Thursday, May 15, 2025
Blog Page 91

Hollywood vs. AI – Is this the end?

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Whilst it’s no surprise that AI has been an imminently looming threat for some time, few truly envisioned its extensive capabilities until OpenAI’s recent release of ‘Sora’, the extraordinary text-to-video AI model, which has sent waves of apprehension through the creative industry. I do apologise if AI articles are, by now, a bit of a bore, but for those of you who haven’t already stumbled across this particular technology, it truly is a spectacle I urge you to investigate. Essentially, ‘Sora’ transforms simple text prompts of visual descriptions such as ‘A movie trailer featuring the adventures of the 30 year old space man wearing a red wool knitted motorcycle helmet, blue sky, salt desert, cinematic style, shot on 35mm film, vivid colors’ into one-minute long, HD moving pictures, almost (scarily!) flawlessly depicting the description inputted. A quick Google search will demonstrate the vast variety of other scenes that this technology is capable of generating, ranging from intricate animations to close-up nature shots and historical footage. The possibilities are endless. And almost perfectly executed. 

Currently, the model is not in the public domain and is only available to a limited number of technological professionals, visual artists and filmmakers for feedback purposes, however, it’s certainly possible that OpenAI have released these developments as a warning of their capabilities. This technology may be all well and good if used innocently from the comfort of one’s bedroom, but, as always, the implications don’t end there. 

So with the release of ‘Sora’, the question on everyone’s lips is: is this the end? The end of special effects teams? The end of video creation? The end of filmmaking? Let me start by reassuring you – this stance is somewhat dramatic. The release of ‘Sora’, whilst impressive, does not necessarily merit an existential crisis of the end of filmmaking altogether. There are, however, still some (slightly less extreme, yet crucial) concerns. These worries are evidently sweeping through Hollywood. Filmmaker Tyler Perry has put his studio expansions of $800 million on hold, and James Hawes, UK director, predicts that within five years AI will be capable of generating entire television series such as soap operas, with complexity and emotional depth indistinguishable from human creation. The most likely fields to suffer from such technology, therefore, are those that produce easily replicable, fungible content. As Hawes predicts, this consists of media such as advertisements, or soap operas, or Marvel films, which, whilst taking lengthy processes to write and produce, are, in reality, rather formulaic. It will, therefore, be mid-market entertainment which is lost to this technology, since, I can’t imagine it likely for AI to be able to produce the next Godfather. So whilst huge Hollywood studios aren’t necessarily in trouble, partially due to AI’s current limitations, and partially on account of capitalism’s rapacious nature causing huge studios to likely harness these tools for their own economic benefit, this so-called fungible content may be. Of course, equally, ‘Sora’ won’t be able to produce the eleventh season of Friends with the click of a button any time soon. But I can certainly foresee a world in the near future in which AI will, from the input of a handful of ‘Friends’ episodes, be capable of producing an entire AI-generated episode following formulaically from the input, to an almost identical level. And as for, for example, car advertisements, I seriously doubt these will ever be manually produced again. One look at ‘Sora’s video generation from the prompt ‘the camera follows behind a white vintage SUV with a black roof rack as it speeds up a steep dirt road’ makes this abundantly clear. Similarly, one might say the same for the extraordinary animation produced from the prompt ‘animated scene features a close-up of a short fluffy monster kneeling beside a melting red candle’.

But the impacts won’t start with the replacement of entire industries. Rather, overexposure and overproduction of these media forms mean that animators, soap producers and videographers alike, unfortunately, may need to either seriously up their game, diversify, or harness these AI tools in order to not be outcompeted by the industry’s very own survival of the fittest. Concerns regarding this arise, however, not only in the creative abandonment of middle-market shows and production but also in the loss of vital training opportunities which these foster. Mid-market series such as the BBC’s ‘Doctors’, whereby so many renowned actors first broke into the industry, provide hands-on experience and opportunities for entry for newcomers. With only world-famous acting and directing talent remaining in the industry – how might one break in? 

In an attempt to avoid sugarcoating this; post-’Sora’, filmmaking will never be the same. The impacts will be profound. The loss of jobs, experiences and skill in filmmaking may be catastrophic to the industry and will likely result in a disparity between those who utilise AI, and those who disregard it. Perhaps an overlooked impact of such technology, however, and for me, arguably one of the most widespread, is the erosion of culture. Throughout our lifetime, we have experienced the exponential demise of physical media, with the likes of physical DVDs and boxsets replaced by streaming services, CDs replaced by Spotify, and newspapers replaced by online articles (ironically). But AI takes this to a whole new level, by completely removing the element of humanity. Just the concept of reading an AI-generated article, or watching an AI-generated film, with a complete absence of human interaction and production, is, to me, terrifying. But equally, huge production companies are never going to reject such an opportunity to save time and save money. Maybe I’m naive in my idealistic romanticising of the manual process of film creation, but the abandonment of such authenticity feels somewhat like a betrayal of cultural integrity, value and true talent. 

For others, perhaps ‘Sora’ is less menacing. For those in our positions as students and young creators, ‘Sora’ poses an exciting opportunity for the expansion of cinema and new talent, and a revolutionary way of content creation. To be able to understand and utilise this technology to create fascinating independent films in a way which has never before been possible will soon be an invaluable skill sought by every recruiter in the industry. Why would one not take advantage of this? 

