer-songwriter has got a growing repertoire of crooner-like ballads exploring everything from the usual love interest to taking ketamine at a party, getting with his best mate’s girlfriend and then having to go ice skating with his mum the following morning (which is quite a musical rollercoaster, I can assure you).

There’s a tremendous level of expectation on his shoulders, having been compared to the likes of Leonard Cohen and Jarvis Cocker – NME even referred to him as the UK’s answer to Father John Misty. However, whilst Matt shows all the signs of having the raw talent to become one of the best songwriters of his generation, there are questions that still need to be answered.

Since March he’s released three singles. The first two: ‘No One Won The War’ and ‘As the World Caves In’ (an intriguing number depicting Donald Trump and Theresa May “getting it off” after starting nuclear warfare) are highly political and highlight large scale world problems.

He also did a small UK tour in May with the Rhythm Method to promote voting in the general election. Not to mention his Twitter bio “brexit pop”, Matt’s own take on the regeneration of Britpop. When I asked him about this political engagement he highlighted his move to London as a catalyst. “You see a lot more, you’re in the midst of a lot more, so my social conscience kind of doubled when I moved to London”.

Whilst this metropolitan shock might well be the cause for Matt’s writing, there’s no doubt that South London, in particular, is currently producing a lot of politically raw musicians, with the likes of Dave, King Krule and Loyle Carner.

Matt is very in touch with the music made in his part of town – last year he hosted a residency at the Effra Social in Brixton where he invited fellow new artists to perform alongside him every week. “It was a great way of feeling which songs are shit and obviously listen to loads of musicians that I adore” he explains; and I must say, the commanding performance I witnessed later demonstrated that he must have learnt something.

In the evening Matt performed in the basement space of Modern Art, off Pembroke Street. He jokes that it’s “the most high-art thing I’ve done”, although the performance area seemed to fit his style. There was no raised stage area or other separation between the audience and Matt – he was one with the people. Tickets were also given out for free, something I thought would match his seemingly maximal engagement approach established by his May tour. Although the ticket giveaway strategy was apparently not his own decision, but that of his promoter.

And this perhaps demonstrates nicely the crux of my opinion on Matt Maltese. He seems engaged, exciting, and demonstrates an extremely high level of raw talent, both with his song writing and performing abilities. However, I question his drive and his sincerity. It’s all very well and good writing a song about nuclear warfare, but to make it a rampant love song between two quite volatile world leaders seems almost too satirical – what level of piss-taking is too much?

Perhaps it’s my own expectations that were misplaced. I wanted to find a young man who was trying to change the world with his smartly placed and extremely considered music, not just making flippant general observations and comments. Instead I find someone who seems to be drifting along, making songs because “you can be pretty ridiculous with the lyrics” (Matt’s explanation for ‘As the World Caves In’).

That being said, I reserve complete judgement until his debut record is released, which he hopes will be next May time. There’s a lot riding on it. Will he produce something with purpose and nuance? Will it be a considered effort that seeks to actively alter the status quo? Or will it just be the wilful musings of a young man having a laugh? I hope it’s the former, and there are definitely signs that show it could be as much. But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

You can listen to the interview in full here on Oxide radio.

Oxford announces new German research partnerships

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Oxford University has announced a new research partnership with four German institutions, beginning what Berlin’s Mayor has called “a new era of cooperation for Berlin and Oxford”.

The partnership will span across the sciences, humanities, and social sciences, consolidating existing research links as well as providing opportunities for new projects.

The collaborating institutions — Freie Universität Berlin, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Technische Universität Berlin, and the Charité Universitätsmedizin Berlin — have already begun a programme of academic workshops in several fields.

It is also anticipated that an Oxford-Berlin Research Centre will be built in Berlin and a Berliner Haus in Oxford.

Louise Richardson, vice chancellor of the University, said: “Although the United Kingdom is leaving the European Union, it is not leaving Europe.”

