Debate issue 2

debate Issue 02 | MARCH 2014

debate Issue 02 | MARCH 2014

Cover ART by ivy Niu http://ivyniuillustration.com/ EDITOR Matthew Cattin matthew.cattin@aut.ac.nz DESIGN/ART Ramina Rai ramina.rai@aut.ac.nz contributors Abigail Johnson | Amelia Petrovich | Ethan Sills Kieran Bennett | Laurien Barks | Jamie Barnes | Nathalie Owen Illustration & Photography Ramina Rai advertising contact Kate Lin kate.lin@aut.ac.nz printer PMP Print Ltd. publisher AuSM all rights reserved This publication is entitled to the full protection given by the Copyright Act 1994 (“the Act”) to the holders of the copyright, being AUCKLAND STUDENT MOVEMENT AT AUCKLAND UNIVERSITY OF TECHNOLOGY INCORPORATED (“AuSM”). Reproduction, storage or display of any part of this publication by any process, electronic or otherwise (except for the educational purposes specified in the Act) without express permission is a break of the copyright of the publisher and will be prosecuted accordingly. Inquiries seeking permission to reproduce should be addressed to AuSM.

disclaimer Material contained in this publication does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of AuSM, its advertisers, contributors, PMP Print or its subsidiaries.

debate is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA)

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EDITORIAL Hello all, I hope you have settled into your routines, figured out your timetables and made sense of Auckland’s transport system. In the average week, I spend a solid 12 hours having my soul sucked dry on the 897x – the Whangaparaoa to City express. It’s a time of boredom, frustration, sweat and soul searching and somehow, it seems to sap more energy than would be consumed had I walked to work instead, with broken legs.

You see the hour plus commute is bad enough in ideal conditions – I’m talking the days you fly through every green light, have delightful company, have working aircon and arrive early enough to grab a coffee. This is the bussing dream, a rarity. It’s not perfect – my knees still bruise on the seat in front, it’s still noisy and it’s an hour I’ll never get back – but it’s the best one can hope for.

It therefore absolutely makes my life to have my average journeys made even worse by some truly annoying commuters. Every bus rider has stories – I share mine to remind you that you are not alone.

The first time I remember wanting to break the emergency window and make a break for it was in college. Riding to school one morning as a young and vulnerable year nine, I was sitting happily by myself when a sleazy senior took the empty seat next to me. I’m not one to judge people by their appearance, but I’m pretty sure this guy bathed in a deep fryer – he just oozed sleaze. He was one of those guys that have incredibly unjustified confidence – they think they are the shizz but you just know nobody reinforces this belief. Anywho, he greets me like we are brothers although we

have never met. I awkwardly participate in a handshake I haven’t practiced and he starts talking to me man-to-man. “You getting any pussy bro?” he asks, acting like he has a wealth of experience in such matters. “You gotta get in there while they’re young,” he informs me with a wink. At this stage I was nearly crying, trying to overcome waves of revulsion that threatened to overcome me. He continued in this fashion for the rest of the journey, convinced 13-year-old me was lying about my lack of action and eager to share with me his vulgar fantasies. This was my first bad memory on a bus but it certainly was not the last.

I once sat next to a college student who I’m pretty sure gave himself diabetes over the course of the journey. He hops on, sits down and reaches straight away into his bag, pulling out two rows of Caramello chocolate. A little jealously, I watched him devour it, but he was not done yet. He then reached back in and pulled out the rest of the block. In five minutes, it was gone – an entire block of chocolate. He starting sucking the melted chocolate from each finger, slurping as he did so. He then had a few sips of water, probably to wash down the heart disease, and began cleaning his gums with his index finger, intermittently wiping the excess chocolate on the seat between his legs. I’m pretty sure at this point I had forgotten my manners and could do nothing but stare incredulously, jaw aghast. For the next half hour, as his body tried to process the chocassault, he bounced his knees and twitched like a crucio victim. I just about lost it.

yarns with them for the hour trip but others, well they are just insufferable. One lady in particular is astoundingly incapable of keeping her mouth shut – headphones and a book will do you no good here. She leans over, right up in your grill, points at your page and says “what are you reading?” If she sits behind or in front of you with nobody of her own to bother, she will listen in on your conversation until she finds an entry point.

Once she has her teeth sunk in, that’s it, game over. She will spend the remainder of the bus ride filling you in about Jehovah, her sour milk coffee breath all up in your grill. It’s truly uplifting.

And then there are the poor old dears that just break your heart. They are the sweetest old ladies you’ll ever meet – the bus company jackpot. They always seem to have a wicked sense of humour which catches you off guard, they will touch your leg or arm to embellish their sentences and have smiles so lovely you want to take them home for a high tea. You ask what they are going into town for and their response just about makes you cry, “Oh, I have cancer dear,” they say with a sweet smile. As they tell me about their treatment, their families and the struggles of getting old, it sinks in that they are catching the same gruelling bus as me. The difference being, I am young, in my prime, heading off for a day’s work – they are old, fragile, dying and having to catch two damn busses to get into the hospital for treatment.

Perspective always seems to sneak up on me when I least expect it.

Enjoy your commutes,

Probably the hardest bus company to deal with though is the oldies – the ones with no off switch.

