Monday 18th May 2026
Blog Page 876

Is the ‘vac’ really a vacation?

Julia Alsop
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Is the ‘vac’ really a vacation?

Somewhere around fifth week the thoughts of home first enter your mind. You’re slaving over an essay in the early hours of the morning, but you can’t help feel you’d be much comfier in your cozy childhood bedroom rather than your damp student accommodation, complete with a single bed whose springs pop and poke you, damaged by the enthusiastic relations of previous occupants and their guests.

Your college bar is great (and cheap) but your favourite haunts back home are where you had your first legal drink, and your student loan is quickly disappearing down the slots of the games machine.  By the end of eighth week, even Hassan’s cannot satisfy your culinary needs like your mother’s home-cooked meals can. Being home at the end of Michaelmas means Christmas food, warm nights in or nights out in your hometown, the pure joy of no deadlines and all the free time gained from not having to work, right? Wrong. Alas, this is the Oxford life – you don’t get the pleasures of being able to relax.

Eat a mince pie, have a glass of fizz, but remember – on the other side of the vac there are collections. Who wants to return from a perfect Christmas only to realise that instead of catching up with your friends in the college bar, you have to sit a handful of collections? This taints the whole holiday period. You can’t win. Either you’ll do plenty of work but end up missing out on Christmas markets and mulled wine, or you’ll indulge in wintery festivities with the guilt hanging over your head. Collections are the peculiarity of Oxford that contributes to making it so infamously taxing a place to study over other institutions: they limit your ability to truly unwind.

Even if you get over the burden of revising for collections, or scratch the itch of guilt at not ‘getting ahead’ on coursework, there’s still that little voice at the back of your mind that whispers “hey, you know that one day you’re going to leave the Oxford bubble and need a JOB? Your degree alone is not enough to fall into your chosen profession.” Oh. Then you’re flooded with more panic when you realise that you should probably be applying for internships, vacation schemes, and work opportunities. There are few things more anxiety-inducing than the festive buzzkill of repeatedly filling in your GCSE results and details of your stint working in a local pub, hoping that it will somehow satisfy the requirement for being hired by a prestigious international business.

“Isn’t this the same situation for students at other universities?” my mother said when I explained the rant I was producing. Eight week intensive terms, no reading weeks, and termly collections aside, it honestly is. Most ambitious students will apply for an internship or so in their time, and feel the pressure to revise last term’s material, knock off some of the new reading list or write chunks of dissertation in advance of term.

But does the universality of stress make it somehow okay? Why is there a culture of prestige to burning out or having a very precarious work-life balance? I accept that it is no less easy in the working environment and that it is necessary to work hard on internship applications and academic work. But there’s something to be said about questioning a university culture that exhausts students, where people fall into periods of depression and anxiety over the competitive workloads and ambitions for professional success.

To develop as a young adult, and a future professional, it is just as important to enjoy the festive time with family, and to not feel guilty over making memories (eurgh, I’m so cliché). You need good mental health in order to thrive, and currently Oxford does not do well at suggesting to its students that rather than become an overworked zombie, sometimes it’s okay to just stick your middle finger up at your reading list and enjoy the time off.

Cutting time at university won’t cut inequality

Lydia Higman
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Cutting time at university won’t cut inequality

The claim that universities are bastions of privilege is virtually axiomatic. Systemic inequality within the education system culminates to reflect a demographical and financial imbalance within universities. The most controversial aspect being the shift in the burden of pay from the state to the student.

As it stands, university tuition fees are at £9,500 per year with a 4.6% interest rate, deterring less-privileged prospective students from applying. This is a perversion of the principles of the right to education. Indeed, it was the miscalculation of the impact of tuition fees that so famously buried the Liberal Democrats in the coalition.

The consensus on the need for change (or reaction to the pressure for change) is broadly shared, hence Theresa May abandoned the planned £250 increase in fees for 2018-19. Similarly, in July this year, Damian Green stated that student debt in its current form is a “huge issue”. Acknowledging the flaws in the university system is a non-partisan apprehension. But Universities minister Jo Johnson’s most recent ‘solution’ to the problem of astronomical student debt, to reduce university courses to two years, is short-sighted and lacks a clear rationale.

His proposal to amend the Higher Education and Research Bill would allow for more ‘flexible learning’ and offer a higher annual fee limit for accelerated courses, subject to Parliamentary approval. For Johnson, an overwhelming majority of courses could be done in two years, especially with the development of the internet which has had a transformative impact on teaching methods.

An efficiency drive of this nature relates to a key assumption about academia: that the humanities don’t offer as much in terms of skill set as other more vocational degrees. For Simon Jenkins, newspaper columnist for The Guardian and past editor of The Times, the humanities are content with the valuation of education as an inherent good. Jenkins neglects to mention that the humanities will arm an individual with the ability to conduct a critical investigation, such as this one.

It is a valid statement that engineering will literally give a student a more tangible skill set. But valuing engineering above philosophy is characteristic of a paradigmatic view towards education that is driven by economic output and productivity. This is precisely the indictment that Stefan Collini makes in Speaking of Universities. For Collini, the systemisation of funding and governance has forced universities to engage more in market behaviour and entrepreneurialism. The imposition of these values from policy-makers has detracted from the value of universities as centres of learning. This detraction takes a very literal form in Johnson’s proposal to cut the three-year course.