These new collaborative research projects may also be eligible for common funding not only from British, but also from German foundations and funding agencies.

Oxford also hopes to introduce new investment streams to the Berlin institutions through its experience in fundraising and knowledge transfers.

Professor Dr.-Ing Sabine Kunst, President of the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, said: “we hope to put together a targeted collective strategy in order to circumvent any possible consequences of Brexit.”

The UK government’s current Brexit negotiating position has caused concern among some academics, who fear it may limit research and funding opportunities.

Dr Rob Davidson, Director and Co-Founder of Scientists for EU and Healthier IN the EU, told Cherwell: “when a PI (principal investigator, or research group leader) applies to participate in an EU program like Horizon 2020, there is a question on the form that asks, ‘do you foresee that your national government would accept the jurisdiction of the ECJ?’ — under current plans, even if we were paying to access EU science, we would be excluding ourselves from completing the forms for participation.”

Whilst Dr Davidson praised the partnership, saying that scientific research in general required such “strong international links”, he expressed reservations about these kind of partnerships becoming the norm for UK and European institutions after Brexit.

Such partnerships, he said: “would likely reduce the chance of close ties with all the other institutions.”

“We also need to remember that while institutions can develop specialisms, even well secured professors move on. Should we not think having special relationships through consortia of mobile researchers, rather than special links between brick buildings?”

“We’ve seen major cuts announced this year from Durham, Heriot Watt, Aberystwyth and several more. They have all cited existing conditions and the certain damage of Brexit as their reasoning. Most of our universities will not have funds to create special partnerships like this one.”

Alastair Buchan, Oxford University’s Head of Brexit strategy, told The Telegraph in January this year how institutional partnerships will not just be limited to European countries in the future.

“One of the things that we did lose [after joining the EU] was that nice and easy flow of clinicians and clinician science from Canada, the US, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa,” he said.

“We had really good collaborations, which hopefully in this Brexit climate might be reinvented, because that movement of English-speaking medicine was actually a casualty of joining Europe.”

Pinocchio review – “a visual and acoustic marvel”

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As primarily a reviewer of student drama, it was strange to be reviewing a production with the budget to do whatever the producers wanted, imagination permitting. Fortunately, the National Theatre’s production of Pinocchio is much more than a shallow, flashy pantomime, the likes of which are common during this festive season. It sets itself above the rank and file of Christmas productions through thoughtful alterations to, and expansions of, Walt Disney’s beloved classic.

Upon collecting my ticket, I was promptly handed a programme which doubled as a clever children’s notebook of fun activities – rest assured, mine is completely full of scribblings and I’m very proud of my personally crafted puppet, Amadeo. What immediately became apparent once I had prised myself from my booklet, however, was that Pinocchio himself is, ironically enough, one of the few main characters in the production who is not played by a puppet.

However, the puppets are more than a larger-than-life novelty to catch children’s eyes, as they not only solve the problem of Pinocchio needing to be smaller than the rest of the cast, but they also effectively convey the oppressiveness of the world Pinocchio inhabits and accentuate the grotesque nature of the play’s villains. In motion, the puppets are beautifully animated and emoted, a feat which makes one almost entirely forget the group of people onstage required to operate them. This is especially impressive in the case of Jiminy Cricket (lovingly animated and voiced by Audrey Brisson), considering how small the puppet is compared to the human actor.

Elsewhere, the world of Pinocchio is stunningly staged, and Joe Idris-Roberts navigates it very convincingly as the wooden boy. Stage transitions are used to great effect to depict how the frightening world shifts around Pinocchio as he is exchanged from one evil crook to another: the Pleasure Island scene, in particular, is a ‘pleasure’ to watch.

