Monday 18th May 2026
Blog Page 867

Student dresses as Stephen Hawking at LMH bop

Fred Dimbleby
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Student dresses as Stephen Hawking at LMH bop

An LMH student has been criticised for wearing a Stephen Hawking costume to a college bop.

The able bodied student attended the bop, which was themed ‘Dress as your degree’ on Saturday.

The student was referred to the Dean after angry responses from many in college.

He sat on an office chair with wheels to mimic the wheelchair that Hawking uses. The scientist was paralysed from a slow progressing form of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS).

A spokesperson for LMH said: “Our Dean will be speaking to the student to express the college’s disappointment and to ask him to reflect on why his behaviour would be seen by many as offensive.”

The President of the JCR, Lana Purcell, said: “This behaviour breaches our clearly expressed expectations for bop costumes. We are angry and disappointed that this has happened and have referred the person to the Dean.”

Oxford SU Students Disability Community (OSDC) also criticised the student for their costume.

Their Chair, Miranda Reilly, and College Disability Rep Officer, Josie Paton, who is an undergraduate at LMH, said: “While it is not impossible to dress respectfully as Stephen Hawking, as a world-renowned physicist, this seems to have not been the case or intention.

“Mobility aids are an important tool in many disabled people’s daily lives, and so it is disrespectful for them to be parodied in this way.

“Using disability as a punchline is unacceptable and this proves we need wider awareness of disability issues at this university.”

“However, while many people will express shock at this incident; we would incline you to consider the more subtle forms of disability as a costume, and question even where this is used respectfully.

“The majority of the very few disabled roles in film, stage and television go to non-disabled actors with no criticism outside of the disabled community.

“Ableism comes in many forms far more subtle than this incident at the bop.”

A spokesperson for Oxford SU said: “Oxford SU has passed policy on Bop and Entz themes which believes that bops should be inclusive.

“If the intention was to offend then this contradicts that belief and the spirit of the policy.”

A first year said: “From talking to people, it has been taken very much in the spirit with which it was intended.

“While maybe not the best choice, for a guy in normal clothes sitting in an office chair, it seems to have been blown a bit out of proportion.

This is not the first time that an LMH student has attracted criticism for a bop costume. In Michaelmas 2017 another student was criticised for trivialising the “lived experience of survivors” of sexual assault after attending a bop dressed as film producer Harvey Weinstein.

The student appeared as Weinstein – who has been the subject of multiple allegations of sexual assault and rape – for LMH’s “horror movie classics” themed party.

The student was asked to leave by other students, before later being asked to meet with the college dean to “reflect on his behavior.”

Fiddler On The Roof Review – ‘thoughtful and timely’

Izzy Troth
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Fiddler On The Roof Review – ‘thoughtful and timely’

The laments of a milkman in rural, pre-revolutionary Russia, cursing the outrageous burden of five daughters may not scream ‘relevant content’ in 2018. However, the pressures of restrictive tradition, the powerlessness of poverty, the forced displacement of entire communities – the latter rightly declared by director Glen Young as “undeniably relevant” – may be found in OXOPS’ thoughtful and timely production of ‘Fiddler on the Roof’.

Even if the concept ‘am-dram’ induces dread and an involuntary shudder, this production is worth your time. Integral to this musical is the community, and a society such as OXOPS excels in presenting this in a way that few student productions would manage. The sight of grandmothers swaying to Jerry Bock’s score behind the beams of eager stage-school tweens conveys the warmth, and the claustrophobia, of Tevye’s Anatevka. Tevye’s obsession with reputation before a sizeable community is highly believable from the opening number, the stage being crammed with enough people to populate several villages as they enthusiastically bellow ‘tradition’ as the central tenet of Anatevka life. The other advantage of such an enormous cast is the eagerness of the audience it brings; their regular applause and clear admiration energises the cast as the play develops.