This article is by no means an attempt at fear-mongering. Upon looking at the bigger picture for a moment, it’s evident that this technology is not flawless. ‘Sora’ itself warrants little concern on account of its current abilities, and it is only when we jump to the conclusions of its potential use in Hollywood that issues arise. But a somewhat comforting assertion is that these consequences seem a long way off. Currently, ‘Sora’ is only capable of creating one-minute-long videos, and in order to produce more threatening, lengthy films, this would require the generation of thousands of AI chips, which, in turn, is expensive. And so unless Sam Altman happens to stumble across $7 trillion, Hollywood is safe for now. 

Personally, I remain somewhat optimistic. I think that the fundamental thing fuelling this optimism is the human desire for genuine talent and creativity. As a society, the cultural erosion I discussed is, generally, unattractive and undesirable. I would hope that, after the novelty of AI visual generation wears off, the human need for creativity and promotion of art will, at least to an extent, trump our persistent need to technologically advance. Ultimately, this unknown territory into which we are venturing is just that. It’s unknown. And so whilst such threats may, on the surface, be frightening, this is by no means the demise of Hollywood.

To all the pubs we’ve loved before: The House

For the classier among us, sometimes pubs and pints aren’t always what you’re looking for. This week, we decided to escape witness protection (it’s a long story) and treat ourselves and go to one of Oxford’s favourite cocktail spots. The House can be found beside the Bear Pub, making it an ideal location for those who, like us, rarely ever leave the city centre. The atmosphere here is amazing, classy but not intimidating, and the staff are always very friendly and helpful. Réka’s favourite is the Appletini or the White Lady and Suzy usually opts for the Raspberry Collins. If you are a fan of fruity cocktails, House is perfect, especially if you’d like to try something different from the usual Pornstar Martini. While drinks can be on the pricy side, they have a discount for Union Members and happy hours are 5-9 on Tuesday-Thursday, 5-8 on Friday and 4-8 on Sunday which makes a big difference. Even though it’s just a cocktail bar, they do have some bar snacks and one of our friends has even tried their nachos. Overall, we are always really impressed with House, the atmosphere and staff are wonderful, and the cocktails are delicious. For those with a vibrant social life, the upstairs can even be rented out for events, so it’s definitely a contender for your birthday!

All-in-all, we wouldn’t hesitate to recommend House to any who haven’t been or for your next date!

Drinks: 5/5
Food: 3/5
Price: 4/5
Ambiance: 5/5
Overall: 4.5/5

Seeking asylum from Myanmar: an interview with Jack Sanga

He was a student when Myanmar’s military launched a coup against its sitting government in 2021 and has since had to flee after protesting against military rule. He currently volunteers with the charity Asylum Welcome and is seeking to raise awareness of the ongoing violence and human rights abuses perpetrated by the present regime in Myanmar.

In spring of 2021, Jack was in his third year of university studying psychology. On the 1st February 2021, Myanmar’s parliament was scheduled to meet for the first time since the election in November 2020, in which the incumbent National League for Democracy led by Aung San Suu Kyi won in a landslide victory. Instead, to the surprise of many living in Myanmar including Jack, the military seized power from the civilian government on that day in a coup, bringing to an abrupt halt a decade-long transition away from full military rule towards democracy.

Jack woke up that morning and turned on the television to find that all channels were out of operation except the military channel which was broadcasting propaganda. The coup marked a return to military rule which Myanmar has been subject to since 1962. The November election was only the second general election held in the country since an end was brought to full military rule in 2011 after years of insurgencies and civil protests by the Burmese people.

The military justified the coup by alleging widespread fraud in the 2020 election and declaring a subsequent state of emergency, though a number of independent observers have rejected the claims of widespread election fraud. For young people like Jack, democracy had become the new norm and they had little memory of the decades of military rule that had dictated Burmese politics for much of the period since its independence. Having only known life under a democracy, he was completely taken aback by the announcement of the coup. He mentioned that when he first saw the broadcasts, he partially hoped the whole thing was some sort of joke, not quite believing what was happening, though the bleak reality of the situation soon set in.

Thousands took to the streets in cities across Myanmar in the months that followed to reject the coup and call for the elected government to be returned to power. Amongst them were Jack and his friends who organised the first non-violent demonstration in Mandalay, Myanmar’s second-biggest city, attended by hundreds of people. The initial response to the coup, which mostly constituted a peaceful civil disobedience movement made up of health workers, students and other civilians was met with a brutal crackdown. The military began its ongoing campaign of terror; quashing dissent with violent tactics, raiding homes, arresting and in some cases executing activists and those suspected of supporting democracy.

Jack recounts hearing about the first person, Mya Thwe Thwe Khaing, who was shot at with a live bullet at a peaceful demonstration in the city of Naypyidaw on February 4th as the police attempted to clear protestors. Despite contrary evidence from filmed footage of the incident, the military claimed only rubber bullets were used that day. She died in hospital on February 19th from her wounds. She was just 19 years old. After those first few days, Jack remembers dispersal tactics only becoming more brutal, with tear gas, water cannons and live bullets being deployed regularly at subsequent protests. He described scenes of burnt tires, roads filled with rubbish and sounds of gunshots resonating through the city of Mandalay for the first time in his
memory.