It is also difficult to express the extent to which Disney soundtrack scores benefit from a full orchestra, although I could sometimes catch glimpses of the conductor’s hand peeping through the floor during certain sequences, which slightly broke the immersion. Disney favourites such as ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ and ‘An Actor’s Life for Me’ gain immeasurable potency when performed in this way, heightened by the choreography onstage. ‘I’ve Got No Strings’ was even expanded to chart the whole story of Pinocchio’s exploitation at the hand of the gleefully wicked puppet-master, Stromboli (Gershwyn Eustache Jnr.), through to his performance, becoming more dissonant and minor as the mood requires. Such choreography displays creative storytelling and only serves to accentuate the disturbing nature of a scene in which Pinocchio sings about freedom whilst being threatened and imprisoned by his master.

In fact, most of the additions to, and modernisations of, the original script are welcome and help to flesh out character relationships and comic moments. The dynamic between Geppetto and Pinocchio is profound, and Mark Hadfield’s acting prevents the more touching moments from straying into melodrama. The standout star, without a doubt, though, is David Langham’s Honest John the Fox. While he now lacks a companion in Gideon, his enigmatic performance is more than enough to allow the character to stand alone. The modified script transforms the Fox into a charismatically flamboyant and verbose trickster who owns every scene in which he appears. Although he is no longer motivated by money, now just being pure evil, this pantomimic interpretation of the character breathes new life into the role.

Other editorial tweaks fail to connect, however, as some jokes are too complex for most children to understand and not particularly funny for adults. Jiminy Cricket’s obsession with cleanliness is overdone and jokes about bacterial disinfectant come across as nonsensical and do not benefit the depiction of the character. Other changes, such as how Pinocchio, Gepetto and Jiminy escape from Monstro, seem illogical. It was probably done to reuse Pinocchio’s famous quirk of his nose growing when he tells a lie in an attempt to create a more emotional scene; either that, or the producers were worried about lighting a fire onstage, but given the quality of the pyrotechnics and illusory gags elsewhere in the show, this seems like a missed opportunity. The Monstro scene in general marks a downgrade from the Disney film. Although it would be difficult to adapt for the stage a scene which was so ground-breaking in its original animation, the amount of creativity injected into the rest of the adaptation only highlights how disappointing this episode is in comparison. That said, this small blemish on an otherwise near-perfect production does little to detract from the whole.

Pinocchio is a visual and acoustic marvel, and the fact that Dennis Kelly and company have so seamlessly translated a Disney classic into such an effective piece of drama is commendable. Bold creative decisions and additions to the original tease out some of the film’s darker and more intriguing implications and, more often than not, innovate and improve upon the story. The result is a production which, like all the best Disney films, appeals to people of all ages.

The Twilight Zone – ‘dizzyingly strange’

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“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

This, for those who do not know, is Rod Serling’s opening monologue to the iconic sixties TV show, The Twilight Zone, an anthology of unrelated stories, each interrogating one or more of contemporary America’s social anxieties. Taken altogether, the 156 instalments act as a collection of post-modern fables, Serling’s narrator a Hans Christian-Anderson for the age of nuclear war, race-riots and space-travel.

Despite the relevance of these issues in the current period of political mayhem, the new adaptation of the show for the Almeida Theatre may still come as a bit of a surprise. Screen-to-stage transformation are not wholly uncommon, in fact there is a whole range of examples in London this winter what with Network at the National as well as The Exorcist and Young Frankenstein in the West-End.

However, what makes this show such a curiosity is the fact that the source material remains mostly unknown in the UK. Sitting next to me in the theatre was an American fan who described how popular the show is in on the other side of the Atlantic, episodes played non-stop for 24 hours every Christmas. But although it has a huge cultural legacy, making its influence known in shows like Twin Peaks, Black Mirror or in Jordan Peele’s hit film Get Out, it is a product that simply does not command the same prestige over here.

For this theatrical version, Anne Washburn has chosen to weave together 8 popular episodes, dipping and diving across storylines with recurring motifs that seep between them. We are shown the hunt for an Alien among a group of stranded bus-passengers and meet a man who cannot sleep for fear of being killed by a female circus performer. We see a woman invite a little girl into her house only to realise it is a version of her younger self, and two parents who lose their daughter through a worm-hole in her bedroom wall. Each vignette is surreal and disturbing and when melded together as they are here have a collective effect which is dizzyingly strange.

