Wednesday, May 21, 2025
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‘Half Breed’ at the Fringe Review: ‘Beautifully articulated’

Izzy Smith
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‘Half Breed’ at the Fringe Review: ‘Beautifully articulated’

Natasha Marshall’s moving one woman play masterfully combines humour, pain and self-actualisation. She offers incredible insight into the impact of racism at a personal level, as Jaz, the only mixed race girl in an almost all-white West Country village.

With impressive versatility, she flicks between laughter and panic, her cognitive dissonance palpable as she examines the pressure to laugh along with your own dehumanisation. She often speaks cheerfully about deeply upsetting events, and we realise that this dismissal of the importance and severity of her own experiences has always been required of her. Marshall perfectly communicates the difficulty of trying to stick up for yourself when everyone else is laughing along with those attacking you, as well as of trying to pursue your ambitions with so much to cope with. As Jaz goes over the lines of a Shakespeare monologue for a potentially life-changing Drama School audition, racial slurs and invasive thoughts invade, drowning out her attempts.

The single actor and sparse set in no way limit the play’s immersive impact. Marshall becomes gossiping villagers, obnoxious lads, and Jaz’s loud-mouthed but fearfully intransigent best friend Brogan, transporting us to this claustrophobic village. All characters are embodied with thick accents and impeccably caricatured body language. The lighting is also extremely effective in drawing the audience into each scene. When Jaz has taken drugs, her increasing disorientation is accompanied by swirling purplish lighting, and strong emotion causes the lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling to throb in time with her laboured breathing.

Perhaps most impressive is Marshall’s ability to create complex and moving relationships between characters who can only be portrayed alternately. Jaz’s grandmother, in fact, is only briefly embodied, but from her priorities, and Jaz’s perceptions of her, we receive a vivid image of a strong, generous woman, always protecting and uplifting her granddaughter. She is desperate for Jaz to pursue her passions, and rushes to wash racial slurs off the wall before she comes home. Jaz’s muddled sense of worry, guilt, responsibility and love for her grandmother are beautifully articulated.

Jaz’s relationship with Brogan is even more compelling, an old friendship propped up by traditions of piling rocks at the foot of a tree they frequent to mark their presence, and avoiding acknowledging racism. Marshall examines the sad truth of how both fear and courage, as well as simply how busy life can become, can divide friends. Jaz’s fear stops her from saving Brogan from her boyfriend Mitchell’s abuse, but her later courage is also symbolised as destroying the piles of rocks under their tree, when she stands up to Mitchell as he tells the story about chasing a Pakistani woman and her children out of the Co-op. The fact that standing up for herself is represented as this destruction of friendship indicates how isolating prejudice can be, even from well meaning people.

At this moment of conflict, the lighting and simple set of reflective, hanging lamps become particularly effective. The mirrored shades fall and seem to shatter as she breaks the unequal peace that Brogan has encouraged, leaving the simple light bulbs shining unencumbered. As the first movement on stage other than Marshall herself, this creates a startling yet poignant moment.

Half Breed offers a heartbreaking yet often humorous account of the personal cost of racism, forming a beautiful coming of age story about finding a voice, and learning to stick up for yourself and those you love.

The Morality of Mario Kart’s Blue Shell

Nancy Epton
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The Morality of Mario Kart’s Blue Shell

You’re making your way down the track, 150cc, a few seconds away from the coveted finish line and the glory of first place. You’ve passed all the players, and the end is in sight. But, alas, you hear the brief wind of its release before the irritating alarm as it arrives, and in a moment, the attacker strikes, a cascade of noobs charge past and you’re robbed of your deserved prize.