Some of them are lovely and I will happily spin

Matthew

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Be a LATTE! Are you…

The person who finds the new apps first?

Always energetically helping your friends and family with mobile devices, apps and computers?

Skilled in using Apple and Adobe tools for creating digital content ?

We want you!

The LATTEs (Learning and Teaching Technology Enablers) are AUT University’s student team that works with university staff to develop the best ways to make the student learning experience cool and engaging - while getting paid for it!

We are now recruiting students to join our first-class LATTE team.

You must be passionate about new ways of learning in the digital world.

You will assist AUT staff to set up devices and learn about digital tools. You will take an active part in AUT’s Centre for Learning and Teaching (CfLAT) projects, assist with production of digital content, contribute in team meetings and attend training sessions.

Get the low down on our LATTE team at http://cflat.aut.ac.nz and see why they are helping to change the world of learning. For any questions please email Pam Wyse: cflat@aut.ac.nz Requirements: You will be sussed in using mobile devices and social media. Expertise in content creation tools like Adobe Photoshop, In Design, etc will be an advantage.

You will have the ability to learn and teach others about new digital modes of learning.

You will be confident, friendly, patient and enthusiastic!

You will be a current full-time student enrolled at AUT University for 2014.

Please apply in writing, with your CV (including references) and a covering letter detailing why you would make an excellent LATTE, to cflat@aut.ac.nz by Sunday 16th March at 5pm.

All shortlisted candidates will be invited to attend an interview between the 18th and 20th March, and participate in a training day on Friday 28th March.

Are you a creative cat? Email matthew.cattin@aut.ac.nz if you would like your beautiful creations featured in the mag.

FEATURE ARTIST

IVY NIU

FEATURE ARTIST Hello, I am an illustrator based in Auckland, New Zealand. I studied Graphic Design, majoring in Pictorial Design at AUT, and graduated in 2013. Through high cchool and my first year of study, I had thought I wanted to be a graphic designer. It was not until my student exchange in San Francisco that I realised my passion for illustration. After studying the Bachelor of Illustration at the Academy of Arts University for one semester, I knew this was the career I wanted to pursue.

Many of my illustrations have a craft and collage feel to it. If not entirely done my hand, I use Photoshop to cut and paste images together. I make my own textures that are scanned and worked on digitally.

For the past year, I have illustrated a children’s science book for Pearsons Publication in Australia. And also designed and illustrated a print for New Zealand’s premier menswear label I Love Ugly.

Although I have a strong interest towards the whimsical and playful, I have been drawn to architecture and the structure of old buildings as of late. Currently, I am illustrating for BEST Design award winners Fitzbeck Publications based in Wellington, on an illustrative book about New Zealand.

This is going to be an exciting year, as I am newly represented by Australasia’s multidisciplinary artist agency, International Rescue, who represent a select group of Australasian photographers, illustrators and animators.

Have a look through my work on: http://ivyniuillustration.com and https://www.facebook.com/ivyniuillustrates 7

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CELEBRATING SELF A Night at The Oscars

By Ethan Sills It’s all over now. After countless award ceremonies that ultimately paved the way for the main event, the Oscars brought the 2013 awards season to a close, steamrolling across our screens last Monday in a four hour ceremony featuring high calibre actors, a brilliant host, all the fancy dresses and enough musical performances to make you think you were watching the Grammy Awards.

2013 was definitely a huge year for film, and it is fitting that this year’s Oscars was a juggernaut of a ceremony (four hours to hand out twenty four trophies) that raked the biggest audience since Return of the King swept up in 2004, though The Hobbit walked home empty handed once again. This year had one of the tightest races ever, where technical CGI masterpiece Gravity faced off against the hard hitting, emotional 12 Years A Slave, both of which were chased closely by American Hustle and all its seventies hairdos. On top of that we had six other fantastic films that were nominated, as well as a plethora of other brilliant pieces of cinema that were left on the voting floor.

The ceremony was definitely enjoyable. Ellen’s opening monologue, whilst taking pretty decent digs at the celebrities before her, was done in a much more playful manner than Seth Macfarlane’s from last year (though nothing will ever top Tina and Amy; those two need to host this!). Ellen’s gags carried on throughout the night, including bringing pizza for all the A-listers and successfully crashing Twitter with her celeb (plus Lupita’s brother)-selfie. There were a number of fails throughout the night, from human wax figure John Travolta butchering Idina Menzel’s name to Liza Minelli being a tad too short to get in on the selfie action. The theme for the night was heroes in film, which featured a number of montages highlighting the various super and non super heroes and heroines. However it had largely modern focus and a tad more super than non, and perhaps not enough women.

I can just imagine though how relieved all the actors, producers, directors, writers, studio heads, what-have-you are that the awards season has finally ended! Unless you actively follow Oscars news and stories, you probably would not be aware that these films have been campaigning for months, many of them from as early as September, while others have been even more drawn out (Nebraska, one of the nine Best Picture nominees first screen at Cannes in May last year). It takes a lot of promotion and a ton of cash to even just secure a nomination for the Oscars, and that involves, amongst many things, parties, chat show appearances, interviews, Q & A’s and special screenings, which may sound fun but I’m sure it definitely gets tiresome when you have to do something every single night for up to two months. A lot of people simply cannot be bothered by all this self-promotion;

Michael Fassbender did not campaign after all his hard work for Shame went unrecognized – if he had, maybe it would have been him standing on the stage on Monday?