The narrative on universities clearly expands past student loans. In his article, Simon Jenkins refers to a debate held at London’s Institute of Education between two top educational economists, Mark Blaug and John Vaizey. The debate was centred around university being a mode of personal consumption or an institution of national investment. Vaizey argued that universities were indeed a project of national investment (supposedly without offering a plausible rate of return), whilst Blaug argued that university was merely a vehicle for middle-class consumption.

One economist from the event suggested that economic growth in Germany and East Asia preceded mass access to higher education. Similarly, Alison Wolf argued that post-graduate wages are stagnant, productivity is low, and 1/3 of graduates are in non-graduate jobs. But a solution like Johnson’s, which focuses solely on time and financial efficiency, ignores the complexity of the debate surrounding higher education. Furthermore, Johnson misses one key fact about university: it should also be a period of personal development.

Johnson plans to encourage more universities to adopt these ‘accelerated degrees’ by permitting them to charge a 20% premium, raising fees to £11,100 to cover additional costs. Johnson argues that the accelerated degree will create a more efficient system whilst encouraging mature students to apply, whose application to university has shown a marked decline since the rise in tuition fees. So what of the alternatives? Labour’s solution is even simpler: to cut tuition fees all together and pay the £50,000 of debt. This acts as a corrective for the imbalance between private and state burden for higher education, which depending on your political affiliation is a good or bad thing.

In doing so, the fees would be shifted to the richest 40% of graduates away from poorer tax payers. Jenkins suggests an income tax coding system based on the years spent in higher education would be fairer. This attempts to get around the congestion in debt repayment, another serious issue. The Economics consultancy London Economics predicted up to 48.6% of loans will not be repaid. The diversity in solutions further highlights that whilst the numerous problems may be an area of cross-party consensus, building non-partisan support for any solution will be hard. In this case, Johnson’s attempts to push reform through parliament will see a substantial backlash from the Labour party who are determined to scrap tuition fees all together.

There are 140 institutions in the UK teaching more than 2.5 million students. It is time that universities are treated as more than a channel for rhetoric. Fair access to education is still, regrettably, a privilege. But it is not just the specific policy, but the approach itself that must change to ratify this inequity. Reviewing student loan arrangements or cutting the time students spend studying are solutions indicative of a British attitude problem. The quantification of the value of university should be greater than the rate of return from graduates.

The British political establishment have historically struggled to participate in great collective ideas. This had traction during the Brexit vote as the British had always failed to view the European project as a codification of collective freedoms, as well as a tool for economic convenience. To this affect, policy-makers must place education at a higher level of credence. Valuing fair access to education above economic efficiency is an imperative. Collini postulates a bold but surmountable task (or cliché): “to think again, think more clearly, and then to press for something better.” Johnson’s policy appears to be a short-term solution, but in reality, it entrenches a view of higher education as a machine for creating economic output. It is this perspective which posits that university should only be for the few for whom it is most efficient. It is this approach that will ensure inequality within our higher education system remains.

Ode to an Entz Rep

Fin Kavanagh
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Ode to an Entz Rep

“Let’s run for Entz,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said. Like all Entz Reps, we blindly ran for the role under the impression that it would be a glamorous lifestyle of free bop juices, rep cards, and Bridge queue jumps. Now three bops, four A&E trips, and 170 litres of spirits down the line, it’s probably a good time to reflect on how well the position has lived up to its expectations.

For those not clued up on JCR electoral practices, most Entz teams run for election as a slate of four. There is a complex distribution of duties that is unique to each and every team, though it usually runs along these lines: Rep One does nothing. Rep Two does nothing. Rep Three says he’ll pick up club tickets, though actually does the same as Reps One and Two. Rep Four does the remaining duties. If you’re reading this as an Entz Rep and are unsure which one you are, you’re probably one of the first three.

Entz Reps tend to fall into two main categories: firstly, there are those that liked clubbing a bit too much in first year. These are the type of people whose mates from home ask about them with genuine concern. The second category of Reps weren’t the biggest clubbers, though still love a drink – they’re essentially alcoholics in training. Needless to say, neither of these groups are renowned for their organisation skills, dedication to their job, or general ability to function before 5pm in the afternoon. In many ways they are actually the worst people to be dealing with premises licensing, fire evacuation plans, and industrial quantities of hard spirits. Sober Entz Reps are about as common as constructive Oxfeuds.

Despite being wholly unprepared for what is expected of them, Entz Reps find themselves forced to rise to the role, or at least one of them does. They aren’t motivated by an innate desire to do the best job that they can, but largely by the fear of the angry mob if they don’t. Bops are one of the few bits of JCR business on which everyone has an opinion. This is not helped by the fact that each person has a different idea of what a decent bop should be (please bear this in mind when you’re screaming in my ear that the playlist is crap halfway through the night). The sleepless nights spent worrying whether that transition from ‘Man’s Not Hot’ into ‘Africa’ will work are not only unappreciated, but not even noticed once everyone is off their face.