It’s been the bane of gamers for over two decades, and the source of anguish, strife, as well as the break-up of friendships and loyalties. Naturally, this item has garnered many names over the years, but perhaps the most appropriate personification is the digital equivalent of Liam Neeson. It doesn’t know who you are, but what it does have is a particular set of skills. It will look for you, it will find you, and – if the unfortunate player in first place is traveling over the unforgiving abyss of such tracks as Mushroom Gorge or the infamous Rainbow Road at the point of contact – it will kill you. If any players happen to be in the same vicinity, they too will receive damage and delay as other players storm through.

This demon, of course, is the blue shell. Its presence in the Mario Kart world has caused so much ire, in fact, that Nintendo considered its removal in Mario Kart 8. In a 2017 interview with Eurogamer, current producer Kosuke Yabuki emphasised the importance he places on the “human element of the play experience”, viewing the blue shell as a necessary leveller to establish a democratic environment on the race track, no matter how high the gamer’s skill level. When questioned about its potential removal, Yabuki admitted that, while developers have considered such a change, he believes that its absence would leave a gaping hole, and notes that “something would be missing” from high-quality gameplay without its influence.

A similar viewpoint was held by Hideki Konno, producer of Mario Kart DS and Mario Kart Wii in a 2011 interview with Kotaku. He expressed this need for subjectivity and chance even more eloquently, stating his desire “to create a race where, up to the finish line, you didn’t know. We wanted to create a race where everyone was in it until the end”. The exclusion of such an item thereby takes away any enjoyment and tension; if a player is constantly in first place, then there’s no potential for chaos and misrule. Konno also observed that “Mario Kart without items is not Mario Kart”. The blue shell, as well as other items such as its red and green equivalents, provide a more balanced and varied experience for every player involved. On a more philosophical level, the indignation and resentment caused by its presence mirrors the everyday frustrations of reality. A simplistic, danger-free Mario Kart simply wouldn’t draw the same anguished human emotion, and would be all the worse for it.

Unsurprisingly, the blue shell’s inclusion has drawn criticism from many veteran gamers. Nintendo has responded to their indignation in the past with possible, albeit difficult solutions to evade the blue menace. In Mario Kart: Double-Dash!! and Mario Kart DS, for example, the player can dodge the blue shell with the use of a deft mini-turbo. In Mario Kart Wii, evasion techniques were primarily created through the use of an expertly-timed mushroom, or, in rare cases, a particularly well-placed banana. Even though escape is difficult, developers nonetheless allowed high-level participants to gain an advantage over less experienced players.

An intriguing dynamic with the blue shell came into play, however, in Mario Kart 8. While the brutal, ground-travelling shell movement was re-introduced from the original Mario Kart 64 – meaning it can take down any unfortunate player blocking its path on the way to its primary target – developers also introduced the Super Horn, an item that, should a player be lucky enough to carry it into first-place, will shatter the blue shell entirely upon its feeble attempts of destruction. Contrary to the previous, more family-friendly dynamics set out in earlier entries, the inclusion of the Super Horn appears to symbolise a radical and more hardcore change in Nintendo’s outlook, and one that will no doubt cause indignation among inferior competitors.

Yet, like the mushrooms and skilled mini-turbos before them, the chances of gaining the Super Horn in a low place and carrying it forward into first remain unlikely, and the integral balancing provided by the shell still prevails. It’s a (somewhat) silent guardian, a watchful protector, the dark (blue) shell.

‘The Inevitable Quiet of the Crash’ at the Fringe – “a piece that glows with a soft power”

Ela Portnoy
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‘The Inevitable Quiet of the Crash’ at the Fringe – “a piece that glows with a soft power”

I don’t often give five-star reviews.

It’s not that they are reserved for perfection – I don’t think theatre can really be perfect anyway. It’s more that there has to be a certain feeling; the feeling you get when you sit in the audience and just go: “yep”.

Perhaps I could be extremely cheesy and say that it’s like falling in love. But I think it’s quite apt. With love, as with good theatre, you have an inkling, not a conscious choice.