In the end, a lot of deserving people won awards, even if everyone had the winners pegged for weeks. The director-Best Picture split between Gravity and 12 Years A Slave made sure everyone got to take home a top prize.

You may not know who Robert Lopez is, but he won an Oscar for Let it Go and is now only the twelfth person ever to have won an Oscar, Emmy, Grammy and Tony. Everyone knew which actors were going to win, asides from some mild competition between first time nominee Lupita N’yongo and America’s latest sweetheart Jennifer Lawrence. She, along with Cate Blanchett, Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto all deserved their wins.

While she did not win anything, relatively new producer Megan Ellison made history as the first woman to receive two Best Picture nominations in the same year for her work on American Hustle and Her; though I wonder how many New Zealanders are aware that this is Larry Ellison’s daughter, a.k.a the man who funds Oracle, a.k.a the team that beat us in the America’s Cup, and how that little titbit would affect their enjoyment of those respective films.

It is great for these wonderfully talented people to receive these prestigious accolades, but I cannot help but notice the relative ease with which people forget about these ceremonies and films once they have finally ended. It seems that we build up and up and up for months to these awards, then the ceremony ends and we turn our attention to the next batch of potential nominees. It would be nice if these movies were perhaps given extra time to be reflected over before they get pushed aside; can the average movie goer out there even recall the nine Best Picture nominees from last year, or remember if they even saw them?

Here’s hoping though that this year’s tight, excellent and very long race will still be remembered in a few years. I can easily see the revolutionary 12 Years and Gravity still being discussed for years to come, but of course Ellen and her celebrity selfie could be the thing people remember in a few months time. With a theme as intriguing and interpretive as ‘heroes’ framing the night, it would be nice if some of those award winning characters could be considered classic movie heroes in the decades to come, but these films need some space to breathe. Hollywood should perhaps just slow things down and let these movies stand on their merits without needing to prop themselves up on a little golden man for support, and we should perhaps not base which movies we see purely on what Award they got.

But hey, at least Ellen was a hoot.

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YES

Should Len Brown stand down?

MATTHEW CATTIN

With his suit pants around his ankles and his mistress bent over the desk, Len Brown betrayed his wife, his family and the city of Auckland for 35 seconds of pleasure.

It was an act of idiocy, of selfishness and immorality that many find unforgivable, especially given that it occurred regularly over a two year period. Len is a smart man however, despite his infidelities, and he must have known that should anybody discover his slippery foreign policies, his marriage and career would likely come to a premature end. Despite these consequences however, Len kept it up for two years and this leads me to wonder - can we trust a man who prioritized his dick over both his family, and the city we elected him to look after?

In an NZ Herald poll of more than 30,000 Kiwis, 57 per cent believed Len should stand down. When giving a speech at the Nines, he was booed by the masses.

The truth is the majority of people have lost their faith in Brown. Yes, he may have BEEN the best candidate for the job, and I won’t deny he has done a good job, but the sad truth remains he is no longer wanted or respected by Aucklanders. And why should we respect him? It is difficult to accept a leader whose moral compass is faultier than many of us feel we possess. It’s disheartening to look upon an elected leader and be stung by the fact that beneath his achievements and ambitions, he is a very competent liar who only confessed when backed into a corner. It’s plain as day – he’s no longer wanted by the majority of Kiwis. Auckland’s mayor should not be booed.

More important than the public’s disapproval though is the stir Len’s penis has caused within the council itself – he has spread a seed of disquiet. In December the Auckland Council passed a vote to censure Len for his actions of the last two years.

A quarter of the councillors further requested a vote of no confidence, meaning they felt they could no longer work with Brown. Can a council function effectively when many of its members want to cut off its head? Is mutiny and infighting really what is best for our city? That’s not rhetorical. The answer is no.

Supporters continue to defend Brown with the WWJD outlook ‘if his family can forgive him, so too should Aucklanders’ - however this notion is apples and oranges. A mayor is easily replaced – a husband and father is not. I’m quite sure Mrs Brown is not in a position to select from a group of eligible and interested bachelors a new husband, provider and father figure for her children. But perhaps if she was, she too would be calling for not only his resignation, but a divorce. It’s not as though Aucklanders have spent decades investing their emotions into Brown, being spooned by him in the evenings and trimming his nostril hair before meetings (probably with Chuang). If he is to be replaced, who will weep for this sad little man?

Not I. Many people say we should not mix Len’s sex life with his professional capabilities, that the two are entirely separate and we cannot condemn him for where he puts his penis. But I disagree; his sexual infidelities reflect several character flaws in Len which make me uncomfortable about his position of power. Firstly, it exposes him as a liar, unafraid to deceive even those closest to him. Secondly, it shows he is a dangerous combination of greedy and impulsive – if he wants something, he’ll jump in dick first with no parachute. And thirdly, and perhaps most disillusioning, it shows the voters that if Len thinks he can break rules on the sly and get away with it, he will. Going by the old mantra ‘character is who we are when no one sees’, Len Brown is not a man of good character. He is a flash suit with a politician’s smile, sporting a hard on for his own invincibility. Stand down Len – give your seat to a man of character. Just make sure you clean it first.