When schools and universities were reopened later in 2021 and in early 2022 after many months of closure due to COVID-19 alongside many other students refused to return to education in protest. Faced with gloomy prospects for the return of a democratic government and disgruntled at the state of the curriculum, shaped by what he found to be an intentionally exclusionary narrative, Jack continued his strike action. He received a number of letters from his university stating that if he didn’t attend, he would be arrested. As his situation became increasingly unsafe, he made the difficult decision to leave his home and come to the UK to seek asylum.

Speaking about his experiences seeking asylum in the UK, he says that he is at once grateful for the people he has met in Oxford and frustrated with some of his interactions with the immigration system. Though the Home Office web site suggests that it usually takes six months to get an asylum decision after interview, Jack has found this to be unrealistic in his and others’ experience. This reflects a national trend of growing appeal backlogs, resulting in longer average waiting times for decisions on asylum cases. According to the Migration Observatory, whereas 87% of applications received an initial decision within six months in Q2 2014, just 10% did so in the same time period in 2022. In 2021, UK asylum applications took an average of around 20 months to receive an initial Home Office decision.

As he awaits a decision, he has been staying in government accommodation on the outskirts of Oxford. He talks about how friendly and supportive many of the people he has met in Oxford have been. Since asylum seekers do not have the right to work whilst their claim is being considered, Jack has taken up volunteering with the charity Asylum Welcome, attends a local church and has sought ways to continue his studies and keep up his love of music.

He does so despite many barriers; unable to earn an income he can only access a government stipend of £8.86 a week- with a single bus fare into town from his accommodation costing £2, the possibilities of accessing any facilities or community spaces in town are extremely limited. There are also practical barriers to engaging with the local community- for one, despite relative proficiency in English, the language barrier can make meeting and getting to know people difficult as he found when he first joined his local congregation. In some cases, revealing his asylum background has provoked coldness or intrusive questioning, though there are still many who are welcoming and warm. He mentions that this is particularly true of those he’s met through local music groups, with music often providing a common language himself and local musicians and enthusiasts can all share in.

Despite having his life upheaved almost overnight, forced to flee his home and living in a state of constant uncertainty, Jack is resolved to make the best of his situation. When asked what he thinks there is for us to do as students he
stresses the importance of staying informed about the situation in Myanmar. Some assume it is safe for Burmese asylum seekers like Jack to return home, questioning their right to seek asylum here. Jack finds this to be a reflection of a general lack of awareness about the ongoing brutality being inflicted by Myanmar’s government on its people, particularly minorities like the Chin people, of which Jack is a part, who are not a part of the Buddhist-Bamar ethno-religious majority. Jack suggests that part of the problem is that media blackouts and widespread dissemination of propaganda by the military regime have limited channels for spreading information regarding the situation in Myanmar. At the same time, the fate of Myanmar is that of many countries stricken by violence and humanitarian crises – after a few months of taking up headlines, it lost the attention of the international community.

When Jack talks to us about the situation in Myanmar as it is today, the air around him seems to change; his sunny optimism seems to give way to a certain graveness and urgency. Reports from organisations including the UN suggest violence and repression in the state is only intensifying as the ethno-nationalist government faces various military challenges from armed groups in various states across the country. More than 2 million people have been displaced since the coup and the UN has noted the use of indiscriminate air attacks and scorched earth tactics by the military against opposition which constitute war crimes as well as uses of torture, intimidation and arbitrary detainment and killing of civilians.

Jack could have never imagined the turns his life would take all of a sudden in his third year of university. He retains a great deal of hope and determination and continues to advocate for awareness of the plight of the Burmese people and freedom against repression and violence at the hands of its military dictatorship so that his people can live free from the threat of violence and he might one day be able to return to the place he once called home.

When wine goes bad

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It doesn’t take a sommelier to identify when a wine has corked. It smells damp, unappealing, maybe a bit like wet dog, and tastes even worse. This occurs in around 10% of all bottles, when bacteria is transferred to the wine on the cork. The process is irreversible, and if you were banking on that bottle for a cosy night in, it could even be devastating. 

Good wine vendors – such as our friends at Oxford Wine Company – are happy to exchange the affected bottle in this unfortunate circumstance. But what do you do if you are stuck with wine gone bad? I found myself in this situation when I returned to Oxford after the vac – cheap wine, opened and left in the kitchen far too long. I am always loath to pour wine away, so I let it sit until I decided what to do.

These bottles sat in the kitchen, abandoned and forlorn until inspiration struck – or perhaps madness. Ok, it was neither; I just hate putting away laundry so decided to spice it up by dyeing my shirts using, you guessed it, old red wine. I could pretend I thought this through, or at least googled in advance. Instead I shoved the shirts in a large bowl, poured two bottles of red over them, and kneaded the fabric with my hands like Bacchae at a midnight ritual. 

I then let it sit on a shelf for three days. Why? Because that was how long it took me to be bothered to do something about it again. The next logical step was to wring out the wine and wash the shirts. This was something of a cathartic process, though I wish the blood red of the wine had been retained in the fabric. Instead they were a dusky shade of pink.

This could not be said when they came out of the washing machine. My shirts had turned grey. A nice grey, and one that in truth I’m more likely to wear than their original pink, but a baffling, dark, almost blueish, grey. My flatmates, it turned out, had googled dying shirts with wine; you’re supposed to heat it to get the colour to stick. This still doesn’t explain the grey.