What I mean to say is, The Inevitable Quiet of the Crash is not perfect. The company is made of students, not professionals and perhaps sometimes they could take the emotion further, cry more, dance more, make a different directorial choice. But when you can catch the eye of the girl on stage and feel her pain, and know that she is broken, and just want the lump in your throat to go away – well then, that’s good theatre. It’s as simple as that.

The play shows snippets from the lives of three women living in London, who are connected through a man they all mutually know. The story walks across terrains of love, loss and loneliness – three well-trodden themes – in a quirky and dark score that reminds you of Rent, Sweeney Todd and something gritty that you can’t quite put your finger on.

I was told that an EP of the soundtrack is in the making, and I am very glad that it is. The score is quite simply magnificent. It tiptoes on styles; cabaret here, rock there, operatic yonder. And the mood of the music skips hand in hand with the show’s emotional progression. In one particular moment, in which Anna (Emilie Finch) goes crazy with grief, the music stops and only the sound of the drum remains, building in intensity simultaneously. In general, the use of the drum kit (played by the talented Chris Cottell) was imaginative and affecting. Drum solos were used to represent the London Underground, which added a loud and overwhelming sense of loneliness in a sleepless city. The cellist and pianist were fantastic as both jazz musicians and accompanists across the various musical styles. It is interesting how such a sparse and unexpected combination of instruments can create such innovative and fresh textures.

But the pinnacle of the show is the performers. All three women are incredibly able singers, and the range of emotion conveyed is remarkable. Changes in different aspects of musical tone were nuanced and controlled consistently by all three actors, but I have to say that the standout performance was from Ellen Victoria Timothy as Julia. Her understanding of her character showed a depth of emotion that is uncommon for Fringe performances, and the quiet assuredness of her performance made her seem mature beyond her age. Amelia Gabriel and Emilie Finch’s characters were younger, so it was appropriate that Julia should be more mature. Finch gave a touching, innocent and at times heart-breaking performance as Anna, and Gabriel’s expression had a beautiful build up which culminated in a devastating climax.

The lighting and set design was gorgeous and the direction was impressive in such a small space.

The Inevitable Quiet of the Crash is a piece that glows with a soft power.

Titus Andronicus at the RSC – “Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour”

Will Austin
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Titus Andronicus at the RSC – “Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour”

I wobble and honk like a seal in high wind when I spot it. It is near the beginning of the fifth act and David Troughton’s Titus Andronicus has just toddled onto the stage inside a giant cardboard box, his one remaining hand stretched outward through a hole as he feigns madness before the empress Tamora. The same pinnipedian mirth is being exhibited by the rest of the audience, just as it has been for much of the evening. Blanche McIntyre’s new production of Titus is consistently funny, containing many such moments of bizarre humour. This is strange considering that it is also Shakespeare’s most violent, cataclysmic tragedy, exploring the beginning of imperial Rome’s decline through the story of Titus, its ideal of martial valour. McIntyre has been bold, but also faithful to the text, which unmistakably demands that the decorum of high tragedy give way to resigned, throwaway comedy. In emphasising that shift, McIntyre encourages an almost bawdy response to the defilement and bloodshed taking place onstage: similar, perhaps, to the atmosphere at the play’s first performance in 1594. Still, the absurdity lends a poignancy to Titus’ situation which is very rousing at points. It is a refreshing experience for an audience accustomed to hard silence and austere tragedy.

Elizabethan atmosphere aside, McIntyre clearly believes Titus is a play with a relevant statement to make. Aiding him commendably in that task is Robert Innes Hopkins, whose contemporary set is crucially important because of the way it structures the play’s politics. Calais-style steel fencing separates the imperial residence, with its senators and tribunes, from the plebeian wilderness downstage. At the centre of this wilderness appears the pit, which is the locus for a complex exploration of female sexuality, death, and the underworld. The play’s most beautiful and gut-wrenching language is centred around this ‘swallowing womb’ and that language demands something earthy, bloody, and wild, the anti-space to Rome and its politic pomp. The set does not deliver in that respect, with its unadorned rectangular trapdoor somewhat failing to carry the significance it requires. But that is the price to pay for the effortless contemporary feel Hopkins has achieved, which pays dividends in recasting Roman politics as an austerity era battle between conservative militarism and free market free-for-all.