NO

KIERAN BENNETT Len Brown. Len ‘Pants Down’ Brown. I must say, I can’t quite imagine what it's like to have a name that evokes such a range of emotions. From pity, to contempt, to disappointment, to outright hatred. Am I feeling the Len-hate? Do I want him gone, gone like his pants in the town hall? No, not really.

Now, don’t mistake me here, I fully understand that breaking his marriage vows and doing the horizontal (in some cases vertical) tango with another woman is morally wrong. I feel sorry for his family, I truly do. And really, I’m thinking that Len Brown is getting as much flak as he deserves. At the time the whole thing came out, I thought it entirely appropriate he was dragged over the coals and made to publicly apologise. It was perhaps a bit gleeful on the part of the media, but nevertheless it was good (in a way) to see Len come forward and say “well I was caught and I’m sorry. Guess I’ll go back to being the mayor now”. I’m not here to discuss whether Len Brown should stay with his wife, that’s up to her really. Though considering the incredible high horse some people have mounted I wouldn’t be surprised if the next referendum was ‘do you support Mayor of Auckland Len Brown sleeping on the couch or in the bed?’

What first caused me to support Len Brown was the fact that he was pretty boring.

And I don’t mean that unkindly. I mean he was so dull, so very unlike any other politician, so preoccupied with being the Mayor that he was never in the news.

Len Brown never accepted anonymous political donations and then denied them as though the money somehow disappeared. Len Brown never slung mud at other politicians or candidates. He never insulted them either. What he did do was work to improve Auckland’s libraries, public transport and living conditions. He made it his goal, his vision, to make Auckland one of the world’s most liveable cities. And not only by appearances, but in fact by results, he was working hard at doing just that.

That’s why I voted for him. And that’s why I don’t care where he sticks his penis. Not only is it none of my business, it has nothing to do with being the Mayor.

The fact is that for nearly two years no one had any idea except for Len Brown, his mistress and Len Brown’s junk. In those two years there was not one complaint (at least in any official capacity) with regards to Len Brown’s competence. His propensity for humping on parliamentary furniture didn’t interfere with his ability to run the city. He managed to improve public transport and begin the formulation of the city’s unitary plan, all while remaining out of the spotlight and carrying on with his job.

The fact that he’d also been making the odd desk in the town hall vastly unsanitary is irrelevant. As I said, what he did was wrong, but it has nothing to do with being the Mayor.

There are of course those of you who would vastly disagree and think that somehow our politicians need to be morally pure and have nothing like infidelity tarnish them. You are of course wholly wrong. I respect your opinion, but you’re wrong. No politician is clean, ever. Is Len Brown a morally bankrupt, womanising horn-bag?

Perhaps, depends on how you view these things. I for one think that he’s apologised for something that is largely a private affair (pun fully intended) and is now ready to keep running the city. I’m well and ready too.

WEEK ONE MONDAY-WEDNESDAY

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AuSM Orientation keeps going and going…

Are you having fun so far? We still have heaps of entertainment and free stuff for you this week! Don’t miss out on all of the gigs and events!!

Stalk Us Head to www.facebook.com/ausm1 and like us now. This is where all the photos from Orientation craziness are posted. You can also ask us questions and keep up with what’s going down on campus.

LIKE us now!

Guy Cater – The Hypnotist Yayya! He’s back by popular demand.

Join us at 7.30pm this Wednesday (12th March) at Hikuwai Plaza – City Campus! Free entry with R18 ID required.

PREZ SEZ

AuSM Foam Party Get ready for AuSM’s biggest Fluro Foam Party ever! Free entry with R18 ID required.

See you this Friday (14th March) at 7pm!

president of ausm, john kingi

AuSM Connect Search “AuSM Connect” at the App Store or Google Play and get it free. AuSM Connect offers you an online diary and keeps you updated with news and events at all time!

Opening of the newly designed “Tech Central” area.

ICT Services are excited to let you know that the redesign of the Open Access Computer Lab, now called “Tech Central”, is complete. We have put a lot of thought into designing this area in WA4 as it is one of the most popular study locations on the City campus; demand for computers is consistently very high. Tech Central provides a unique space where students are able to work either individually or in groups in comfortable surroundings, fitted out with all the equipment required for study. There are over 100 brand new, top of the range, all in one computers available for students to use as well as the usual printing and scanning facilities. We also have a number of laptops that students can borrow: these are available at the IT Service Desk on level 3 of the library.

The Tech Central area is divided into three main sections: Main computer area - students can work individually on their assignments during core periods and where concentration is required.

Pod area - this newly remodelled space is easier for students to use in collaborative ways such as working in groups.

Print area - there are a number of standing work stations for short term use for quick internet access or printing.

AUT Titans!

Welcome to 2014!

University life is an odd one isn't it? It is a unique and challenging period in life. We come for a variety of reasons, from a variety of walks of life. We are all mashed into these giant institutions, with tens of thousands of students.

My job is similarly quite odd. They say I am a President, but that probably doesn't give you an idea of what my job really is all about.

More than anything, I am supposed to be a voice for AUT students.