Regardless, my brief foray into insanity was fruitful – if you’ll pardon the pun. I was grapeful that it was. I found a use for the wine, I have a new look, and my peers regard me as more insane than ever. Bacchus would be proud. I’ve also learned not to be afraid of a little spilled wine on my collar – soak the whole shirt and you’ll be turning heads.

Poor Things – Review

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Includes some spoilers

Poor Things takes place in a world only Yorgos Lanthimos could create. Like the rest of his oeuvre, the film is full of whimsy, wonder and taboo. It is fundamentally a world that you know, with cities you recognise by name, yet it is also distinctly unfamiliar. Free from time; Victorian yet alien in its technology and science, the London Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) inhabits is not the London you know all too well. Neither is Paris, Lisbon or Alexandria, where the rich live atop the hill and the city is stained a dusty orange. But these labyrinthine streets are not supposed to evoke realism; nothing about the story Lanthimos presents to his audience is real, at least visually.

Poor Things charts the course of the second life of Bella Baxter. We watch her first life come to an end abruptly as the film begins. Slowly we are introduced to our curious cast of characters: Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) a Dr Frankenstein character who looks more like the Monster; Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef) Godwin’s meek and mild protégé and Ducan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) the slimy lawyer come Casanova whom both cast and audience come to pity by the story’s end. Alongside this rag-tag bunch of characters, Bella navigates the world, both literally as she travels alongside an array of companions, and in the sense that she comes to understand the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly and her position within all of this mess.

Through the  fisheye lens of cinematographer Robbie Ryan we watch as the world expands for Bella, observing something that feels as though it is not to be observed. We peek into Bella’s life as she learns rapidly and matures over the course of the story. Yet other than ‘God’ nobody truly understands the extent of her naivety. Her body is an illusion; to those around her she is a grown women, yet in actuality she is a baby, then a toddler, a teenager and so on. Literally the mind of a baby is transplanted into her head, by her father figure Godwin. In restoring her to life, Godwin must fend off those who are unaware of Bella’s true nature. As Bella navigates her physical form she finds pleasure, yet those around her find taboo. Her scandalous naivety does not protect her from the outsider world which expects her to be prim and proper. But as Bella seeks etiquette and education, she loses the childish personality which made her so alluring to the men around her. Lanthimos has the ability to make all his characters, no matter how heinous they are, somewhat likeable, often by making them so quirky you cannot help but feel warmth towards them. Take Godwin: his surgeries would not be out of place in a horror film, yet the relationship he fosters with Bella is so nurturing and eventually free that you forget what he did to create such a life to begin with.

There are endless examples of craftsmanship throughout the film, Lanthimos’ films never fail to stun visually both when it comes to set and costume. If you thought the costumes in The Favourite were pompous, you aren’t ready for the frill and frocks in Poor Things. From sick-green nightgowns to collars fit for royalty, every character, every extra is decked out in the finest of fine threads no matter the occasion adding to the whimsy.

With awards seasons around the corner, Poor Things stands out as a bolshy frontrunner in nearly all the categories. From Sound to Cinematography, Lanthimos and his crew stand a great chance at ending the season on a high, and for good reason. By pushing the boat out and leaning into the chaos, Yorgos Lanthimos has managed to craft a story unlike anything else you will see this year. Each element adds to the eerie realism despite each component being fundamentally cooky. All in all a marvel, and Lanthimos’ most original work to date.

Greg Heffley: A Hero of Our Time

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Few modern comic heroes align with our distinctive age – an age which Dickens’s famous opening, ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times’, would easily resonate, and an age in which progress and innovation coexist with existential threats. Jeff Kinney’s literary forebears, those of the disillusioned and hubristic comic hero tradition, lie firmly in the twentieth century: the gloriously self-important Mr Poots, Orwell’s ostracised bookseller Gordon Comstock, the ever-exasperated academic Jim Dixon, and the acne-riddled Middle-England poet Adrian Mole.  

Greg represents all of the hubris and ‘self-irony’ of this literary tradition, and this is where the series’ comic appeal lies. For instance, his constant belittlement of his best friend Rowley Jefferson, and pretensions of grandeur by comparison, is confounded when Greg’s paranoia leads their mutual date, Abigail, into Rowley’s arms in The Third Wheel. Yet in his distinctive ‘David Brent’ mould Greg’s heroism is consistently balanced with some pretty unsavoury characteristics. Between his disregard for Rowley when he breaks his arm in the original book and his failure to take responsibility for wrecking his Dad’s car in Old School, we do not find a particularly noble or virtuous character in Jeff Kinney’s volumes. 

But is that what we want when we turn to comedy? Probably not. Rather, it is the passages of ironic brilliance, that elude self-realisation, that resonate with us and make us laugh. Just as Sue Townsend’s Adrian Mole fails to recognise the shortcomings of his ultra pretentious avant-garde literary style, Greg’s comic strip  is superseded by Rowley’s genuinely funny Zoo Wee Mama! comic in the school newspaper. In a quest for popularity that does not dissipate throughout the series, Greg also demonstrates his shallowness. After becoming the most popular kid in school for being able to tell the time at his terrible new school in No Brainer, his newly bestowed title of “Time Lord” beautifully characterises his self-delusion – or maybe reflects a sense of pragmatism that, if he becomes popular based on being able to tell the time, so be it. 