Performances are strong all-round, but the star of this production is Troughton’s Titus. The role demands a portrayal of powerful human grief, but also a dated, stylised stylised manner: Troughton finds the perfect balance (with the help of a brass band). Sean Hart and Luke MacGregor are brilliantly gauche as villainous brothers Chiron and Demetrius, and, Stefan Adegbola’s Aaron is a well-developed proto-Iago, hate-filled and motiveless.

This production is notable for the way it challenges the codes of tragedy and audience response, a technical showstopper with some great individual performances. Its run in Stratford-upon-Avon ends on the 2nd September, and then it travels to the Barbican through December and January. It generously rewards both seasoned Shakespeareans and casual theatregoers.

‘The Optimists’ at the Fringe review – “A farce with the potential to shine”

Sarah Wright
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‘The Optimists’ at the Fringe review – “A farce with the potential to shine”
Well-received at the Oxford University New Writing Festival, I was (fittingly) optimistic about this second production of The Optimists. After a jolting start, the production picked up the pace in the second half, excelling in its moments of slapstick and physical comedy. And yet, it seems that the production’s main goal is to establish a legitimate setup for its tagline, ‘How do four communists split a bill of £6.71?’
The audience enters to an underwhelming set – curtains and a makeshift table – and hearty communist anthems, which return with gusto for scene changes. In some ways, the space was too big for the action; a smaller space would have increased the frenzied nature of the best scenes. Although the cast was large, many characters were on stage for barely ten minutes, resulting in a peculiar lack of development. The café owner, played with panache by Georgina Botham, had great potential but too little stage time to be fully explored. One particularly long-suffering cast member spent half an hour being carried around wrapped up in a sheet, for which I applaud her. Sadly, some escaping hair and visible clothes inadvertently revealed her identity, minimising any suspense.
The plot stumbles along without a sense of consequence, as the multiple strands struggle to mesh. A kidnap attempt fails and is subsequently forgotten about; a discovered affair garners no reaction from the cuckolded party; the much-touted Communist Society holds a single meeting and is barely revisited. This motley crew of acquaintances are drawn together by their love of communism – or rather, by their Russian heritage, which here seems to be interchangeable with communism – and begin to plot a revolution, resulting in an extended parody of communism and some of the liveliest writing. However, although this ‘neighbourhood Communist Society’ has the potential for brilliance, it plays out like a wannabe Monty Python sketch: all too short-lived, with little development beyond this one meeting, and not enough oomph to sustain the writing.
Plot catalysts are nonsensical: of course the best way to dismantle the bourgeois capitalist regime and start the revolution is to steal a (communist-themed) painting from a colleague – handily spurring a revelation which furthers the plot. And of course Katie’s boyfriend, the drip of a Johan, is so important to her that she simply has to introduce him to Daniel (despite the fact that she doesn’t seem to like Johan all that much) – handily spurring a revelation which furthers the plot. This absurdity might be rationalised by claiming The Optimists as a farce, but the direction lacked consistency in this regard, careering between straight play and caricature.
Where the play came into its own was its moments of physical comedy, with a team of talented actors. John Livesey as Sergei was particularly impressive, despite a sometimes questionable Russian accent, and worked well with Christopher Page and Ryan Lea as the central trio, with some amusing Chuckle Brothers-esque ‘to me, to you’ moments. El Blackwood was engaging as Tatiana, although her character’s fixation with getting her citizenship painted her as a little one-dimensional. Imo Reeve-Tucker’s portrayal of eco warrior student Katie was entertaining, and the suspense surrounding her connection to Daniel was well maintained throughout, culminating in a satisfying and unexpected twist.
Farces work best when the pace never drops. This play’s best moments were truly great, and testament to a talented team, but too far between. With a little more consistency and commitment to the genre, The Optimists could shine.