For Entz Teams that can be bothered to sell club tickets, the journey to the promoters is among the least glamorous parts of the job. After being continually harassed with passive aggressive Facebook messages, you eventually cave and go to do the pickup. From the moment you step into “the office” (the table in the corner of The Lighthouse), your eyes start to water from the smell of stale tobacco. It immediately begins to feel like something of a twisted episode of Dragon’s Den, in which the five puffer-coat wearing dragons must convince you that ‘Pounded Thursdays’ at JT’s is a worthwhile investment (hint to any incoming Entz teams: it’s not). They’ll subtly enquire to whether you have a formal on Friday, a cunning ploy to try and offload that pile of ‘Retox at Fever’ tickets no one has touched. You then proceed to gently let them down by telling them that no one really likes going to Fever. You still take some of the wristbands anyway, partially out of pity, but more so because you just can’t deal with the confrontation in your hungover state.

The night of a bop (or the entire weekend if you’re an Entz rep) is where the anxiety really gets into gear. The holy grail of bops are those held at external venues like Plush, where there’s no clean-up or any sort of real responsibility – these are for Entz teams with budgets the size of the US defence programme.  They’re able to enjoy a carefree night, comfortable in the knowledge that they aren’t liable for anything that goes wrong. Meanwhile, those at the bottom of the bop hierarchy spend their evening running around with wet floor signs and bin liners full of plastic cups in their college’s function room. These rooms were designed for symposiums on sustainable development, not 100-strong mosh pits to ‘Feed ‘Em to the Lions’. The sound of smashing glass soon imparts the same level of dread as that fog horn sound from a Christopher Nolan film. Most of the evening is spent looking out longingly from behind the bar, wanting to join your mates on the dancefloor and wondering why you signed up to do this. You go home completely exhausted and disheartened, and the only pull you get is on the plunger – trying to dislodge bits of vomit from the clogged toilet U-bend at 2am.

All of this would make you not want to touch the role with a bargepole. However, despite all of the chaos, cleaning, and chunder, it still manages to be a fair bit of fun. Once you accept that no matter how good of a bop you throw there will always be complainers, it’s possible to stop stressing out and enjoy yourself a bit. Accidents do happen, but Reps are likely to have caused their fair share of carnage also. It’s almost as though those that become Entz Reps are giving back to the community for their own drunken mistakes. They may not be the best people for the job, or even remotely competent, but you’ll struggle to find a group of people more willing to sacrifice their degrees in the name of a good time – and for this, at least, they deserve a little bit of recognition.

It’s time to freshen up the BBC coverage of the Varsity Match

Cal Flintoff
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It’s time to freshen up the BBC coverage of the Varsity Match

The Cambridge scrum-half stands serenely behind the light blue pack. The Oxford line can do nothing but stand and wait. Bell’s hands cock, and the cycle whirrs into motion; the Cambridge forwards no longer engage in contact, but simply receive and burrow to the turf, entrusting their master conductor to engage checkmate. Bell has been supreme for 79 minutes and 59 seconds. 80 minutes exactly ticks over, and the ball is once again in Bell’s hands. Here’s the moment you’ve been dreaming of, son. Pluck the ball from the back of the ruck and absolutely leather it high into the depths of the inviting Twickenham stands.

It is in fact the only error that creeps into Bell’s game all day. It’s knocked on, a moment of untidiness that nonetheless stands out in a touch-perfect display. Only Bell can shed light on the thoughts that flickered through his mind in that moment. Had he been the de facto choice in this Cambridge unit, maybe the ball would’ve cannoned emphatically off his boot, but Chris Bell was called up to the first XV only weeks ago, when regular nine and four-time Blue Seb Tullie injured his knee. 20 years of age, an undergraduate studying History at Girton College, an unused substitute in last year’s triumph, thrown into the side this time around. It’s a good bet that amidst the fever pitch of those final seconds, the occasion finally engulfed its man.

The Varsity Match is the most venerable sporting duel between the shades of blue, once acting as the breeding ground, the ultimate arbiter for those who would go on to impact the international stage: Stuart Barnes and Rob Andrew as opposing fly-halves in the 1982, Tony Underwood as a flying winger and Phil de Glanville too later in the decade.  That is not to say that high-calibre international talent no longer dons the iconic jerseys. For years, post-graduate study at Oxbridge has been gilded by the opportunity to take the field at Twickenham. Australians from Brian Smith to the late Dan Vickerman have captained Blue in the past. These acquisitions generate a wider scope of interest and indulge social media hype, but often lost on the occasion is the mutual benefit, the impact on the undergraduate body who form the beating heart of both clubs. This is what will continue to drive the fixture forward.

The BBC still dedicate coverage to the event, albeit relegating the women’s fixture to the red button. The issue is that the coverage must keep developing if it is to counter dwindling audiences. Unofficially, Oxford went into this year’s fixture looking to cement their place as the leading amateur rugby team in the northern hemisphere, having put Bucs Super Rugby champions Hartpury College, Irish champions Trinity, and a Collegiate All-American side all to the sword with eye-catching attacking rugby this season. However, there was no mention of such feats in the build-up. While the parables of old Varsity successes warmed the crisp December showpiece, it smacked of the lack of individuality afforded to the Match. A new face perhaps, but the same questions.