The twenty-first century could well be perfect for the sense of disillusionment which pervades every volume and affects Greg’s actions so decisively. And through its engagement with deeply contemporary issues, the series explores being a teenager in an age which should have everything, yet in which there are new and troubling challenges. His battle with his anti-technology mother at the beginning of Old School pits the generations firmly against one another – an Arkady bringing the modernising Bazarov to the sceptical older generation. 

But it is the trip to a tropical resort in The Getaway that most embodies our ambiguous and sometimes pessimistic age: his high expectations of paradise are confounded by what has become the epitome of modern tacky commercialism. If his parents are Adam and Eve going back to their prelapsarian nirvana, then Greg is the voice of their fallen descendants, wrestling with the snake of disappointment. He must reckon with the frustrations of modern life, just as Orwell’s neurotic Gordon rails against the modern “Money God” that conspires against his relationships and writings. 

Yet, between the dating failures and the strains of family life, there remains in Greg a profoundly human capacity  for kindness and humility. This provides a heartfelt, necessary counterpoint, and reminds the modern reader of the possibility and everyday reality of goodness in our times. His reconciliation with the recently broken-up Rowley in Hard Luck allows Greg to bury the hatchet with his oldest friend; when the proposed Heffley house move in Wrecking Ball threatens to break the friendship apart again, and does not materialise at the eleventh hour, the final scene of them reunited reminds the reader of the tenderness of relationships forged over many years. 

Here Greg experiences a rare and cathartic moment of self-realisation: his friendship with Rowley is more important than any new house. The dichotomy between constant self-delusion, and self-realisation in the critical moments, provides the reader both with searing humour at Greg’s expense, and yet the final recognition that he can overcome his flawed personality and relationships to preserve what matters – so the bumbling David Brent reconciles with his Wernham Hogg colleagues in The Office’s dying moments. The 3-pointer Greg accidentally makes at the end of Big Shot, having been traded off his basketball team by his own mother, emphasises this unlikely heroism. Happiness in an uncertain world may come from unexpected places. It is his unimpressive ability to tell the time, rather than any self-deluded attempts at romance, that finally gets him a girlfriend in No Brainer (if only for a few pages). And if the perennially under-achieving Greg can find success, so can we all. 

Let it be?

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The last month has too frequently left me wondering what the obsession with revivals and reunions is all about. We know that die-hard fans beg for reboots or prequels, and arguably this is a fine enough justification, but what is interesting is that far too often they end up being disappointing. For me, the nail in the coffin was the failed revival of two parts of pop culture that I hold in high esteem: The Hunger Games and The Beatles.

I’ve always slightly cringed at band reunions and movie remakes. After a while, you wonder how many more Star Wars movies can be released, or how many times The Spice Girls can go on a reunion tour. There are countless examples of media reboots that have flopped and failed to add anything to their franchises, even when it wasn’t necessary. Just a few include the 2019 Charlie’s Angels movie, the 2011 Mean Girls 2 sequel, or the band All Saints 2006 reunion wherein the band members soon after claimed (falsely) that they would never reunite again. You might think I sound cynical as these releases seem to be in good taste or ‘for the fans’. But when historically these revivals never live up to the original, you’re left thinking: who or what was that really for?

When thinking about it, most of my favourite shows or movies have been the ones that didn’t milk their potential. Whilst it’s painful we’ll never get another season of Phoebe Waller Bridge’s Fleabag, or Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant’s British edition of The Office, their brilliance partially lies in the fact we are left wanting more. We don’t know everything there is to know about all the characters, and their storylines are not tightly wrapped up. This makes returning to them even more enjoyable, as it feels like you are constantly learning something new about beloved characters. But what a prequel like The Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes or a song such as Now and Then does, is it ruins their sacredness. Too much is revealed, and we lose interest in its legacy. We are let it on John Lennon’s private demos, and the question as to whether revolutionary music was left unreleased is partially resolved. Equally, when the origins of The Hunger Games are over-explained, our excitement or intrigue is pacified. And so, the franchises become less interesting, despite the fact the intention is the opposite. 

Considering The Beatles are the bestselling artists in history and The Hunger Games trilogy is the third highest-grossing movie based on a young adult book of all time, I have felt further confused about the motivation for the revivals. Clearly, there is no argument that either of the brands would need something to keep up interest or lengthen their legacy. On top of this, both are avidly critically acclaimed. It’s not then as if there was an undiscovered masterpiece that would change the whole perception of either’s reputation. So, what we are left with is two majorly mediocre pieces of work that are not only distasteful for the lack of artistic integrity and poor quality but also clear examples of greed.

Also, on a simpler level, it was hard not to feel offended by how bad both revivals were. Whilst contrasting in content, The Beatles’ Now and Then, and The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes represent the same issue. They fell into the trap of being lazy and underdeveloped. What happens is we see money-grabbing studios and producers convinced that the brand’s legacy and loyal fanbase justify them releasing anything as long as it’s new; regardless of the quality. And, to an extent, they aren’t wholly wrong. I still bought tickets to see the movie, and I still streamed the song. But the difference was I came out of both experiences confused by what I had just seen and heard. I came out having lost respect for both franchises, knowing how brilliant the work that had come before had been, and knowing that this is how a new generation would perceive both things. And I’m not the only one to think this.