Town versus Gown versus Tourists

Katharine Baxter
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Town versus Gown versus Tourists

Oxford is a city in constant flux. The Office of National Statistics estimated the population at 163,300 in mid 2016. Within that, it counted a massive 32,000 full time students across the Universities in 2014.  Yet these numbers are outflanked by the incredible number of tourists, who flood the city throughout the year and numbered nearly 7 million people in 2014. From these numbers alone it is easy to see how, for students and residents alike, it can feel like we’re living in a theme park.

I was born in Oxford in 1994, and while I moved to Cardiff not long after, my father remained in Woodstock until the millennium. He knew Oxford as a social worker and as a resident, and I have fond memories of trips to the old HMV on Cornmarket Street, where I bought my first CD, and seeing the dinosaur at Pitt Rivers. Ironically, the Oxford HMV has now been converted into a LEON and a souvenir shop. I was too young to be conscious of the divide between the student community and the local community, then, and never noticed the impact of the tourist industry on local life. However, I now realise that the last three decades have been a time of extreme change in Oxford. The closure of the Rover factory in Cowley saw a huge loss of employment, and the closure of the Radcliffe Infirmary contributed to the gentrification of Jericho. I was amazed when my dad reminded me that, not so long ago, Cornmarket Street was packed with busses.

After my second term here, I stayed in Oxford for a college telethon. I was unsurprised to see the shift in college population, but more surprised to see how quiet the city became out-of-season. I cycled into town and discovered ample space to lock up my bike, and avoided queueing when I visited my favourite cafe. I loved the opportunity to get to know the city and to make it my home. I expected the same to be the case in the summer, when I stayed in college cleaning B&B rooms, but realised it felt even busier. The key difference seemed to be that while students spend much of their time inside studying, tourists are constantly on the move, often walking en masse in tour groups which block up roads and pedestrian walkways in the city.

The year I suspended my studies and remained in Oxford to earn a living gave me an interesting insight into the relationship between the various communities in Oxford. The restaurant I worked in was a key example of a local business which relied heavily on the student body in order to turn a profit. During the Michaelmas break, we were incredibly quiet, rarely reaching full capacity, and relied upon private bookings and Christmas parties to break even. However, those summer months were a time when we saw an increase in the number of locals coming into the restaurant and Oxford itself. The quieter season made space for them to reclaim the city. My colleagues and I started going to the city on days out more often. I had the distinct feeling that this calmer Oxford was the city summer tourists were trying, and failing, to glimpse.

I recently read Angela Giuffrida’s article about the impact of mass tourism upon the city of Venice. She considers the ever falling local population of Venice and its relationship to the huge traffic of tourists arriving into this ancient city each day. This comes at a time when protesters in Barcelona have compared tourism to terrorism, and CUP MP Mireia Boya described the effect of tourism in the city as “pure economic violence.” Many of the effects of tourism seen abroad can also be seen in Oxford. While there are yet to be any formal discussions of possible control measures, such as those being implemented in Florence where the number of people in certain areas  limited, it is easy to see how this might become necessary. However, as Fearghus O’Sullivan of City Lab has suggested, despite the fact that “even tourists hate tourists,” such measures have some problematic implications. They damage civil liberties and, most controversially, put the lives and rights of the homeless and sex workers at risk.

We are left with a difficult issue to resolve. How can Oxford adapt to the needs of residents, students and tourists? The local economy needs tourism to survive, but the industry makes the city costly and difficult for residents and students. What measures could be introduced to protect the rights of locals to live, of students to study and of visitors to see this historical city? These are questions which will only be resolved through a process of trial and error, and are ones which still remain a vast and challenging issue.