All 25,000 of us. Somewhat daunting, no? I am also meant to lead and oversee AuSM and the services we provide for you. With annual turnover of around four million dollars, this too is somewhat daunting. Add in that AuSM has a new board and structure and it all becomes quite challenging.

To be honest though, I relish the challenge, I love the opportunity to meet you, our students, and to be a small part of making your experience here at AUT the best it can be. More than this though, as a student population, we not only are the largest student association in the country, but we also have one of the most diverse.

There are over 80 different nationalities represented within AUT. This year is an exciting one, we have a huge range of new and fresh ideas to make AUT truly AuSM. Let us know if you've got ideas and make sure you take part. The more opportunities you create, the more rewarding 2014 will be.

Over the past couple of weeks, Orientation has been front and centre. Last Friday, House of Shem rocked the house down in the quad, and this week we have the foam party, Villainy and much more.

It's all free so come down and have a look.

Enjoy the fun times now, soon enough I'm sure you'll be knuckled down hard in studies. For now though, party hard. The hard work is coming.

In solidarity,

In addition, we have designed comfortable workspaces with couches and small tables, where students can work with their personal devices.

The ICT Student Service and Support team will be at hand to provide support for a wide range of student devices and IT managed equipment. Drop in and have a look, we’d love to see you!

Your Prez

John

Lovenotes and Hatemail Kia Ora, Today was my first day as a University student and I came in early to get set up. I came across one of the ‘Debate’ magazines and had a flick through, and sadly one of the articles truly appalled me. The article was my Matthew Cattin and was titled ‘Street Sharks and how to avoid them.’ I thought the picture was humorous and so I was attracted to the article – unfortunately nothing about the article there on in was anywhere near funny, in fact it was offensive. The article concentrated on the idea of ignoring, teasing, bullying, and mocking employees of Non-for-profit organizations. I have worked for one such organization for almost a year and believe me – we get enough abuse from the general public already without people promoting it. In all honesty the article promotes fostering an environment of ignorance within the university. Is this what we really want? I mean aren’t Universities already quite divided with social groups and now your magazine is blatantly telling them that ignorance and mockery is the way to go?

NFP organizations are doing work for the outer community and are trying to change the world – there is no reason that issues that big should be ignored and put down.

All this will do is create a generation of money-hungry, and uncaring people.

If anything your magazine should promote socialization and friendship, not ignorance and bullying. Please in future, take into consideration the fact that there are people in this world trying to advocate for the needy – and they are the people that deserve to be put under the limelight. Maybe release an article promoting NFP organizations and the great work they do? I’m sure you’d have people lining up to be interviewed because they love what they do.

I would hate to think that articles like the one I have discussed would put people off reading ‘Debate’ or from getting involved in extra-curricular groups like the magazine. I hope to see some more positive and uplifting articles in future.

P.S I read the disclaimer at the front, but you really are the voice of AUT. Anonymous Dear reader, I’m fully aware of the good that NFP organisations do in the world – however, I do not like their methods.

The day after I wrote the article, I was on my way to catch my bus after work – running late.

Three collectors stood on a corner by a slow rotation crossing. One stepped in my path and said “hi, what’s your name?” I said “Sorry mate, I’m running late for my bus”. The guy says “oh, that’s a pretty cool name bro,” in a sassy voice, and him and his two cronies cracked up at their wit. If I was being petty, I could call this teasing or mocking.

I think you took my article too seriously.

Considering one of my methods was sending a Harry Potter spell at the street sharks, surely you must have realised I was being ridiculous?

I was merely pointing out ways in which poor students can walk down the street in peace, without being made to feel guilty, heartless, selfish and accosted.

I already give monthly to Red Cross, and I am sure many other students and pedestrians do the same to one charity or another. My point is that we do not have the time or resources to give to every street shark we bump in to.

I walk past three or four a day – what would you suggest I do? Miss my bus? Be late for work? Empty my pockets to every open hand?

If I had the money to give, I would do it. But I don’t, and I don’t need, or want to be made to feel guilty for that. Therefore, I devised ways to avoid them, some of them serious – some of them not so. It saves me time, and you know what? It saves them time too. By avoiding them, I am doing them a favour, giving them more time to talk to those who can fork over, rather than wasting their time on me, a selfish bully with no soul.

Sorry to ruin your first day.

Matthew Hi Matthew Just wanted to let you know, your article about street sharks had me giggling into the magazine, I looked like a bit of a dork… Those guys always get me, I’m just way to nice… Maybe I’ll try one of your, bound to be, fool proof methods of avoiding them haha.

Anyway I’d love to write an article for the debate sometime.

Let me know :) Thanks, N Hi, I’m glad you enjoyed it! You most definitely should write for debate, not just sometime, but all the time. I’m very lonely.

Thanks in advance for all of the great articles, and also for making my day.

Matthew

Hello, I know this might be a bit late but I remembered how last yr you asked people to write in & voice their thoughts about the mag. If it’s not too late I’d like to offer some advice, I think you need to focus more on student related things, like where to find good cheap food, how to save money while at uni, and tips on getting laid despite being terribly and sadly endowed.

This would do me wonders.

–please don’t publish my name Hi, We’re looking into the cheap eats and money-saving tips but as for your little problem, I’m afraid that’s something you’ll have to work through on your own.