Before George Harrison’s death in the ‘90s, The Beatles had already attempted to release Now and Then. However, the technology at the time wasn’t good enough, and Lennon’s voice could not be separated adequately to clearly hear the lyrics. In the twelve-minute documentary released about the making of the song, Paul McCartney revealed Harrison said the original attempt at the demo was “fucking rubbish” and that he hoped “someone does this to all my crap demos after I’m dead – turn them into hit songs”. McCartney’s case for releasing the song was that it was in memory of his friends. However, when one of said friends, who is now dead, actively challenged its release, you’ve got to wonder how true this is. Not only does this comment made by Harrison confirm my lacklustre feelings towards the track, but it also poses a moral question about releasing work by someone who can no longer consent. Whilst it isn’t for me to decide, it does add another layer of discomfort in knowing we can’t be sure that this is what George Harrison or John Lennon would have wanted. 

Of course, there will always be examples that break the mould. Toy Story 4 was a beautiful homage to the original movies, and ABBA’s Voyage Show continues to receive rave reviews. But this doesn’t make up for the countless awful remakes, sequels, prequels, and revivals that tarnish what once were remarkable pieces of work. Because ultimately, what the half–baked reboots do is leave you wondering if the thing you so cherished to begin with, was ever really that good.

“Poetry is political because it’s so immediate.”

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In search of localised wisdom, Cherwell spoke to one of Oxford’s own. Poetry sensation, Birmingham Young Poet Laureate (2018-20), Foyle Young Poet of the Year (2017) and English student at Oxford, Aliyah Begum talked all things ‘literature as a side hustle’ with us. 

How did you become a poet?

“I’ve always been writing ever since I can remember. I think I wrote my first poem in year two. It was very simple like, you know, six lines, abab,” that’s poetry talk for the rhyme scheme, “nothing too groundbreaking. I had been writing stories, but then I magically realised that poems are a lot shorter, and therefore less hassle.” That’s some realisation for a seven year-old. 

Before the Bodleian, there was Aliyah’s local library. “In the West Midlands, we have Poetry on Loan; they have little postcards that they get local poets to write poems on. I used to collect those in the library. 

“And then I think Secondary School is when I got more into it. We had a spoken word club. And so – as lame as it sounds – we would meet every Friday lunchtime. Then I started going to open mic nights in central Birmingham.”

The poet truly punched above her weight. “They were always adult poets doing their thing, and then I’d go on stage with like, ‘Oh, this is my first time on open mic night. I’m 11 and I’m going to read a poem about anti-capitalism or anti-racism or something.’ So I think the spoken word scene in Bermingham was where I really grew as a poet. It led to the Poet Laureateship and me taking poetry seriously for myself.”

Aliyah said that current Poet Laureate for Birmingham, Jasmine Gardosi was central to her precocious appearances at open mic nights. But, naturally, placed ‘mum’ in the category of champion. Watching Aliyah metamorphose from shy Year 7 into poet extraordinaire, “I think she could see how much performance boosted my confidence and how much I loved it.”

But, over the course of ten years, with an Oxonian hiatus planted in the middle, “the landscape has changed. Some of the more grassroots open mic nights are now in Symphony Hall or theatres. It’s cool to see the old ones get bigger and the new ones pop up.”

Thoughts? “It’s the natural progression of how things go. Poetry Jam, that was a kind of community. It would be in the Java Lounge and small coffee shops – probably breaking a million health and safety violations because there were no fire exits. People would be sat on the floor in between rounds.”

There’s a demand for this. “So they would scale up the venues each time and then they’d probably get more funding and the Arts Council would get involved. But it’s nice to see grassroots open mic nights still pop up in pubs and social clubs. I think that’s something I really missed in Oxford.”

What’s different about Oxford’s poetry world?

“The thing I love about poetry is it’s so inclusive and warm and welcoming. Being used to Birmingham, where a lot of people look like me, especially in the poetry scene and coming to Oxford where you go into the lecture theatre and it’s a room full of white girls – I found that quite intimidating in first year.”

Then, Aliyah gushed at the “exciting and vibrant” potential of Oxford’s writers: “they produce such beautiful, amazing pieces of work.” But, when you’ve been milling around with 20-something professional poets since you were 11, university poetry will seem very fledgling.

“It’s a really exciting scene but it is a little bit insular – maybe that’s just Oxford in general – I think there could be more collaboration. Like, there could be so much more collaboration between societies and magazines, and even with the local community. Oxford Poetry Library, for example, does brilliant writing workshops and community sessions.” Inside and outside the University, “the poetry scene in Oxford is brilliant, and there’s so much opportunity. We’re really lucky to be in this city of poets.” 

Is your poetry framed by a cityscape – Birmingham or Oxford?

“In terms of the literary world, there are maybe two districts: spoken word and performance poetry, and then a kind of more so called highbrow or literary poetry.” Aliyah pauses then to say “even the term ‘highbrow’ is a whole thing in itself because it comes from racist phrenology.” 

“Poetry that I learned in Birmingham and grew up with was spoken word and communal. Whereas at Oxford, it does feel like there’s a tendency to turn towards the literary and to try to replicate those institutions. For example, the Oxford Review of Books is like the London Review of Books. In Oxford, poetry is trying to lean more towards the institutional side of literature rather than the communal side of it.”