Of course, one of the problems of including so many different stories in one show is that it invites unfavourable comparison between segments as well as potential criticisms of incoherence. Certainly, some of the different sections are more effective at getting under your skin than others. A story about a slowly disappearing crew of pilots requires alot of exposition and is undermined by its necessarily detached characters and inconclusive ending. It is noticeably inferior to another sketch about a family who refuse to share their bunker with their neighbours, triggering a searing argument about race, class and nationality.

Whilst the former feels crammed in, failing to compliment any of the other stories, the latter is clearly chosen to resonate with today’s audience, something the nervous laughter and groans of recognition do something to prove. Similarly, a particularly famous episode from the original series about a woman with a bandaged face is reduced to a tiny side-show during a transition between scenes, barely comprehensible for those not familiar with Serling’s original.

Indeed, the show works best when it treats its material with good faith. For this production, the Almeida has had a proscenium arch built, framing the performance space in a way that replicates a television screen. It has the effect of distancing spectators and morphing the action into a kind of pastiche, patronising the very earnest subject matter through the act of mimicry and exaggeration. Serling’s monologue, for instance, is repeatedly interrupted in a quasi-slapstick way. The scenes that make the biggest impression however are those that break through these mannered, sometimes farcical, stylisations. Although a lovestory between astronaut and mission controller seems a tad unbelievable, for example, the straightness with which it is played renders it more moving than much of the rest.

With a brilliantly evocative sound and lighting design, and several magic-tricks up its sleeves, The Twilight Zone still thrills in the scenes which might not live up to the incisive TV original. Although you are sometimes wondering how much of the action qualifies as filler, you are never close to switching off. This is a good winter-show: something fun, clever and accessible. Whimsical in its worse moments but not without teeth, anyone in possession of a ticket to The Twilight Zone should know they’re holding a passport to another dimension.

Oxford defends don accused of “whitewashing” the British empire

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Oxford University has defended a professor after student campaigners accused him of using a “racist trope” to “whitewash” the history of empire.

Common Ground condemned Nigel Biggar’s “historical amnesia” towards British imperialism, questioning his suitability to lead the recently launched ‘Ethics and Empire’ project.

But an Oxford spokesperson has now hit back at the charge, stating that the University supports “academic freedom of speech”, and that the history of empire is a “complex topic” that must be considered “from a variety of perspectives”.

They said: “This is a valid, evidence-led academic project and Professor Biggar, who is an internationally-recognised authority on the ethics of empire, is an entirely suitable person to lead it.”

Writing in The Times on November 30, Biggar, Regius Professor of Moral and Pastoral Theology at Christ Church, published an article entitled ‘Don’t feel guilty about our colonial history’.

While admitting that inexcusable atrocities were overseen by the British Empire, he claimed it left a legacy in other countries which many people value. He emphasised the “goods of security and the rule of law” that British colonialism brought, which he claimed gave imperial rule “popular legitimacy”.

On Thursday, Common Ground Oxford released a public statement denouncing Biggar’s views.

They stated his implication that pre-colonial societies had no political order was a “hackneyed and fictional trope”.

Highlighting his call to “moderate our post-imperial guilt” as being the most dangerous, they claim it would make Britain feel it had a “right to meddle in other countries’ affairs”.

Further concerns were raised at Biggar’s co-leading of a project on ‘Ethics and Empire’, with an aim “to measure apologies and critiques of empire against historical data from antiquity to modernity across the globe”.

In a statement, Common Ground said: “Is this what is needed at the University of Oxford – a project led by someone pushing to ‘moderate our post-imperial guilt’ – when Oxford continues to memorialise celebrating slave-owners such as Christopher Codrington and imperialists such as Cecil Rhodes, and when Oxford continues to fail to act to address current-day racism, as demonstrated by the fact that nearly 1 in 3 Oxford colleges failed to admit a single black British student in the last year?”