Most impressive, however, are the intimate, all-female scenes. The stand-out performance of the show undoubtedly comes from Jo Lainchbury as Golde, Tevye’s wife, whose unsentimental approach to the role works well in steering the presentation of the village clear from a twee provincial Utopia. The rendition of ‘Matchmaker, Matchmaker’ is surprisingly and satisfyingly gritty, in spite of the title’s suggestion of a nauseatingly saccharine number. An emphasis on the daughters’ desperation, and their fear of a life of marital drudgery – “I could get stuck for good” – complemented Tevye’s (Steve Mellin) own powerlessness. Sardonically referred to by Golde as the “breadwinner”, Tevye is trapped in an economic situation so dire that he contemplates marrying nineteen year-old Tzeitzel (Saffi Needham) to the ageing widower Lazar Wolf. The latter is played with impressive subtlety by Dennis Garrett, who conveys the suffering even of this character, comfortably well-off, but desperately lonely in old age.

An element that works less well is the inclusion of the eponymous, wordless fiddler, who seems perpetually onstage. Tevye’s conversations with the pirouetting, oddly violin-less fiddler draped in a coat that was less the work of Motel’s needle, more a quick visit to the M&S January sale, adds little to Mellin’s depiction of a frustrated yet loving father. The proximity of the fiddler presented Tevye as slightly too self-absorbed in the wrong moments, particularly in the final scenes as he watches his community separate. In a moment when Tevye should be realising that his daughters’ choice of husbands, once so challenging to Tevye’s precious traditions, now prove to be their escape routes, our attention is drawn to the fiddler, whose incongruously cheerful presence is a distraction.

However, as the curtain falls, this gripe is quickly forgotten, as an emotion uncommon in musicals emerges: a sense of bereavement. Tevye’s Anatevka, for all its internal flaws and conservatism, is driven apart by external intolerance. Young’s production conveys this in a highly moving manner. Tevye’s paranoia in attempting to uphold the traditions of a community is rendered futile when that very community ceases to exist. Commanding the respect of Anatevka’s inhabitants and upholding his faith is the source of Tevye’s dignity and influence. To then see him bereft of his daughters, home and community is a haunting sight. It is also an invitation to reflect upon the more intangible losses that an individual incurs when driven from home: support networks, a quiet pride in one’s public stature, security – all must be sacrificed in exchange for survival.

Perhaps the most chilling lines in the production are delivered by Jeremy Lane’s Constable; he describes the devastating pogrom as an “unofficial demonstration”. This is the opaque linguistic manipulation – the masking of hatred and intolerance in bland, clinical discourse – that demagogues continue to deploy in their deception of the public. The cast do such lines full justice; similarly knowingly delivered by Mellin is Tevye’s lyric: “when you’re rich, they think you’ll really know”. Leaving the theatre after this impressive production, one has the depressing realisation that such evils – cultural and religious hatred and its masking in sickening, sound-bite phrases, economic injustice, acceptance of the idea that influence can be bought – remain all too pertinent.

‘Fiddler on the Roof’ is at the Oxford Playhouse until 20th January.

A long way home

Verity Bligh
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A long way home

The start of term, for most Oxford students, means being dropped off by their parents at college. The termly ritual often involves a long car-trip, unpacking various boxes, books and cacti, and perhaps lunch out in town, before saying goodbye. But like many other international students, I will never be dropped off, nor picked up. For me, 0th week brings a pang of homesickness as families flood Oxford’s streets.

I live over 10,000 miles away, in Sydney, Australia. The journey to and from Oxford takes me 30 hours door-to-door, but the transition between these two places lasts much longer. It’s a transition I find very difficult, although it’s taken me a long time to speak openly about it. The journey is always coupled with a sense of overwhelming anxiety, one that starts a week before leaving and takes roughly two weeks, once arrived, to settle down. It’s not the flying itself (although international storage, economy-class seats, and jet-lag definitely don’t help). It’s the feeling of constantly being yanked between two different worlds, and not really belonging in either. It’s almost embarrassing to say that I find the vacations the hardest part of my Oxford degree.

I fully recognise that I am privileged to live in, and travel between, these two beautiful cities and that my feelings of dislocation are in no way limited to me as an individual or as an international student. For example, a close college friend of mine lives in Oxford, a ten-minute walk away. They must re-adjust from the independence of student life to the expectations of their conservative family every eight weeks, without the benefit of distance to buffer the transition. One year on, having learned about myself and my friends’ experiences of first year, I now know that the issue is missing Oxford during term-time rather than resenting home in Sydney. Yet there is also a unique set of problems to living so far away.