I watched the fixture in a student-packed bar in the Tignes Resort on the Varsity Ski Trip, and it was significant how the crowd were distinctly more enlivened by the talent of the undergraduates than their professional counterparts. It’s tempting to suggest that a showcase of amateur rugby should be exactly that, and its coverage should cast more of the spotlight on the 20-somethings who have grafted relentlessly throughout gruelling schedules to make their marks on the occasion.

Every year, there are players for whom the Varsity Match is their swansong. This year, for instance, was Ollie Phillips’ final performance in a distinguished career. For Oxbridge’s amateurs though, it is the biggest game of their entire lives, a rare opportunity to sample the high life their elders have revelled in. This is their time. It was genuinely invigorating that the best player in each shade of blue were both 20-year-olds: Bell with his electric handling and draconian movement, and Will Wilson with his powerful dynamism and combative propensity for the high ball. Both scored tries on the hallowed turf that will live long in the memory.

Upon returning from the trip I re-watched the game on iPlayer, watching the analysis cut short in the mountains a few days prior. It was genuinely disappointing then that the post-match interview failed to convey the injection of youth that had characterised the 136th Varsity fixture, instead deciding on a sentimental trip down memory lane with the 35-year-old Phillips and his self-confessed old legs.

“You’ve obviously lived the build-up to this match,” Inverdale enthused in his closing remarks, before leading on to the most pertinent question of the afternoon, and one that simply cannot be answered unless future coverage is shaken up to reflect the Varsity Match as it is today.

“But what will it actually mean to them?”

TV gets real as Easy returns for a second season

Anna Myrmus
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TV gets real as Easy returns for a second season

Easy follows the lives of different characters navigating love and friendship in Chicago. It sounds like the same tired script that TV executives keep pitching us in an attempt to make Friends happen again, but it’s not. Each episode follows a new group of characters, and explores a different aspect of relationships, the connection between each being a shared acquaintance and the Windy City.

Joe Swanberg, a pioneer in the ‘mumblecore’ independent film movement, uses his mix of improvisation and deft naturalism to create stories that are neither tired nor revolutionary, but simply real. Easy does not rely on great set pieces or plot points, instead it is a show that relies almost solely on acting and dialogue – to the point that if the sets were stripped away and replaced with an empty stage, little would be lost.

Easy makes the smallest story seem important. Characters’ lives, however insignificant they may be on the world stage, are never diminished or trivialised. Rather, we are shown a city full of different, interesting, and broken people who all contribute in their own way, and who matter to those around them. Swanberg marks himself as a skilled writer in his ability to make us empathise with the worst of humanity, with its selfishness and greed, whilst showing us that the best often lies beneath. In a culture which is increasingly turning to superheroes and gods for our lessons on morality, Easy is refreshing in its understanding that none of us have the answers, and that there often isn’t a magic fix to our problems.

Just when we feel we’ve reached the limits of our empathy, the episode ‘Conjugality’ asks us to go deeper. Jacob Malco, an illustrator who already demonstrated his profound narcissism within the first series, looks for redemption for the way he treated his ex-wife. Through pieces of dialogue, we establish his infidelity, his egotism, and the way he destroyed this woman. And yet, when they sit face-to-face to discuss his misdeeds, he appears more complicated. His teetering hesitation before saying “I’m sorry” pulls us in, as well as the tangible guilt on his face as his ex-wife, Karen, opens her heart up to him. Jacob’s ability to finally recognise his mistakes doesn’t make him good but it makes him self-aware, and ultimately allows us to like parts of him. We are seduced, just as Karen is, into thinking that his charm and wit overwhelms his flaws, until the last scene when, her trust in him destroyed once more, Jacob concerns himself more with the advancement of his career than their relationship. Although it feels that Swanberg pushes his character back to the beginning, in fact, he shows us the way in which people can be aware of their flaws but continue to exploit them, how they pay lip-service to the good in them, if only to hide the bad. How much of this feat is indebted to Marc Maron’s performance as Malco is unclear, as the lines between improvisation and script are muddied by an actor who has gone through two divorces himself.

Swanberg also makes us question even the most fundamental opinions we think we hold. Easy examines themes of polyamory, sexuality, and gender roles without ever feeling like a cynical attempt to crowbar “hot topics” into the script. In the episode, ‘Open Marriage’, preconceptions about open relationships are both explored and dispelled. Although it is clear that despite sleeping with other people their love for each other hasn’t changed, Andi and Kyle aren’t satisfied by the sex they have outside of their marriage. Swanberg doesn’t dismiss polyamory, instead he shows us its complexity, and more broadly, the complexity of human desire and love. Similarly, in ‘Lady Cha Cha’, the way in which those desires complicate our beliefs manifests itself. Chase finds that her girlfriend Jo isn’t happy with her being a burlesque dancer, despite her usual enthusiasm for women expressing their sexuality. As Jo feels compelled to share how jealous Chase’s burlesque dancing causes her to feel, the visceral images of naked female bodies force the audience itself to question how far their sex positivity goes, and whether we truly believe women should be allowed to express their sexuality.