Matthew To the editor?

I enjoyed the piece about the most anticipated films of this year. You should do more things like that in the magazine, it’s interesting and relevant. It’s far better than all the other meaningless nonsense you throw in there sometimes. No offence ☺ (also do I get a prize for writing in? lol) -Nic Dear Nic, God loves a trier, but saying no offence, after being a rascal isn’t the best way to win anybody’s affections. Actually, nor is saying lol… No offence.

Matthew DEAR DEBATE THANK GOD YOU CHANGED YOUR LOGO! IT HURT MY EYES -anon Oh hello!

I admire your enthusiasm so very much., and I'm glad to hear that we have stopped injuring your eyes. All the best, with discovering how to turn off the caps lock button., I have every confidence that you will succeed.

Love, Ramina

Want to whisper a sweet nothing in our ear? Or would you rather scream hateful somethings at us?

Either way, email us at

mcattin@aut.ac.nz., or drop your

letter off to the AuSM office. We look forward to hearing your judgement of us!

15

EMINEM: Live at Western Springs

Bruce Springsteen: Live at Mt Smart

By Abigail Johnson

By Matthew Cattin

I didn’t get up to much over the 2013/2014 summer; I worked a bit, and took continual trips back and forth to Waiheke Island. It was lazy and languid and glorious. I did, but of course though, go to see Eminem when he came, and that was probably enough excitement for the whole four months. I bought my tickets in the pre-sales, and had made the choice to forget about it until the day arrived.

Having never grown up with Springsteen, when the first concert was announced, I barely raised an eyebrow. I knew his mega hits; Born in the USA, Hungry Heart and Dancing in the Dark, but sadly, that was about it. I’d always known he was one of those timeless, legendary acts however, on par with Dylan, the Stones and OMC, but I’d never taken the time to invest in his music. I suppose that was my first mistake.

Fast-forward five months later and I’m lying in my sun-speckled bedroom listening to Em rap down the road. My flat is fairly close to Western Springs, and the sound check was un-missable. His voice distinctive, his energy imminent. I lay there for awhile contemplating how bizarre this was. An icon of our time was just down the road singing his hits. Then I realized what an opportunity I was missing, so I grabbed my phone, a shoulder bag, and ran to Western Springs. Slowly and gently I approached the ‘stadium’ (or field as it is known any other day).

When the second concert was announced, I decided I owed it to the man to do some digging and see if I couldn’t be tempted along. I popped down to JB Hifi, picked up Born to Run and I’ve never looked back.

‘Say fuck it, before you kick the bucket’ I heard him scream. My heart fluttered.

Fences and gates surrounded the area, keeping any close view impossible, but there were also large patches, and corners, and sprawling stretches left unfenced. I wandered around the areas, with the other ten or twenty fans who had come along to witness this moment, audibly at least. Eventually I decided that the best view was from a far hill, and watched from the distance, the wind and sun beating me. It was an intensely anonymous and yet personal moment.

One day later I would be back at Western Springs surrounded by 55,000 people.

It was a festival really, but my friends and I only went for the final act. Coming and going was not permitted, so the timing of our arrival was important. Considering Kendrick had dropped out my friends and I decided the later we arrived, the better.

We weren’t going to stand in hour-long toilet queues when we could drink and pee on our own time just down the road. We left for the show at around seven.

The atmosphere was electric. People buzzed. Or maybe it was just me and my wine.

We arrived in time for the big wait between sets, and stared at an empty stage for an hour. Thank you NZ immigration. I may not be a big fan of Odd Future, but the hour of silence was pretty shitty. At around 9.15, having made friends with the strangers around us, and dropping and rolling away from a fight, the man appeared.

Suddenly nothing mattered. He was there. Eminem. The man whose voice I blared through my headphones as a kid. The man who had meant the world to me.

I was a Christian child, and Eminem was the antithesis of all I was taught to value. I prayed at night for forgiveness, but during the day I would endlessly play that CD. It was liberating and guilt-inducing at the same time. It was when he played Sing For The Moment that I realised how important this was. I hadn’t realized how cathartic it would feel to scream ‘if he ever saw him again he’d probably knock him out’.

I hadn’t realized screaming the line ‘and expect ‘em not to know what a woman’s clitoris is’ would receive such a resounding cheer from the guys around me. I hadn’t realized how lonely it would feel to be in the presence of someone you admired so deeply, and see you are simply a dot on his horizon.

Of course I have trouble with Eminem, as a woman, a feminist, and a gay ally. But he has always been a shit-stirrer. And I have always loved rebels. Looking at his body of work, he is a troubled character, from fatherly serenades, to ‘Bitch, you aint nothing but a girl to me’.But he has always swung so violently back and forth, one gets the idea that he doesn’t take any of his lyrics seriously.

Perhaps the writer in me is a sucker for the incredible wordsmith. Or perhaps I am simply hypnotized by his cult-like charisma. All I know is that he meant the world to me growing up, and seeing him left me in a serene, confused, lonely and satisfied state. I was depressed for days afterwards.