These problems start before the vacation even begins, with the process of moving out of college. Packing up is intensely stressful because it’s a responsibility that I have to face entirely on my own. I’m reminded that my college room is only a temporary home, particularly by the rather cold-hearted and dysfunctional international storage system. For the past two years, I’ve lived my life from one suitcase and a few boxes. As soon as I feel rooted, it’s time to pack up again. Then, there’s the issue of travelling solo. For 30 hours, I’m left alone with my thoughts and feelings, in the absence of a friendly face or even wifi. I’m also often mistaken for an unaccompanied minor, (being offered a children’s plane toy was just insulting), and going from the intimate college environment to one in which I am an absolute nobody is especially dislocating.

Next comes the crippling jet lag. For those who haven’t experienced it, jet lag is a bit like a week-long hangover. It simply makes everything worse. Not only am I exhausted when it’s least convenient (i.e.: collections), I also feel moody, over-emotional, disoriented. This was how I felt at my lowest point, exactly one year ago, in 0th week of Hilary in my first year. Jet lag became an extra hurdle, on top of the cold dark winter, academic work and changing friendships, that I had to navigate as an international student. Long-distance relationships are difficult too. It’s impossible to physically meet up with my friends who live in the UK, and the time-difference hinders social media communication, even if today’s transport and technology have made these possibilities easier than ever. It’s even harder to keep up with my friends back home during term-time. This is partly because I struggle to explain what Oxford is like and why it’s such a big part of life without coming off as distant or pretentious. Whilst I recognise that Oxbridge is unique to any other university experience, it’s harder and harder to find common reference points with people my age in Sydney. The norm in Australia is to live at home, study a vocational degree and attend a local university, where the mantra is “Ps get degrees” (where “P” stands for “Pass”, the equivalent of a Third). Most people there don’t quite understand why I’m travelling halfway around the world to study History and Politics at a lesser version of Hogwarts.

There’s also a more existential issue that comes with living so far away, which is that straddling these two worlds challenges my sense of identity. Here, I’m not just talking about growing into my own person at university. The differences between home and college are salient to me as an international student in a way which they simply aren’t for most domestic students. My identity is defined in contradistinction to the place I’m in, but I don’t really belong in either. I am Australian when in Oxford and an Oxford student when in Australia. Even my accent changes depending on where I am, making this disjuncture feel particularly real. I’ve been asked several times in shops and cafés around Bondi where in the UK I’m from and for how long I’m backpacking. I’ve then had to explain that I live five minutes away, and have done so for fourteen years.

I’m still not sure who’s found these conversations more awkward. It’s often easiest to laugh these encounters away or whip them out as funny anecdotes, to hide how difficult I find them. I may post Instagram photos of sunny beaches, but I’m secretly wishing that I was in cold and rainy England at my friend’s Christmas dinner party instead. I’m guilty of both idealising Sydney (the heat, the brunches, the relaxed lifestyle) and complaining about it (the heat, the time difference, the “Eastern Suburbs bubble”) as proxies for the deeper experience of feeling torn between two places.

Over time, it’s gradually become easier to talk about why I’m struggling and how I’m coping directly. My experience is also relatively easy in comparison to other international students. As a British-Australian dual national, with family in the UK, family friends in town, and a dad who went to Oxford, I haven’t had to deal with culture shock or language difference (even if “chirpsing” confused me for an entire term: the Australian slang is “tuning”). It’s a testament to the drive and resilience of these students that they surmount these extra obstacles, which are invisible to most of us, on an everyday basis and with minimal support.

Nonetheless, the distance between Oxford and Sydney, the full 10,000 miles of it, is a blessing as well as a curse. Travel provides a clear separation between college and my family home. In fact, I like to compare the journey to the flashback effect in bad films, when the screen goes wobbly. Travelling between two very different places has a similar hallucinogenic, dream-like, feeling. It’s difficult to remember what life in sunny Australia is like when I’m shivering in the Rad Cam. This separation means that I can clearly categorise my time and memories in each location, without the confusing overlap experienced by students who live in or around Oxford outside of term.