In a show which presents sex as full of awkward moments and not always good, as well as human bodies as diverse and real, Easy compels its audience to experience its version of the real world. Swanberg shows an imperfect world full of imperfect people, and yet, his treatment of these imperfections still seems far more compassionate and progressive than the world we live in.

Why do we love anti-Christmas songs?

Lydia Stephens
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Why do we love anti-Christmas songs?

Rejoice, Love Actually is on Netflix, meaning that in amongst sequences of Hugh Grant dancing in No.10, adorable shots of Keira Knightley, and a cameo by Rowan Atkinson, are the hilarious one-liners of Bill Nighy playing washed-up-has-been Billy Mack. King of the ‘Anti-Christmas song’ he asks his audience, please, “if you believe in Christmas, children, like your uncle Billy does, buy my festering turd of a record.”

Amongst these Christmas records you have distinct categories. There’s the universally loved hymns like ‘Silent Night’. There’s obligatory X-Factor Number 1’s which have brought us such delights as Joe McElderry’s cover of ‘The Climb’. Then you have the true commercial successes. Would anyone’s Christmas be complete without the sound of Slade’s Noddy Holder declaring ‘It’s Christmaaaaaaaaaaaas’? Finally, you have the unrivalled Mariah Carey with “All I Want For Christmas is You.”

Yet, interspersed amongst these feel-good tunes are the rogue breakup songs that aren’t really that Christmassy at all. Christmas Charts always make room for these down-beat ballads. For every singalong classic, there’s someone reminding us that this Christmas, much like Billy Mack they’re “wrinkled and alone.” But the idea to release an off-beat sad-tune has been around since the 1950s. Icons like Price, Elvis, and The Everly Brothers, brought us songs with titles and lyrics as unhappy as ‘Another Lonely Christmas’, ‘Blue Christmas’ and even ‘Christmas Eve Can Kill You’ – none of which inspire good will. Surely the fact that the King and Queen of Sad-Core Johnny Cash and Joni Mitchell have had a crack at penning Christmas songs should indicate a trend for writing anti-Christmas tunes.

But the most groundbreaking to emerge from this tradition, never missing from a Christmas playlist or festive countdown, is the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl with ‘Fairytale of New York’. Typically the song comes at the night’s end, so after one too many drinks, you can disguise your drunken slurs as an impression of Shane MacGowan’s ‘unique’ voice. Now famous slurs like “You’re a bum / You’re a punk / You’re an old slut on junk,” make you wonder what on earth went on in the board-meeting when the band pitched their idea to then producer Elvis Costello. Legend has it, the song we all know and love is a hashed together response to a wager made by Costello that they couldn’t write a Christmas song. Yet we might ask, realistically what is alcoholism, heroin abuse, and a toxic relationship breakdown doing in a Christmas song? It truly sounds more like a Sex Pistols track than a Christmas sing-along. But apparently it’s one of the UK’s most played Christmas tracks of the 21st Century – so what are the British public playing at? What is it about this sorrowful complaint that puts us in the Christmas mood year after year, and allows you to be obnoxiously anti-Christmas without ever being a Grinch?

Moving away from drunken bars to the ski-slopes of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ music video, we get a more aesthetic kind of Christmassy sadness. It’s a song you associate with your parents’ office Christmas parties. Its charm you could attribute to a number of things: there are some appalling 80s perms, which have never been dampened by the test of time, or the snow and most of us recognise a young George Michael casting glances down the camera lens at you, whilst in the background, bells and 80’s synthesisers chime. All this occurs alongside the timeless lyrics: “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart / But the very next day, you gave it away”. With this tune it’s easier to pinpoint why we might be attached to a bit of sadness amongst all the manufactured mirth. Christmas isn’t a happy time for everyone. There’s heartbreak amongst it all.

But why spoil all the fun with reality? That’s the point – it is the sad reality.  The overarching themes that wrangle these songs together are loss, loneliness and separation. And there must be a reason why the most enduring songs, the miserable, melancholic, alcoholic ones are still so prevalent. Christmas is a time for empathy, but it’s also a time where we tend to turn inwards and forget those who aren’t immediately close to us. Systemic issues of isolation, alcoholism and chronic loneliness at this time of year may offer a reason as to this musical trend. That’s perhaps why bittersweet tunes like Band Aid’s ‘Feed the World’ and John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s ‘Merry Christmas (War is Over)’ are often the most successful despite their sad sentiment. Whilst the outrageous success of ‘Fairytale of New York’ might be seen as somewhat anomalous, in most cases there’s a trend to be seen and to think about.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi review – ‘unpredictable plot twists and deeper characters’

Hannah Patient
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Star Wars: The Last Jedi review – ‘unpredictable plot twists and deeper characters’

I didn’t go into Star Wars: The Last Jedi with particularly high expectations. I found The Force Awakens reasonably enjoyable, but it felt like such a rehash of old Star Wars moments that I didn’t feel a burning desire to see more. Yet, as I sat down to watch this new entry in the saga, the familiar trumpet fanfare resounded through the cinema and the same old yellow font began to roll off into space, and I realised I had goosebumps. Despite everything, I was actually ready to see where this new film would take the franchise.