Since Common Ground’s statement, further information has been released about the nature of the project.

The McDonald Centre, the University organisation which announced the project, has stated that it was formed in response to the widespread consensus that “‘empire’ is imperialist; imperialism is wicked; and empire is therefore unethical. Nothing of interest remains to be explored.”

It stresses that the ethics of empires is mixed, pointing out how the the British Empire “suppressed the Atlantic and African slave-trades after 1833, granted black Africans the vote in Cape Colony seventeen years before the United States granted it to African Americans, and offered the only centre of armed resistance to European fascism between May 1940 and June 1941”.

The project is scheduled to run over five years and include five different workshops. The first workshop, ‘Ethics and Empire: The Ancient Period’, has already taken place in July.

The themes of the workshop will progress chronologically, with the the series culminating by considering post-colonial critiques of imperialism.  A central question in all the workshops will be: “How well did empire’s critics or supporters actually understand the historical phenomenon?”

Dan Iley-Williamson – a Queens college politics lecturer and Labour City Councillor – described Biggar as an “ardent apologist for colonialism”.

He attacked the University’s response, telling Cherwell: “Colonialism has no respectable defence. It has ignorant apologists and it has racist apologists.

“If the University cared about amplifying the voices of the marginalised, it wouldn’t give a platform to the likes of Biggar. It would support groups like Rhodes Must Fall, Common Ground, and others who challenge the glorification of Europe’s colonial past.”

Professor Biggar did not respond to a request for comment.

War Horse – ‘Technically brilliant, but lacks the acting to match’

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Going into the New Theatre last night, nothing could have prepared me for the experience that is reviewing War Horse. I had come with a friend and we had split the price of a ticket as mine was free, and we felt quite chuffed catching a West End show for a tenner. But the minute we got to the theatre, we were guided to a VIP side entrance and handed a golden envelope containing two free tickets to the show, a complementary program, and an invitation to press night gala. We descended the carpeted stairs and were greeted by waiters serving free wine (I think it was merlot but I liked neither the red nor the white, it just felt fancy). There were a lot of old and important-looking people, pink mood lighting, and easy jazz coming from the grand piano in the corner. In the interval we were given a selection of free ice cream. After the show, we were served vegan-and-gluten-free canapes as we mingled with the cast of the show.

I discovered I have a hidden talent for mingling (or else the cast were just really nice).

My friend and other people there said a lot of very good things about the show before we went in, though I had never seen it, read it or watched the film. So as we settled in our seats, I tried to be purposefully sceptical.

The play started with an old man singing a folk song. This man made the show. War Horse is an intense story about the first world war, love, loss and friendship, and Bob Fox’s pure singing voice broke up the tension in absolute relief. He captured the stage with an expressive yet understated presence, and an irony that winked to the audience in spite of the story. The acting in the first half didn’t excite me – Albert was a two-dimensional stereotype of innocence, and his relationship with his parents was unconvincing. But the rest of the action on stage – the lights, the set design, the music and the puppetry – was beautifully done with incredible attention to detail. I remember a particular recurring moment in which a puppet goose ran into a door, and each time it crashed it would just steal a little look to the side, as though it was checking that it hadn’t embarrassed itself before going on its way again. The subtleties in the first half were really the strength of the piece, and gave it a kind of sparkle in spite of the weak characterisation.

(After our free ice cream) the second half was much more powerful than the first. The acting improved with the intensifying storyline, and the choreography of the war scenes was skilfully done. A special mention must be given to Peter Becker, who shone in the role of Friedrich Müller. There was a beautiful vulnerability to his character, and a varied emotional range, which flourished as the story progressed. And naturally, the puppeteering was incredible. In the scene when Joey is alone in no man’s land, I was struck by how well a horse’s experience of life could be expressed using only music, puppetry and physical theatre. By the end, there was a definite sense of or awe in the show. The puppetry, film and music gave a kind of magnitude to the story that left me thinking ‘wow, this is really something’.