Moreover, seeing friends or attending events such as Twickenham or the Boat Races is not an option for me. This is sometimes comforting, because there’s really not much I can do about this ‘fear of missing out’. It’s perhaps worse for students who live outside the Home Counties, where such a trip is feasible, but costly and impractical. This distance also means that there’s a network of Australian students in Oxford and Cambridge with which I can share common experiences, talk to when I’m homesick and, most importantly, celebrate Australia Day. I now know that I can rely on this network and other close friends in both Oxford and Sydney when I’m stressed out. To tell the truth, it’s been a steep learning curve. I underestimated the difficulties of living so far away from home. But as I’ve gradually grown more confident in myself and my friendships, expecting a tough transition rather than simply switching over, moves have become easier and easier.

Ultimately, the underlying struggle to readjust is common to most, if not all, Oxford students. First and foremost, there is a radical change in pace. Every dimension of life at Oxford – academic, extracurricular, and social – is intense, and, during the vacation, this routine is pulled out from under our feet. I often experience an inescapable sense of boredom during the vacation as my day devolves into a pattern of “eat-sleep-repeat”, combined with overwhelming exhaustion and guilt surrounding collections.

There’s always more to do, even if rest is absolutely necessary to our physical health and mental wellbeing. We are also out of the loop. Returning home after term-time confronts us with the fact that family life goes on without us, and sometimes circumstances change. For me, this has included ups and downs in my family’s health and happiness, as well as the terrifying discovery that my little brother is now two heads taller than me. As a result, it’s often awkward and dislocating to reintegrate into past routines and relationships – to return to “how things used to be” before flying the nest.

This is also the case with friendships based at home. It’s a sad truth that school-age social groups tend to narrow, as they change in importance over time, especially in comparison to the intensity of college relationships. It’s also more difficult to make new friends during the short vacations, meaning that there are fewer and fewer people to come back for at the end of every term. The most challenging experience however is becoming “that Oxford student” – to have my identity reduced to the institution I study at. I have been made fun of, dismissed as pretentious and considered intimidating in this way, both by friends and strangers.

Obviously, life must go on. As I change as a person in my opinions and interests, I must accept that I’ll diverge from my life before university. The truth is that I prefer living in Oxford, even if this truth is sometimes difficult for those at home to accept.

This summer was a turning point for me. My family attended the funeral of one of my dad’s best friends from Oxford, and it made me realise just how precious our time here really is. Out of my dad’s year group of 100 students, half a dozen have lost their lives to accident, mental illness or disease in only 30 years. This realisation filled me with a sense of impending doom, as if life is a constant race to stay ahead of mediocrity, anxiety or tragedy. With halfway hall approaching, I described this feeling to a friend as standing on top of a waterfall with my eyes closed (think “Titanic”). I can feel the water rushing around me and am desperately trying to catch hold of it as it slips through my fingers and pushes me closer and closer to the precipice.

Ultimately, our time at Oxford will likely be the best three years of our lives. Life beyond Oxford is unknown and there’s a limit to what we can do to change that. Truth be told, it was my dad’s stories about college which made me want to study here at the age of ten. Yeats captured it well when he wrote, “I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful”. Our time here is finite, it’s imperative that we seize the opportunities these years provide us with. The terms are intense, the work is rigorous and the vacations are long. I cannot wait to get back to college, despite all the essay crises, emotional breakdowns, and chirpsing drama it entails.

So as I’m sat writing this on the plane, I now know that “home” can be both Sydney and Oxford simultaneously. And I’ve only six hours and 45 minutes of this long journey home to go.

Coco sees Pixar back on delightful form

Hannah Patient
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Coco sees Pixar back on delightful form

With the release of the disappointing Cars 3 over the summer, and the recent announcement that Toy Story 4 is in production, there have been fears that Pixar’s previously undimmable brilliance is fading. But Coco, a heartwarming and beautifully imagined film inspired by the Mexican festival Dia de los Muertos, is proof (ironically enough) that there is life in the studio yet.

The film centres around twelve-year-old Miguel, whose great-great grandmother was abandoned by her singer-songwriter husband and consequently instilled a hatred of music into all her descendants. Miguel, however, dreams of becoming a musician like his idol, Ernesto de la Cruz. When on the night of Dia de los Muertos he finds himself trapped in the Land of the Dead, the choice between following his dreams and obeying his family becomes a matter of survival as he faces the possibility of being stuck there forever.