Episode VIII immediately hurls the viewer into the thick of the action as ex-Stormtrooper Finn wakes from his coma to find that Commander Poe has led Resistance forces on a high-stakes mission to take down a dreadnaught. Meanwhile, Supreme Leader Snoke wants Kylo Ren to prove his strength once and for all, while Rey desperately tries to enlist the help of Luke Skywalker to take the First Order down. What follows is a thrilling, twisting plot which culminates in a stunning (if slightly too long) end sequence. The CGI and cinematography of the firework-like red explosions of dust on the white topsoil of the planet Crait during this sequence provides some of the most epic visuals the series has ever seen, which couldn’t be contrasted more than with the adorable Porgs, creatures which are best described as a cross between puffins and lemmings.

Though the franchise made a clear attempt to increase the number of female characters in prior entries, The Last Jedi proved that the tables have begun to turn. In The Force Awakens, I thought Rey seemed like any forgettable heroine from a YA novel; here, her character blossomed and began to show intriguing depths as she struggles with the temptations of the Dark Side. New character Rose, a downtrodden mechanic who never changed out of her boiler suit, made an unlikely heroine, and yet she was given a chance to prove herself in her adventures with Finn without sinking into cliché. Purple-haired pilot Admiral Holdo (Jurassic Park and Big Little Lies’ Laura Dern!) was yet another unpredictable and refreshing addition, while Carrie Fisher gave a heartbreakingly captivating final performance as Leia.

The unpredictability of this film was one of its greatest strengths. I was genuinely surprised by many plot twists and found the big reveals provided satisfying, plausible retorts to fan speculation. Another interesting aspect of the film was the apparent blurring of boundaries between the light and dark sides of the Force, a reminder that no character is totally good or evil. The telepathic exchanges between Rey and Kylo Ren proved tense, adding a welcome new dimension to each character.

The film was by no means perfect. Domnhall Gleeson’s performance as the squealingly evil Hux was not particularly multi-dimensional and verged on the camp, although it looked like he was enjoying himself. I thought the initial exchanges between Rey and Luke were rather hurried and wooden, and was slightly baffled by the scenes where she followed him around his island home, watching him drink green milk from the udders of what looked like overgrown Heffalumps. However, it’s easy enough to view these things as part of the fun and take them in your stride.

All in all, then, The Last Jedi’s character development and intelligent nods to the rest of the series are welcome developments, while its exciting plot and above-average number of humorous moments help keep its two-and-a-half hour running time feel less unwieldy. As the credits rolled, I was filled with a new hope that far from being on their last legs, the Jedi would return with a vengeance – and so would I for Episode IX.

Autism as the ‘North Star’: ‘The A Word’ season 2 review

Catherine Cibulskis
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Autism as the ‘North Star’: ‘The A Word’ season 2 review

‘The A Word’, a BBC drama created by Keren Margalit, centres around Joe a young autistic boy and his loving family as they tackle life as an imperfect unit. While the first season focused on parents, Paul (Lee Ingleby) and Alison (Morven Christie), coming to the realisation that their son is different to other children, season two delves deeper into the inner workings of their family as they strive to do right by Joe. More than a series that deals with autistic life, ‘The A word’ is an intricate expression of the complexities that surround interpersonal relationships in the 21st century.

Autism, being a disorder that lies on a spectrum, is necessarily met with controversy each time it is depicted in the media, coverage which is crucial in raising awareness but often disappointing in its treatment. Every experience of autism is different, with manifestations varying massively between individuals, so there is a definite danger of generalisation and stereotyping with any drama that constructs fictional representations. ‘The A Word’ has its faults but succeeds in its exploration of how other family members are affected; of how a condition which involves a difficulty in communicating can lead to a breakdown of communication between those immediately affected.

‘The A Word’ paints a sensitive portrait of a family dealing with the practical realities of life with an autistic child.  Joe takes to heights at school, climbing up a ladder at break time to the alarm of parents and students alike, only coming down when his mum and dad skilfully reach out to him. Here we see strains extending beyond the family, to the circle of parents who feel Joe is a disruptive addition to the school. In response to fears and complaints, Alison and Joe rightly speak out and defend their son to dissuade the local community from intolerance and misunderstanding. Alison goes as far as to say it is a privilege to have a boy like Joe in their midst, to teach the others that not everyone sees the world in the same way. As a reflection of a society in which one in five children with autism have been excluded, ‘The A Word’ provides a poignant snapshot of the great and very real pressures created by public attitudes towards autism.

The present-day parenting of Joe is captured alongside anxieties that come with the hypothetical paths that Alison, and particularly Paul, can’t help but project for him in a world that he may not always understand, and more painfully, may not always understand him. Mark, a 16-year-old also with autism, comes into the family’s life through a support group, and in him, Paul sees Joe’s future, one of burden without possibility. Paul’s disillusionment surrounding his son and his marriage mounts throughout the series, with optimism fading in the latest episode as the strains on Paul and Alison intensify to the point of rupture.