Still, I didn’t cry and I laughed infrequently. But War Horse was a really special and entertaining night out. Though the acting was variable, the show was carried with its head held high by the technical elements. The puppetry, the film, the set, and Bob Fox were just astonishing. If you’re looking for a clear message, it’s this: guys, go for the horse.

Parliament Square – ‘an assemblage of half-formed thoughts’

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In this moment of political crisis, art is one of the essential ways we can make sense of the chaos. Theatres in particular are perfect spaces for exploring the interaction between private lives and public affairs, between individuals and the world that spins around them. An auditorium is both contained and universal. It might present itself as a domestic locus one moment and yet symbolize a global setting the next. From where we sit we swallow stories about specific characters and their experiences whilst simultaneously learning about ourselves and the rest of the world outside. The expansiveness of storytelling means everyone gets an invite to the conversation.

Parliament Square, playing at the Bush Theatre until the 6th January, is one play that not only urges us to think about how the outside world is implicated, but whose very subject is the interplay of our individual and collective circumstances. At the centre of the piece is one drastic and theatrical act of protest. We follow one woman’s journey to this decisive moment and are then presented with the consequences of her decision. The audience sees the ways it effects those she loves, and slowly get a sense of the impact (or lack thereof) it has had on wider society.

The play, written by James Fritz, juggles numerous themes and, in the process, employs a range of stylistic devices: internal monologue, recorded dialogue and time-hopping set-pieces. It is amongst all this variety, however, that the one essential flaw emerges. With so much to say, Fritz’s writing fails to examine any of his ideas in serious depth. It is unclear what is actually being said, or indeed what questions Fritz is trying to lend his focus to. The script is undoubtedly interesting but it falls somewhat short of being genuinely penetrating.

The production takes place in the round, ensuring intimacy and complicity and once again affirming the ubiquitous relevance of an otherwise personal story. When the play starts, our protagonist is sleeping, roused by the cries of another actress, seemingly some sort of inner-voice. For the first-half, these two women move fluidly around the stage as we witness the different obstacles encountered and lies told on Kat’s journey to the center of British government, waiting for the ’15 seconds’ in which she intends to carry out her plans. Recalling Warhol’s ’15 minutes of fame’, this public event that the action accelerates rapidly towards is only revealed at the last moment. It is an upsetting and macabre spectacle, but given how frequently it has been invoked beforehand is somewhat disappointing in its staging which proves unoriginal and undramatic.

Esther Smith is mostly successful at drawing a portrait of a women beset by private and political dilemmas although, at some points, lacked drive. One does not get the impression that this was a radical who would genuinely resort to extremist protest, nor even someone with any clear ideological bent. Joanne Howarth on the other hand is impressive as a mother trying to come to terms with what her daughter has done. Understated and convincing, she cleverly balances an unconditional maternal care with disapproval and even anger. Likewise, Kelly Hotten is great as a recovery physiotherapist. Offered far too little stage-time, she is an engaging and likeable presence.

Watching this play that acknowledges a country that ‘feels sick’, it is hard not to admire Fritz’s attempt to begin a much needed conversation on the nature, effects and ethics of protest in Britain.  Ultimately, he seems to say, it is the simple pleasures of life that pull us towards  defensive activism but that can also lure us into the relative safety of political apathy. If all we really want to do is ‘have a bath, have sex, eat lasagna’, the question remains: is that something to fight for? Or is it something to indulge in while we have it, even if such a life remains exclusive and unsustainable?

Parliament Square has its moment but too often shies away from taking any explicit standpoints on the issues it explores. The stage when the play opens is bedecked with a jumble of household objects. Ultimately, it is this image that the production most resembles. It lacks clarity and achieves only an assemblage of half-formed thoughts. Although it gestures to the moment we are living through, it still fails to decode the chaos.