Naturally, a fair bit of exposition is required for such a complex premise, but it felt more like an engaging city-tour than a boring lecture. Visually, it was barely possible to take in all the rich detail poured into the streets of Miguel’s hometown, the costumes and face-paint of the dead, and the glittering necropolis they inhabit.

There are amusing references to both high and popular culture: Frida Kahlo makes an appearance in the afterlife and Miguel’s canine companion in the city of the dead is aptly named Dante, while  turnstiles at the city’s entrance look suspiciously Disneyland-esque. The animators also have plenty of fun with the visual possibilities of a supporting cast of skeletons, puncturing scenes with delightfully macabre bursts of physical comedy.

Disney’s recent commitment to increasing diversity, seen in films like Big Hero 6 and Moana, certainly pays off here: the cast is almost exclusively Hispanic, and it lends the film a welcome authenticity. The Mexican-inspired music beautifully accompanies the story and it is likely that the sweetly melancholic ‘Remember Me’ will become a popular staple of the Disney musical canon.

Despite the many classic Disney tropes (goofy animal sidekick, journey through a magical kingdom, family-oriented moral message), I was pleasantly surprised to note that Coco subverted the aggressively didactic ‘carpe diem’ mentality often found in children’s films. It was refreshing to be told for once that some things are more important than following your own dreams whatever the cost.

Yet in spite of the many idiosyncratic touches, what makes this film really special is its universality. Death, family and memory are themes common to everyone, and though you can see the touching end sequence coming a mile off, it is difficult not to be affected by it. It moved me more than anything I’d seen in a long time.

Making bad art

Megan Black
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Making bad art

Bad Art. What makes you add that adjective? ‘Bad’. Is it style, medium or content that defines taste?

On my Art Foundation course we decided to once again procrastinate on our final projects and figure it out. Maybe by finding this out, we can save our own art from that ‘bad’ art title it very definitely was.

It all started when my friend showed me another friend’s GCSE final piece. Her friend wasn’t happy with it. She had spent ten hours straight attempting to recreate a two dimensional Ruby Rose. She felt that she hadn’t succeeded. I looked at the photo. It was incredible in its clarity: I could see that it was meant to be Ruby Rose, but something was not quite right. It just looked bad.

The bad art was inspiring. We wanted to do something similar. We attempted to create a portrait, but to purposefully make it fail. This is not to say that failure was not something that we encountered often, but this time it was deliberate.

We picked Angelina Jolie. Often crowned as one of the most beautiful women in the world, she was the image of perfection that we needed to start with. We replicated her five times, each time creating a face that was nearly – but not quite – right.

Attempt One: our rushed and hurried marks crudely collaged to make a face. It was not successful and appeared too much like an abstract portrait. It was not obviously ‘bad’ enough.

Attempt Two: the eyes were off. Eyes are crucial in portraits as they are usually what the viewer automatically searches for. Natural eyes need to be at an angle, skewed and pupils facing just in the wrong directions.

Attempt Three: skin tone. We used grey as shading on a pink face. Needless to say, this was not successful, and gave the appearance of a beard.

Attempt Four: We over-dramatised her features. It looked like a caricature gone wrong.

Attempt Five: This time she had an irregular face size. Again, this was unsuccessful; the angular shape appeared like a rip-off copy of Expressionist art.

What we realised about ‘bad art’ is that more than anything, the crucial element is time. Like the hilariously bad celebrity drawings done by fans, we needed to spend excruciating time and effort, pouring our hearts into the work. Time was spent trying to shade, to dot, to draw. In our one-day self-proclaimed project, this was something we just didn’t have.

We also realised another thing. The drawing needs to try to imitate real life – try being the operative word. It needs to try to replicate the person before it, and any differences from the person and the portrait must be a lack of skill, not a result of creative interpretation.

It is often said of Picasso that his success in painting his radical portraits was made possible after he demonstrated he could do things the ‘right’ way. Picasso’s cubist portraits – in which his subjects have two eyes on one side of their heads and noses emerging from their foreheads – are preceded by a mountain of his earlier work, which is all strikingly in proportion.

There needs to be an attempt to get the features in the right proportions for there to be a result in which they are not quite there. It was through this little feat, we realised what makes the great masters great, and us just another group of ‘bad’ artists.