‘Hotter’ at the Fringe – experimental and warm, but just short of hot

Ela Portnoy
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‘Hotter’ at the Fringe – experimental and warm, but just short of hot

Mary Higgins and Ell Potter have created a show which sprinkles sound recordings, lip-syncing, and acting into one funky soup. On a quest for interviews, they asked people from all walks of life about their fears, thoughts and stories in relation to their bodies. The result is a wonderful mix of snippets, all based around the experience of being a woman in the 21st century.

The show is creative and fresh. So-called ‘cunting’ (cunt bunting) hangs from the ceiling, featuring gorgeous mandala-like patterns of genitals that are surprisingly entrancing. Higgins and Potter (together, Hotter) don a mixture of girly textures and patterns, all vintage and hipster but with a nice touch of humour, which they take off layer by layer throughout the show.

It’s well-made. You leave the theatre with a fuzzy feeling and a smile on your face. These are undoubtedly talented actors, and they’ve put together something new and very special. The show investigates the body just as it is, in the face of common modern insecurities – it is a celebration of wobbly bits, sweat, periods, poo, pee and everything in between.

But the show felt as though it only scratches the surface of something that is important and needs to be talked about. It is undoubtedly feminist theatre, and the performers are extremely culturally aware. At one point, Higgins gives a very honest monologue in response to a woman of 97 in which she discusses the struggle that she had with sexuality as a teenager, and how she has come to terms with the fact that it’s ok to watch porn.

But this troubled me and I couldn’t put my finger on the reason. After some thought, it occurred to me that the show is very encouraging of accepting yourself and being okay with who you are. And this is important. But in a feminist show, it is strange to gloss over porn as though it weren’t problematic, as though it wasn’t linked to exploitation and sex trafficking. In general, I felt like Hotter could have done more to investigate the reason behind people’s vulnerabilities – the take away message that we shouldn’t worry about our body image is great, but the show didn’t really give an insight into why people do feel this way in the first place.

Audiences have been raving about this show. But I have seen Higgins and Potter act and direct many times in the past and have been blown away by their work before. This show didn’t blow me away, but I still left the theatre with a gentle and lovely feeling. 4 stars.

We must care about the Taylor Swift case

Naomi Packer
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We must care about the Taylor Swift case

Believe me when I say that I have protested to verbal and physical harassment. I have given men the finger, shouted at those who have screamed lurid “compliments” in passing cars, chased a man through a nightclub to ask him why he groped me as I walked to the bar. But after nearly five years of cat-calling, unsolicited touching and fear – I’ve begun to realise that sometimes it’s easier (and more importantly, safer) to instead strain neutrality, keep your head down, and continue walking.

This is why Taylor Swift’s court case is so important. Such behaviour is so common that those who fall victim to it almost forget that it’s illegal. Instead we sigh, rant to our female friends, and try to move on with our day in the wake of yet another verbal or physical altercation. The truth is that the frequency of this sort of behaviour means that to treat it with the severity it deserves each time (i.e. start a court case, or challenge every man who catcalls you) would mean that many women would spend a significant portion of their lives either shouting at their aggressors in the street, or in the midst of lengthy and expensive court trials. What Taylor Swift has done, despite her shortcomings as a feminist, reminds the world that such behaviour can and should be confronted.

When Swift counter-sued David Mueller, she wasn’t after money, she certainly didn’t need fame – she merely wanted justice. It was a clear declaration of female empowerment, suing for a symbolic $1 to emphasise that this was about principle, not economic gain. A reminder that women can, and should, stand up to harassment. Yet even Swift was aware of her own privilege in challenging the man who assaulted her. It’s all too easy to argue that women should call out behaviour like Mueller’s each time it happens. Often women can’t afford to do so, such as when the harassment comes from a boss who they can’t confront for fear of losing their income, and all too often we hear stories of women who lose their lives, or are victims of horrific attacks, merely for rejecting a man’s advances.