Choked and crumbling at the school play, Alison can hardly keep it together and everything seems precarious until Joe’s performance. Throughout the series, Joe physically positions his family members side by side in a touching attempt to communicate his desire for them to stay together – turning his back on the audience, he performs purely for them, the people who matter most. In a frightful moment, Joe’s grandfather collapses on stage. We next encounter him in hospital, jovial and understated. Deftly written by Peter Bowker, ‘The A Word’ comfortably navigates the uncomfortable, puncturing potentially tragic scenes with comedy, expertly delivered by Christopher Eccleston in his role as a somewhat socially inept grandfather.

Ending on a bittersweet note, with Alison and her children sat side by side on the camper van as Paul detachedly looks on, ‘The A Word’ leaves us uncertain as to what state the family will be in by next series. All we are left with is the knowledge that Joe is their ‘North star’, an undeniable part of the family who will hopefully act as a uniting and not a divisive point, around which they all revolve and move forward.

Council to extend Syrian refugee scheme

Oscar Baker
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0
Council to extend Syrian refugee scheme

Ten more Syrian families are to be resettled in Oxford, in a continuation of a City Council scheme designed to aid some of the worst affected victims of the Syrian civil war.

The City Executive Board is set to meet on Wednesday to officially approve the move, welcoming more families to join the 21 already rehoused since the programme began in autumn 2015.

Most of the families already in Oxford and those due to arrive are part of the British government scheme to relocate those deemed ‘especially vulnerable’.

This means the city’s new residents will have suffered detention and some form of physical or psychological injury before arriving in the UK.

Councillor Bob Price, Leader of Oxford City Council, told Cherwell that public support for the resettlement scheme has been strong from the start, reflecting “the open and international character of Oxford people”.

He said: “It has been a very successful programme managed by a dedicated Council officer in close partnership with Asylum Welcome and Refugee Resource, two local charities.

“The Council’s Housing Department has excellent links with the private landlords and agencies in the city through their work in finding temporary homes for homeless families.

“There is a sizeable settled Syrian community in Oxford already which has helped in the process of integration.”

Speaking earlier in the week, he set out the benefits for Oxford, saying: “We are getting people who have skills for the local economy.

“We are bringing in young people who are going into education who will contribute to the economy, and we are also bringing to the city the influence of their culture.”

“Now, Oxford is seen as a national example… people are incredibly socially-aware and people want to help.”

Dan Iley-Williamson, a Labour Councillor for Holywell Ward, told Cherwell that the Council’s involvement was “part of the desperately needed response to the humanitarian crisis caused by the brutal war in Syria”.

He argued, however, that the current UK Government’s refugee resettlement policy – which promises to rehouse 20000 Syrians overall – is a “gross abdication of our responsibility to help those in need”.

“Instead of turning our backs on those who have suffered the horror of a devastating civil war, we should be welcoming them. Here in Oxford, that is what we can do…[and] families resettled in Oxford are able to rebuild their lives,” he said.

Under the Council programme, a particular focus is given to English language teaching, provided by “charity partners”. All the 43 resettled adults are undergoing English tuition.

This will ensure, according to Councillor Price, that “adults are able to function successfully in the labour market and in dealing with health and education services. This teaching is mainly delivered through a network of unpaid volunteer tutors”.

One of the charities involved, Asylum Welcome, has also increasingly highlighted the challenge of searching for employment opportunities. So far, seven of the adults resettled are in work.

Kate Smart, a director at Asylum Welcome, told The Oxford Mail: “One man who was a doctor in Syria is only getting offered work in restaurants.

“That is the one thing they are complaining about to us more than anything – finding employment.”

In total, there are 45 children from the Council’s programme now attending school across the Oxford area.

One child, 13-year old Amineh Abou Kerech, a pupil at Oxford Spires Academy, won the national Betjeman Poetry Prize in October for her work ‘Lament for Syria’.

How to be the edgiest dresser at Cellar

Samuel Juniper
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2
How to be the edgiest dresser at Cellar

Fashion. It’s a funny thing.

Remember topknots? I used to have one of those. But that was way back in 2015, a much simpler (better) time. These days, new trends are starting off left, right, and centre – it’s borderline impossible to keep up with them all.

One hotbed of fashion is none other than Oxford’s very own Cellar. Do you want to be edgy? Do you want to feel like you’re cool? Do you want to conform to society’s overwhelming consumerist pressures by shelling out exorbitant quantities of cash on a brand-new wardrobe to impress your friends, and far more importantly, strangers?

Well, look no further. I present to you a comprehensive guide of the coolest styles you’ll find in Cellar.

1. ’The Ralph Lauren Roadman’

Trackies, black top, Ralph Lauren polo hat (tragically, we didn’t have one). You got your keys fam?

Model: Teresa Rendell

What better way to hide your privileged start in life than to dress like you’re from an estate which didn’t have a butler, several acres of forests/field, or multiple ponies? Show me a better to way to divert attention from the fact you’re using daddy’s credit card than pretend you didn’t even have one growing up. I mean, how else are you going to fit in at an elite university – beset on all sides by people from wealthy, influential families – if you don’t ruthlessly appropriate working-class culture?

It’s not easy being a Ralph Lauren Roadman – you could be mistaken for a poor person at any time. A true RLR knows all the words to four, precisely four, grime songs: Shut Down, That’s Not Me, Shut Up, and Feed ‘Em To the Lions.