So, Aliyah is doing the work of building a bridge between the two. “I think there is a space for both spoken word and orthodox literary poetry to co-exist – and they must – but, at the moment, I don’t like how supposedly highbrow poetry is valued more than spoken word perhaps.” 

COP26, Young Poet Laureateship – how do you reconcile your poetry with institution?

The ‘institution’ of Young Poet Laureate was not without its pitfalls. “I did work with schools and libraries sometimes, but most of the time, it felt like I was more of a spokesperson or presenting, which I love to do. But I think I wish I had the chance to be more kind of actually engaging with young people and advocating for poetry directly with them.” 

Aliyah seems unsettled by our constant need to be validated by pre-existing institutions. “I think what I’m going to realise as I’m getting older is that it’s fine to not seek validation from these institutions. It’s not as bad with poetry as it is with novels or art but prizes or certain organisations tend to provide validation. I love poetry because it can be radical and grassroots. And, not to bang on about capitalism, but the value of poetry is contingent on how much money it can raise. So trying to feel proud about poetry and being able to love poetry outside of those institutions and prizes is something that I think is really important. It’s something that I’m trying to try to get better at – challenging where I think I get validation from.”

Again, this comes in the form of community where validation is just as much about the groups of people you engage with. Another institution Aliyah is involved with is The Poetry Society.  

“I love the Poetry Society. I interned with them over summer. You can really tell that they care about poetry, they care about young people, and they just want to give young people more opportunities to write and to make poetry more accessible.” Sometimes, pre-existing frameworks are invaluable to establishing community. Like with Foyles Young Poets, “it does introduce you to a kind of network of like minded people.”

Even still, poetry seems to be Aliyah’s means of challenging this notion of ‘institution’ in a way that is unavoidable. 

“I think poetry is inherently political. Even if you’re writing about a rosebush that you see outside, the fact that you’ve got the chance to, you’ve got time away from work, you’ve got time away from other responsibilities, that’s – I don’t want to say privilege because I think it should be right – but you’re lucky to be able to write poetry.”

Alongside nine other young poets, Aliyah Begum was chosen to perform at COP26. “It felt like a glorified careers fair. There were companies trying to sell themselves to you. It was just very icky.” 

So poetry becomes a method of political protest. “I did a Poets for Palestine event at Worcester last year. And that was inspired by Anthony Anaxagorou who did a national Poets for Palestine event. Poetry is a way of honouring and listening to voices that are being suppressed. 

“Poetry is political because it’s so immediate. You can write a novel but a) that takes time to write b) you have to find a publisher and give people time to read it. Whereas a poem, you can share it online or in person; it’s a lot more digestible and is a more immediate way of conveying your opinion.” 

Can one make a career out of tearing down the walls of conformity through poetry?

“All I know is I want to work with people and words. I just know that poetry is going to be something that always stays with me.”

You can’t say fairer than that.

With thanks to Aliyah Begum for this interview. 

Aliyah’s poetry can be found on the Poetry Society website. 

You can find her most recent work, Apples and Snakes, here.

Uncorny traditionalism at Il Corno

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Il Corno stands out from the average sit-in Covered Market restaurant. Its crimson walls contrast from the beiges and blues of the surrounding stalls and walls, with an inviting and intimate yet intimidating atmosphere that made me feel like I was no longer in a market. The walls were covered with various statues of cornicellos – twisted chilis that look like horns and are central to Neapolitan culture – that the restaurant took its name from. They also served as centrepieces for each of the metal tables with red outdoor market-style chairs adding to the colour scheme.  Light jazz played in the background, and the seating was limited, which made it feel more close-quartered, and packed despite coming at 3pm on a weekday. 

Il Corno is a Neapolitan panuozzo place cooking the Cucina Campania. The restaurant serves this type of sandwich – panuozzo – made of pizza dough cooked in the oven and filled to the brim with various ingredients. Il Corno is run by Fanny and her family, who are from Naples. After getting her Italian Studies PhD in the UK, Fanny wanted to incorporate her culture into the restaurant through both the food and decor . The cornicellos are lucky amulets in Naples; each one brings a slightly different type of luck. The other statuettes in the restaurant are from Naples as well. There’s one of San Gennaro and Lady Bella to bring positive energy. Fanny also noted that the jazz playing in the background was all Neapolitan records. She truly ties in the theme of traditionalism.

The food was no different. To begin, we had the almond taralli, a traditional street food that is a small donut-shaped wheat snack. They had both a vegan and a non-vegan option to try, with the non-vegan option being made of pork fat. I loved the crumble of the non-vegan option and the way it paired with the crunch of the large pieces of almond. This was a delight to have warm. It was slightly salty and not much else, which let you focus on the unique texture.The vegan option had no almond and was more crunchy than crumbly, which I liked less, but reminded me of the sweet taralli I’d have at the Italian bakery at home. The crunch was more similar to that of an extra crunchy pretzel, and I certainly could picture eating some on a late night snack. 