Work begins on new Somerville accommodation

Ryan Gould
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Work begins on new Somerville accommodation

Work has begun on a Somerville accommodation block in Jericho, which will take all Somerville undergraduates out of private rented housing. The site, located on Walton Street, aims to provide bedrooms for 68 students.

The proposition proved controversial in the planning stage, after concerns that archaeological remains from the English Civil War lie beneath the site. Construction began on the building on 11th January this year.

It will be named after the late Catherine Hughes, principal of Somerville between 1989 and 1996. Dr Trevor Hughes, Catherine’s husband, marked the occasion by putting the first shovel in the ground.

The work on the Walton Street site will be undertaken alongside the construction of a further 42 rooms. They will be added to the rear of 25-27 Little Clarendon Street, a Somerville College owned property. 110 bedrooms will be built in total across both sites.

The college treasurer, Andrew Parker, said: “The Catherine Hughes building will help us to achieve one of our long-held goals: to accommodate all of our undergraduates on site.

“We know that this will bring our Somerville community even closer together.

“It will also offer a significant benefit for applicants choosing Somerville, and will be particularly important to those who might otherwise be deterred by the cost of having to live out for a year.”

The building is expected to be completed in October 2019.

Syrian refugee receives offer from Balliol

Fred Dimbleby
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Syrian refugee receives offer from Balliol

A Syrian refugee who fled to England in a lorry carrying frozen chips has been offered a place at Balliol College.

Sulaiman Wihba, 20, will begin a maths degree in October next year.

He received 4 A*s at A level in Maths, Further Maths, Physics, and Chemistry this year. He described the news of his offer as “unbelievable”.

“For me, this feels truly unbelievable. Who would have thought that 17-year-old me, jumping off a lorry when I arrived in the UK, could make it to Oxford?

“It’s been such a tough journey since I left the bombings and the bullets in Damascus but I wouldn’t change anything about it.

“I am also so grateful as I couldn’t have done any of this if it had not been for my parents and my teachers’ amazing support.”

A tutor for Undergraduate Admissions at Balliol, Dr Sebastian Shimeld, said: “We look forward to welcoming Sulaiman Wihba to Balliol College, and to learning more about a story that shows the transformative power of education.”

Sulaiman left Damascus with his mother in 2015 after it became too dangerous to remain. He travelled over the border to Turkey, before making a perilous five hour crossing of the Mediterranean in a cramped boat.

From there they travelled through Europe to Calais – passing through Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, Hungary, Austria and France. He then managed to escape to England in the back
of a frozen foods lorry.
The journey was made with few supplies. Sulaiman’s mother arrived in the UK with only one shoe.

He attended school and recieved help from a local charity called Voices in Exile, who give advice and support to asylum-seekers in Brighton. Sulaiman began teaching Arabic to refugees for the charity, which rented out a room at Brighton College.

The headmaster of the school, Richard Cairns, heard about Sulaiman’s volunteering and story.

The teenager was then offered a full scholarship at the £23,000 boarding and day school, alongside another refugee, Elias Badin.

Richard Cairns said: “Sulaiman has worked incredibly hard, in the face of great adversity, and he richly deserves this offer.

“We’re proud to have helped this remarkable young man attain his goal.

“We know he will achieve great things in the future.”

Balliol have a scholarship programme for refugees which pays for tuition fees as well as living accommodation.

However, Balliol clarified that this was not awarded to Sulaiman.

They have not responded to Cherwell’s request for information about the last time the scholarship has been rewarded.

Thais Rosque, president of the Oxford Students Refugee Campaign, told Cherwell: “It is great to see that Balliol is offering a place to such a deserving student.

“Sulaiman’s story is a proof of how many brilliant students are awaiting opportunities just like these, first offered to him by Brighton College and now Balliol.

“Our campaign was targeted exactly to students like him, who by no fault on their own had their education put at risk due to war, disasters or persecution.

“Well done Sulaiman, well done Balliol, well done Oxford.”

Oxford student’s rape trial dropped

Cherwell News
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Oxford student’s rape trial dropped

The trial of an Oxford student for rape and sexual assault has been dropped days before the case was due to be heard in court.

St. Hugh’s chemist Oliver Mears, who matriculated in October 2016, voluntarily suspended his studies after being accused of assaulting a women in July 2015, when he was 17.