What’s striking about this case is how clearly it demonstrates the power of one woman challenging an ingrained patriarchy, and the actions which can stem from it. I think back to that New York magazine cover which showed the 35 alleged victims of Bill Cosby. When one woman spoke out, a domino effect ensued, where more were encouraged to come forward from the former’s bravery. The cover sparked an evocative discussion on sexual assault and the prevalence of shame.

One should be wary of claiming that celebrities have a moral obligation to use their fame for good. But it’s evident from stories like these that those with social influence have huge potential to cause positive change and empower others. When someone famous denounces or endorses certain behaviour, they either knowingly or unknowingly permeate the consciousness of those who respect and admire them. It’s why the music of Beyoncé has been influential through bringing feminism and intersectionality into the mainstream and empowering women of colour, but it’s also why Donald Trump’s comments about women are so troubling. He is a man who, speaking of assaulting women, claimed that “when you’re a star, they let you do it.”

Tear Down America’s Shame

Adam John Ellison
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Tear Down America’s Shame

In 1861, the President of the United States rallied the armies of his great Republic to crush the upstart rebellion started by the Confederate States of America. In 2017, the President of the United States showered the CSA in glory and, in taking the side of racists and Nazis, sulked as tributes to bigotry and oppression were destroyed en masse.

There are few things in this world more pathetic and less American than Confederates: a ragtag group of racists, losers, traitors, and slaveholders, confined to history by good grace and the righteous might of the American North. In 1865, Robert E Lee signed the official surrender of the armies of the Confederate States of America and brought that dark chapter of American history to a close. General Lee insisted (alongside his fellow generals Stonewall Jackson and James Longstreet) that no statutes should be raised in the honour of themselves or the “country” for which they fought. In 1866 Lee wrote that such statutes would “keep open the wounds of war” and have the effect of “continuing, if not worsening, the difficulties under which the southern people labour.”

Lee knew then, as all sensible people do now, that raising statues to a cruel and vanquished rebellion would honour no one, instead dividing and serving as a constant reminder of chaos and bloodshed.

It is odd, then, that Trump and his fellow reactionaries leap so readily to the defence of these statues. Arguing that Lee and his ilk were “fine men” and that America’s history is being eroded by the tearing down of their statues. These statutes do not just exist across the South, but Union states whose sons and daughters fought the CSA tooth and claw are now littered with similar tributes.

I’m sure it would interest these Trumpish persons to hear that these statues were mostly raised not during the 1860s but during the 1910s, 20s and 50s. Their erection was a response to the progress of the Civil Rights Movement. Not content that equality would reign, the KKK, Dixiecrats, and “State’s Rights” movements constructed eternal reminders of their “heroes”. Men who, however indirectly, fought for the enslavement of black Americans and the continuation of white supremacy. That, not southern heritage or anything else, is what these statues honour.

The CSA was created for a single reason: the eternal preservation of slavery, perhaps the most awful practice mankind has ever engaged in. They were unambiguously evil, they were traitors to the United States, they fought and killed their own countrymen in pursuit of a reactionary goal. I do not think General Lee was an evil man, I do not think all Confederates were. The institution he represents, however, and those who continue to idolise it, are a different matter entirely.

This issue is not merely a historical one but it is also political, a battle fought between two distinct sides. One bears the “shameful” and horrifying stigma of including Antifascists (both Antifa and others), Civil Rights Activists, Veterans, Democrats, racial minorities, and any other Americans with a bare shred of decency. Opposed to these troublemakers are Neo-Nazis, Neo-Confederates, White Nationalists, Reactionaries, the KKK and their pathetic imitators from degenerate corners of the internet. Make no mistake, there are certainly two sides to this fight. These people and their cause have found allies in literal, unabashed and unashamed Nazis – men who chant “Jews will not replace us” and “blood and soil” as they rally around their statues. There is no ambiguity – these are evil men with an evil cause.