Having at the time just endured a pretty rough break up (bear with me – shit’s getting emotional), just about every damn thing I listened to made me a Debbie downers. I guess I decided pre-emptively that Springsteen would help me out – from what I had heard, he seemed like the type to inspire, to uplift. My first spin of Born to Run was on a solo drive, the way – I decided – it was meant to be heard.

From the opening harmonica and piano of Thunder Road, I felt something spark, a hopeful sense of excitement. “Hey what else can we do now? Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair.” I was hooked.

I made sure I was prepped to get tickets the second time around – mistake rectified. I had nobody to go with at that stage, but I didn’t care -minor details.

The reviews for Saturday said it all and I was pumped. Having played Born in the USA in its entirety on the first night, I had my fingers crossed for Born to Run. After a dozen tracks, it was delivered in full, beautiful and uplifting. It felt meant to be.

Bruce darling, you had me at hello.

The E Street Band was flippin’ top notch - legendary. With nearly twenty members on stage, the sound rattled your ribs but still retained clarity – the vocals, guitar and sax solos always rose clearly above all else. A personal highlight for me however was seeing Rage Against the Machine’s Tom Morello absolutely killing it as one of Bruce’s tour guitarists. Keeping his signature sound alive rather than conforming to mimic the records, Morello made each solo his own, wailing with his pedal effects and bringing the songs a 21st century face lift. Seeing Springsteen and Morello duelling solos in Ghost of Tom Joad was nothing short of mindblowing.

During the cheery Waitin’ on a Sunny Day, some lucky bastard of a child was spotted by Bruce singing along in the front row. Seconds later, he was lifted up onto stage to sing. The band cut out, the kid looked like a possum in the headlights, but he delivered the chorus, fist pumping in the air. He must have been 12 at the most. As jealous as I was at his proximity to Bruce, I was also rather sympathetic. Before this kid even hits puberty, he’s peaked. He will never be able to top what just happened, sitting on Bruce’s shoulders being danced around on stage. Give him 10 years and he’ll be washed up, drunk and miserable at a bar at midday. “Do you know who I am?” he will ask aggressively. “I used to be somebody… Spin me Bruce… Spin me…”

When the concert finally finished, after three and a quarter mesmerising and perfect hours, I had two regrets. One, I didn’t buy front of stage tickets, and two, I didn’t go both nights. If he ever comes back, I will rectify my mistakes.

Bubble Yum Bum: Confessions of a Befuddled Feminist.

by Amelia Petrovich As a general rule, if you live in the 21st century (hint: you definitely do) I don’t see why you wouldn’t be a feminist. Women are fab, we really are! For over half of my life-span New Zealand has had a female Prime Minister, lady bus drivers always seem heaps less grumpy and in 1998 as my four-year-old self watched wide-eyed and impressed, Mulan didn’t bow to the Emperor of China, The Emperor of China bowed to Mulan! I myself am a firm believer in feminism and women definitely deserve respect, empowerment and dignity (as do men, as does everyone)…which is why I am here typing away now in a state of extreme confusion and moral conflict.

thighs saunter on past. The lyrics are 40 per cent offensive and 60 per cent stupidity featuring lines like “I wanna see that bubble yum bum, badum bum badum”, “I’m baskin’ in these asses, all thirtyone flavours keep calling” and other such poetic gems. It’s a truly dismal song, it lacks creativity, it’s degrading, it’s borderline obscene…

delve into feminist belief and opinion, the more I find myself questioning what I enjoy. I used to think a man holding open a door for me was charming and a little bit Mr Darcy-esque but should I maybe consider it condescending and archaic instead? Jeez I think I might have even laughed at a joke about a woman changing a tyre once - am I sexist?

But goddamn do I love dancing to it.

You see, it all began back in September of last year as I danced in a happy, tipsy oblivion at a friend’s party. One moment I was an empowered and self-assured, if not slightly intoxicated young woman and the next? Someone decided to switch the tune-age from Florence and The Machine to Pitbull and my life was changed forever with the utterance of seven, simple words: “Damn, that white girl got some ASS!”

Enjoying Can’t Believe It is about as righteous as a vegetarian enjoying the odd slice of bacon every so often… Followed by the odd meatball… Washed down with an entire fillet steak. However the sad, sorry truth is that it is a very catchy tune and much to my own dismay, whenever I hear it, all I want to do is get onto the d-floor and shake my bubble yum bum badum bum badum. They’ve won, the anti-feminists have won and it’s all my own, trashy music-loving fault. The addiction doesn’t stop at one song either; I’ve been drawn in by all the controversial classics. Blurred Lines, Talk Dirty and even Whistle have me rocking out whilst simultaneously feeling like a despicable human being and wanting to crawl into the floor.

If you have not had the extreme pleasure of experiencing Pitbull and Flo Rida’s latest musical collaboration Can’t Believe It, in many ways you are probably not missing out on too much.

The music video certainly falls into the ‘not safe for work’ category with the two smug-looking, sunglass-clad men rapping on top of literal ass-mountains (yes, I’m serious), as horrifying creatures made up solely of women’s legs and

Am I still a hideous person if I only like such songs for the tune alone, or by listening to them at all am I automatically part of the problem? I wouldn’t actually encourage a foreign tourist to take a “first class seat” on Jason Derulo’s lap, but equally if Talk Dirty played at a club I’d be more likely to boogie along to it with the rest of the room than sit down and flatly refuse to move until the DJ played something wholesome. The deeper I

Perhaps though, the privilege of my position as a woman in this particular chapter of the word’s history is that I can believe in equality and enjoy songs like Can’t Believe It for what they are - trivial, silly things to jam to on a Friday night and then forget about for the rest of the week. Maybe the reason I love terrible songs so much is because I know that they’re terrible.