Mears, from Horley in Surrey, has spent more than two years on bail. His trial, which was due to begin on Monday, has been abandoned this week.

The Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) requested that a judge record a ‘not guilty’ verdict, citing that evidence had been reviewed by a “new set of eyes”.

Prosecutor Sarah Lindop told Judge Jonathan Black at Guildford Crown Court that the decision not to advance with the case was in light of fresh examination of a diary and digital evidence. She said this “tips the balance” in favour of the 19-year old.

According to the Daily Mail, it is believed lawyers for the student, claimed evidence that would prove Mears’ innocence had not yet been disclosed.

One St. Hugh’s student told Cherwell: “The whole process seems ridiculous frankly.

“The CPS and the police need to get their act together and realise that it’s as important to protect innocent people as it is to secure convictions.

“Keeping people under allegations for so long is just cruel.”

A CPS spokesperson said: “We keep all cases under continual review. Following a review of this case, prosecutors were not satisfied there was a realistic prospect of conviction as the evidential test set out in the Code for Crown Prosecutors was not met.

“We therefore decided to offer no evidence.”

They also maintained that the decision to withdraw this case was not made because of an earlier failure to disclose evidence. According to the BBC, prosecutor Lindhop said in court that there were “some disclosure matters” but “this is not a disclosure case per se”.

Surrey Police said it “deeply regrets mistakes made in the efficacy of investigations.” They noted that officers did not follow “what we would consider to be a reasonable line of enquiry.” An internal review has been launched.

The judge criticised “unnecessary delays” in the case. For those involved, he said, the case had been “hanging over their heads” for two years.

Judge Black ordered the head of the CPS rape and sexual offences unit contact him within 28 days “with a full explanation of what went wrong.” This will inform whether later action needs to be taken “at CPS or police level.”

The news follows the Metropolitan Police’s recent announcement that it would review all sex crime investigations in which a suspect had been charged.

This came after the CPS chose to offer no evidence against Liam Allen and Isaacy Itiary following the late disclosure of evidence which worked to in the defendants’ favour.

St. Hugh’s College would not respond to the particulars of the individual case, but told Cherwell that “it is a matter for Oliver to decide when he wishes to return.”

Oxford University declined to comment.

Amadeus review – ‘Salieri cackles in a high-backed chair like a Bond villain’

Tom Graus
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Amadeus review – ‘Salieri cackles in a high-backed chair like a Bond villain’

It is an irony, and surely a knowing one, that a play about mediocrity such as Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus should be so superlative. Michael Longhurst’s production of the play at the National Theatre is the most spectacular, enjoyable and life-affirming piece of theatre I have seen in some time. It is also courageous, in light of recent cuts to arts funding, to see a production argue so forcefully for the unique value and enduring relevance of theatre in contemporary society.

The scene is late eighteenth-century Vienna, and the narrative opens with the arrival of the titular prodigy, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Adam Gillen), to the city. It is not Mozart, however, but his jealous rival Salieri (Lucian Msamati) who is the audience’s protagonist and guide, and the story is told in flashback from his supposed deathbed. Longhurst’s direction is particularly ingenious here: the stage comes to represent, not the realistic topography of fin-de-siècle Vienna, but rather the cavernous, changeable expanse of Salieri’s memory, with Msamati a constant presence, preening centre stage or cackling, hidden, in his high-backed chair, like an effete Bond villain.

It is Msamati who anchors this ambitious production, and amongst the veritable embarrassment of riches that Amadeus affords his performance deserves special mention. His Salieri is the charismatic ringleader, the audience’s drily witty confidante amongst the excesses of the Viennese court; but he is also petty, venal, occasionally loathsome (the scene in which he makes advances on Mozart’s wife, empathetically played by Adelle Leonce) and ultimately, in the final scene, absurd. The fact that Msamati achieves this seamless character arc while never leaving the stage speaks volumes about his exemplary talents. At one point, upon asking the audience if he had really changed that much since the play’s beginning, a punter replied with the wonderfully equivocal ‘a bit’; which, really, says it all.