We then got to the panuozzi themselves. There were  both vegetarian and meat options, which Fanny explained was one of her key priorities when planning. “At first, I wanted it all to be veggie and vegan, but it created a clash with making it all authentic Neapolitan food. This was the best compromise.” There is an option to make it vegan; Il Corno’s award-winning vegan mozzarella is from a vegan pizza ingredient producer in London and costs nothing to substitute. The other ingredients in each of the panuozzi were likewise assured to be fresh, whether from Italian ingredient shops in London or from Italy itself. Fanny explained that she cared more about the quality of ingredients than the number of options, leaving us with four total panuozzi: two veggie- and two meat-based.

We started with the half-panuozzo Munaciello, which had sausage, broccoli friarielli, and scamorza cheese. The broccoli friarielli was a new touch that I hadn’t found before in Oxford. It was salty, thinner than your grocery store broccoli, with more of a chew than a crunch. The sausage overpowered the flavour originally, but the friarielli came out in the aftertaste. The scamorza brought out a bit of smoky flavour that I quite liked. Overall, with the crunch of the bread, I felt it was a very good and filling meal, especially for half the normal portion.

Then came the vegetarian Il Corno , which had tomato, mozzarella, and basil. It was a great sandwich, but  wasn’t anything groundbreaking. The bread, once again, really added to the experience. I thought that a bit of balsamic vinegar would have improved it even more.  I had later tried the other vegetarian option, with the friarielli and bell peppers. I liked it more, though the feeling that something may have been missing was still there.

Prices ranged from 8 to 11.5 pounds, which seems expensive for student budgets. There are options, though: half toasties were half the price and just as filling. And for the price, it felt like a fun treat to have for something relatively unique. Even just being able to sit in the restaurant and work felt good: many people had just grabbed coffees and sat to get something done. 

We finished with the delicious limoncello and baba rum, which was a soft bread soaked in syrup and served as a nice cap to the afternoon. While finishing up, we touched on their location in the Covered Market: Fanny talked about befriending the other stall owners, especially her neighbours, and the warm welcome they received from the Market. She notes that Il Corno had created a different kind of space, one that focused on letting people sit and relax while eating rather than grabbing food and going. 

With many Italians coming by to get a taste of home as well as tourists and students grabbing a bite to eat, the restaurant always seems to find a way to introduce Neapolitan food to new people. Fanny says that she’s happy to see her regulars come and catch up, whether they order food or just a coffee to sit and work. She’s taking advantage of the Covered Market’s late hours on Thursday and Friday to spice up the restaurant during dinner hours; it’s often filled with people going out for a date night. She plans on hosting talks about both Neapolitan and Italian culture overall. Overall, it was a great experience at Il Corno, with a little immersion into traditional culture mixed with the modern flare of jazz. The food was good, though pricey, and I would totally go back for the taralli if ever in need of a savoury treat.

St Edmund Hall gives welfare role to former Balliol chaplain accused of improper rape remarks

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A former Balliol chaplain who stepped down after allegedly making several inappropriate remarks to a rape victim – including asking if she was “aware of the effect she had on men” – has been given a welfare position at St Edmund Hall. 

Rev Canon Bruce Kinsey resigned from his role as head of wellbeing and welfare at Balliol after an inquiry into inappropriate comments and questions directed toward female victims of sexual assault. He was accused of asking one student if she was a virgin and claiming perpetrators were “puppies who needed to be trained” during a speech to students about consent. 

Kinsey began his work at Teddy Hall in January, assisting as interim chaplain and then as a welfare advisor. Although it appears Kinsey was originally scheduled to stay until June, a spokesperson for Teddy Hall has recently stated that his position finishes in March at the end of term.

The December 2021 inquiry into Kinsey’s behaviour upheld the majority of complaints, although Kinsey denies wrongdoing. It was found that Kinsey engaged in “unwanted and unwarranted conduct” towards a sexual assault victim. One student told The Times: “[My friends] were asked intimate and inappropriate sexual questions, told that their behaviour had encouraged sexual abuse, and had traumatic experiences of rape and assault belittled.”

Students reported that Kinsey commented on their appearance – calling them “very attractive” – and told them they should be wary of reporting since “You don’t want to p*** people off who you might meet again downstream.” 

The recommendations of the inquiry included removing Kinsey from welfare matters relating to sexual harassment and assault and considering whether his behaviour was grounds for dismissal. Kinsey took a sabbatical and later retired from the position. 

Kinsey has claimed that, after investigation, he was “largely exonerated” by Balliol. The College later adopted recommendations to ensure all staff are trained to respond effectively to harassment and sexual misconduct and to create a strategy for preventing harassment and sexual misconduct in the college. 

Teddy Hall has told Cherwell: “Bruce Kinsey assisted as Interim Chaplain for a short time at the start of this term until our new Chaplain took up her role in early February. He now holds a short-term advisory position during the transition period and, as planned, that position finishes in March at the end of term.

“We would also like to emphasise that the College takes all student reports of misconduct by others, including those involving sexual assault and/or harassment, extremely seriously. When a report of student misconduct is received, the report is dealt with through a rigorous non-academic disciplinary procedure, formulated on the basis of legal advice from a leading KC, and detailed in the College By-laws. In accordance with this process, when a major breach of discipline is alleged, the College arranges for an investigation by an external independent expert, followed by consideration of the evidence by a panel chaired by an independent legal practitioner. Students making reports have welfare support made available to them by one of two female Senior Welfare Officers.”

Kinsey has been approached for comment.