And these statues cause active damage even today. Every single day, black Americans are forced to walk past statues devoted to men who would subject them to servitude and rob them of their humanity. They walk through parks dedicated to these men and study in schools named after them. Can you imagine German Jews studying in Goering College or strolling through Himmler Square? Could we fathom Singaporeans or Koreans viewing statues of Hirohito or walking their dogs in Tojo Gardens? That thought is the reality for many of America’s forty million black citizens and it is simply unacceptable.

The matter, truthfully, should no longer be an issue. The CSA was defeated: at Gettysburg, at Antietam and Corinth, at Champion Hill and Fort Hudson, their armies were routed by better men fighting for a better cause. Losers don’t get medals, they don’t get trophies and they certainly don’t get statues. These are not historical items, they are not representative of glory or heritage. These Confederate Statues are America’s shame, that they were ever raised is a tragedy and that they persist is intolerable. The time has not just come, the time has long passed: tear down these monuments to oppression, tear down these tributes to traitors, tear down America’s shame.

The Death and Rebirth of MS Paint

Chloe Dootson-Graube
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The Death and Rebirth of MS Paint

On the 24th July, with the announcement of the next Window’s 10 update, it was revealed that MS Paint, a staple of the operating system since its birth in 1985, would be among the features that had been ‘removed or deprecated in Windows 10 Fall Creators Lists.’ Essentially, this means that the feature would not be available on updated models. The death of the program enabled the rise of Paint’s successor, Paint 3D,– a program described to be similar but ‘not the same.’

Naturally, this news was met with appropriate levels of outrage. Outpourings of support for the program could be seen all across online spheres, with the publication of art created on Paint spiking on social media. Buzzwords like ‘nostalgia’ and ‘accessibility’ were thrown around across Twitter and Facebook. While Microsoft were quick to reverse their mistake, assuring people that the program would still be available in their store for download, the whole series of events leads to some very interesting questions. Does MS Paint have artistic value beyond nostalgia? Is it important for the art community beyond the cheap and easy route it provides to editing your friends heads onto various pictures of beasts and porn stars? Does the kitschy contribution it makes to my own personal Instagram feed merits its continued existence?

Some would certainly think so. The aforementioned ‘accessibility’ of MS Paint, in comparison to other digital drawing programs such as Photoshop, is glaring. Photoshop costs upwards of £50 a month for an all inclusive package and, while free trials are available – they are finite. Paint, on the other hand, is forever. When the Photoshop trials runs out, Microsoft Paint is there waiting, infinitely. With this in mind, people have been using Paint as their program of preference for years.

You could argue that the resurrection of Paint occurred far before the last few weeks. Miranda Lorikeet, for example, has been using Paint to produce eerie vistas and pastel dream-scapes, bedecked with abstract figures of women and horses. In a similar vein, the late Hal Lasko used Paint to create pointillist styled oeuvres forest scenes and landscapes. For these artists, the garish value of Paint is eclipsed by its functionality. One prevalent observation about these artists is the foreign feel of their artworks. Lorikeet’s work is full of profiles and derriere shots of women in pink and orange landscapes but seldom ever a dead-on glare or even an non-obscured face, and subsequently is constantly met with the mark of ‘outsider.’ Similar points have been made of Lasko’s work.

Admittedly, Paint draws an unlikely clientele, far removed from the rest of the art community. Lorikeet is, by day, a run of the mill HR assistant and Lasko, at the time of the production of his works, was a partially blind 97 year old. It is true that these artists are a far cry from the typical Central Saint Martins or Slade outputs. By virtue of their online medium, it is likely that they will always be somewhat underground. But does the leveling of the ‘outsider’ comment enlighten us to further divides within the art community?

Digital art often finds itself the subject of heavy criticism, rarely receiving the same accolades as that produced with traditional mediums. The rebirth of Paint has reminded all of us why the program is so important, and has helped to legitimise the work of digital art. We should not only appreciate the importance of MS paint’s second chance, but we should also celebrate its existence.

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