If Msamati’s expertly measured performance gives Amadeus its relatable human detail, then Adam Gillen’s Mozart suggests the exact opposite: the guilty pleasure of absurd overacting. This is a compliment; Shaffer’s Mozart is a ridiculous figure, and Gillen’s performance is a masterclass in petulance, as he runs around the stage, spitting and shrieking. It must take genius to be this irritating. But Gillen can also handle Mozart’s final, moving insanity, and if his character arc is less subtle than Msamati’s, it is every bit as affecting.

Special mention should also be made for Matthew Spencer’s performance as the mincingly imbecilic Joseph II, who delivers many of the play’s funniest lines. Indeed, one of the best things about Amadeus is its conviviality; while handling serious themes, it never gets bugged down in turgid psychological realism, and relief is always at hand thanks to the Southbank Sinfonia, an onstage presence as nimble and pervasive as Msamati who ensure Amadeus is aurally as well as dramatically rich.

By ensuring this diversity of entertainments coexist, often for comic or dramatic effect, on the same stage, Michael Longhurst’s production of Amadeus makes a powerful case for the vital uniqueness of theatre as an art form. And, for all the extravagant period detail, Amadeus feels strikingly relevant; it features a commendably diverse cast, and the play’s themes of mediocrity, and of fame as a kind of immortality, are arguably more pertinent now than when Shaffer first penned them in 1979. I implore you to go and see it while you can, as I have a feeling posterity will be talking about this one for a long time to come.

More Union Presidents than BME people in cabinet

Tara Sallis
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More Union Presidents than BME people in cabinet

The UK Cabinet now contains more ex-Oxford Union Presidents than BME people, following this month’s reshuffle.

Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson, Environment Secretary Michael Gove, and Education Secretary Damian Hinds were all Presidents of the debating society while studying at Oxford.

The only BME minister who attends Cabinet is Sajid Javid, the Secretary of State for Housing, Local Government and Communities.

Johnson was President in Trinity term 1986, Gove held the post in Hilary 1988, and Hinds in Trinity 1991.

Hinds’ addition to the Cabinet meant that the number of exUnion presidents stayed constant, even after Damian Green, former Minister for the Cabinet Office and Union President for Michaelmas 1977, was asked to leave the government after lying about concerning pornography on his work computer.

Prominent ministerial resignations in late 2017 affected the demographic balance of the Cabinet. As well as Damian Green, International Development Secretary Priti Patel was forced to resign after controversy over her unauthorised meetings with Israeli officials provoked a media outcry.

Johnson initially lost out on the position of Oxford Union President when running as a Conservative, but in 1986 he was able to win the position as a Social Democrat.

Michael Gove, a contemporary of Johnson, backed his bid for presidency.

Hinds famously defeated Tory backbencher Jacob Rees-Mogg in the Union Presidential contest for Trinity 1991. Rees-Mogg served as Librarian of the Union while studying at Trinity College.

Hinds’ promotion has caught the attention of pundits, with Gove going as far as to name him as a potential future leader of the party.

Hinds’ old Union rival Rees-Mogg, who also been touted as a potential Tory future leader.

Rees-Mogg described Hinds as “an amazingly able man, and a very nice one too.

If you’ve got to lose to somebody, to lose to somebody you greatly respect is much preferable.”

The reshuffle also saw the rise of Michaelmas term 1997 President Sam Gyimah to Universities Ministers. As reported last week, his reign as president proved controversial, as he invited Saddam Hussein’s deputy to speak at the Union, and was accused of ‘overworking’ committee members.

Theresa May was an active debater during her time at Oxford, and her husband Phillip May was president for Trinity 1979.

Roland Rudd, brother of the Home Secretary who was given the additional role of Minister for Women and Equalities in the recent reshuffle, became president for Hilary 1985 while studying at Regent’s Park College.

Lucy Frazer, an MP first elected in 2015 who got her first ministerial job this week, is the only former Cambridge Union president in the government.

According to analysis by The Sutton Trust, 48.3% of the Cabinet were Oxbridge educated, a similar figure to David Cameron’s 2015 cabinet where 52% had been to either Oxford or Cambridge.

Another 34.5% of the Cabinet went to other Russell Group universites.

No members of the Cabinet did not attend university. The last member of the Cabinet who did not go to university was Patrick McLoughlin, formerly Conservative party chairman.

The Oxford Union and the Cabinet Office declined Cherwell’s request for comment.

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