Remember, just because you’re dressing like a plebeian, that doesn’t mean you should be living like one. Why on earth would anyone bother leaving their ends if their hat didn’t boast a fashionable brand’s logo?

(Sidenote: Purists would argue that this outfit is never complete until it’s stained with jagerbombs and/or nondescript white powder.)

2. ’The Lumberjack’

Dungarees, checked shirt, and boots fit for a day of hiking. An axe wouldn’t hurt, too.

Model: Sam Juniper

Are they master woodcutters, ensuring we’ll have firewood aplenty to last this bitter, freezing winter? Or are they just city dwellers kitted out in dungarees and corduroy thinking they look edgy? Yet more of life’s unanswerable questions. No one knows for certain.

This lot are a hardy, friendly people (Once you ignore their infuriating habit of shouting ‘TIIIIIIMBER!’ anytime the bass drops).And, if you’re lucky enough to be heading home with one of them at the end of the night, you can be sure to wake up to a cooked breakfast and a fresh pot of black coffee. Meanwhile, your paramour will gaze out of the window, whistling softly before muttering “It’s yet another beautiful day in the wilderness”.

3. ‘Balliol Indie’

Doc martens? Check. Trousers that aren’t made of denim? Check. A Tumblr account with >10,000 followers? Double check.

They’re not your normal, run-of-the-mill individual. They’re different. They’re alternative. They’re Balliol Indie. It’s a thing.

I believe there comes a point in every impressionable young adult’s life where they realise it’s just not worth putting up with excruciating discomfort in the name of fashion. Somehow, Balliol Indies have no such realisation. I envy them, they’re too Indie even fro nature. Imagine that. How do mere mortals wear such thick (likely homemade) jumpers inside Cellar, the world’s messiest sauna? Are their jumpers magic – does vintage shopping grant special powers in exchange for making you ever so slightly insufferable?

For some reason, this particular breed of Cellarite appears in far greater numbers for Burning Down the House, in an ultimately doomed attempt to fool themselves into thinking they live in another era. Tragic.

4. ‘The Slogan Crew’

A top with a few meaningless words scribbled on the front. ‘Stussy’? ‘Patagonia’? ‘Independent Since 1920’? It all means nothing to normies like me.

Woah, these guys aren’t fucking around. You’re telling me they’re wearing otherwise plain item of clothing with some big important words written on them? AND these words have no contextual meaning? Now that’s cool.

But it’s got to mean something. Why else would they be so keen to show off this word or phrase? Just take the guy on the left in the picture – am I meant to “CHILL”? Are they “CHILL”? What does it mean? I just find it all so confusing. Then again, we all know there’s nothing edgier than blagging about the deeper connotations of your outfit; these lot certainly have a head-start there.

5. ‘The Glitterball’

Shiny top. Warm, puffy coat. Most importantly, glitter. And lots of it.

 

Glitter is awfully popular these days – Christ, it’s the new nose ring, the new vintage Adidas/Nike jacket, the new posting people’s initials on Oxlove instead of their full name, (as if that makes using a public Facebook page to perv on somebody any less creepy).

Glitterballs either go horrifically overboard or put everyone else to shame – I guess it depends on your perspective. Popular (read: basic) patterns include streaks of glitter across one’s cheeks or one curving up around each eye. More hardcore (read: awesome) styles include literally crying glitter (see left), a glitterbeard (see right), or giving zero fucks and getting tons of it in your hair. Expect their outfit to be adorned with shimmering sequins, shiny fabrics and trendy gemstones, or alternatively with relaxed, pastel colours, emphasising the glitter.

However, don’t be lured too close by their pavonine nature. Kissing one of these sparkling creatures would be a grave error indeed. I recently had an abysmal one-night stand made worse – this is after she had deemed the experience “disappointing” – by the vast deposit of glitter left behind on my bedding. Every morning since I’ve woken up looking far more sparkly than I feel inside. My life is a mess.

6. The ‘Did I Tell You I’m Vegan?’

Flamboyant patterns, wavey trousers, charity t-shirts, plant based diet, old fleeces, and – what? Again, a plant based diet! Didn’t I tell you I’m vegan?

I’m sure they’ll receive their Scott Pilgrim vs The World vegan superpowers any day now. Just you wait. Easily spotted by the jewellery they bought as a memento during their gap year (Gap Yah) in Nepal and/or Peru, they don’t eat animal products: this means they’re relatively harmless to approach in their natural habitat – Cellar.

There’s a reasonably high chance that veganism could come up in conversation, so it’d be handy to come equipped with a few talking points. For example, Sainsbury’s basics gin is vegan, oreos are accidentally vegan, there’s that stall at Gloucester Green which does nice looking vegan food (The one you’ve always been meaning to try but haven’t gotten around to yet), and how it’s ironic that despite the impressive moral stand taken by those who never consume animal products, it’s a shame that a subsection of these people won’t apply the same principles to the cocaine industry, which is responsible for thousands of human deaths in South America. Perhaps they’ve got a way of ethically sourcing it? It must be sustainable. I don’t know. They are excellent at ethically sourcing things though, I’ll give them that. Credit where credit is due.

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