The joke is that Flo Rida and Pitbull sound sexist because sexism is stupid and all us girls (and heck, even a solid contingent of guys) know that.

John Lennon’s Imagine may contain more lyrical wisdom and admirable opinions but are you reduced to fits of giggles and splutters when you pump it at full volume in your car? No, no you are not. I suppose what I really need to be doing is comparing things a little more to gain a speck of perspective. Advocating equality in pay for women in the workforce? Extremely important. Fist pumping when Jason tells me my “booty don’t need explaining”? Less so.

I’m a feminist who finds several degrading songs a lot of fun to dance to.

Maybe that doesn’t make me a total scumbag…

Maybe.

17

VILLAINS

AGENTSMITH ALEXDELARGE CAPTAINHOOK CAPTAINSPAULDING CRUELLADEVIL

DARTHVADER GOBLINKING JACKTORRANCE JAFAR JOKER

KHAN HANNIBAL LEATHERFACE MEGATRON NORMANBATES

NOSFERATU NURSERATCHED PLANKTON SAURON VOLDEMORT

Circle all the words in the Villains Wordfind, tear this page out & pop it into the box on the side of the red debate stands, and you could win two "Squawk Burgers' vouchers for Velvet Burger, Auckland CBD! Tooooo easy! Winner will be notified by email.

Name:

Email:

WHICH CAT ARE YOU?

by Ramina Rai

What's your favourite thing to do in your spare time?

What item are you most likely to put on each day?

a) Go on an adventure b) Spend it in solitude c) Sleep and relax d) Go to gigs

a) Running shoes b) Black jeans c) Sweatpants d) Vintage brogues

Which band do you prefer?

Which one sounds the worst?

a) Cheetah Girls b) Def Leopard c) Cat Stevens d) Cat Power

a) Not having anything to do b) Obnoxious youths c) Having to do a marathon d) Someone wearing the same outfit

Which of these is your favourite Character?

What's your inner-childs dream Christmas present?

What beverage would you choose right now?

a) Phil Dunphy (Modern Family) b) Ron Swanson (Parks and Recreation) c) Homer Simpson (The Simpsons) d) Vince Noir (The Mighty Boosh)

a) My very own playground b) A gun c) A castle or car bed d) A bicycle with a basket

a) Red Bull b) Whiskey c) Hot chocolate d) Green tea

You win the lottery. What do you spend your money on?

What's your favourite mag?

What's your favourite film genre?

a) debate!!! b) debate. c).............debate......... d) It's called debate but you probably haven't heard of it.

a) Action b) Horror c) Comedy d) Arthouse

a) Flights, travel, exploring! b) Creating a moat around my new castle home c) A bach with daybeds, hammocks and giant tv screens d) Starting up an organic cafe that also exhibits art

What is your favourite colour? a) Yellow b) Dark grey c) Green d) Mustard

Pick an app! a) Temple Run b) Angry Birds c) Sleep Cycle d) Instagram

Mostly A's

Mostly B's

Mostly C's

Mostly D's

MARU

GRUMPY CAT

SNOOPY

HAMILTON

Yaaaaay! You are Maru!

Maru is fun-loving and all about the playtime. Judging by some of the answers you've picked, you share that in common with our beloved furry friend. Now go watch a video of Maru sliding across the floor in a cardboard box and get inspired.

Oh, well this is awkward.... You may be a bit of a grump at times but hey, you're always a loveable grump. But let's be honest, this quiz is really stupid anyway, right? It's so pointless and why is everyone so obsessed about motherf****g cats? Ugh. What kind of idiotic magazine prints this kind of rubbish? Pathetic.

Aw you lil cutie. Snoopy has been likened to Garflied, a cat who loves to only sleep and eat. We must stop to admire your chilled out nature and feel the zen and calm vibes that resonate from your peaceful sleepy soul. You probs would love to hang out in your PJs all day, and I'm sure Snoopy would approve .

You got Hamilton the Hipster Cat! He's got a full on beaut of a hipster moustache, which is a massive accomplishment regardless of what species you hail from. We all know he would rock the suspenders, brogues and horn rimmed glassses if he had the chance. It seems you too may be a hip kid, we all know hipsters hate being indentified as one, so i'll stop.

19

http://www.flickr.com/photos/naama/

THE JOGGER'S SMILE

by Amelia Petrovich As a born and bred Wellingtonian I am the first to sing its praises. We’re good at filmmaking, fantastic at navigating through sheets of horizontal rain, and our unwavering passion for large-scale Hobbit memorabilia in weird places (i.e Gollum at the airport, welcome to the capital everyone!) is absolutely charming. However, because I am from Wellington I reckon I have a right to rip it a bit if I want to as well. We are shocking at New Year’s resolutions. Well, no, we’re all great at making them but our follow through is non-existent; I’d say the average Wellingtonian completes 15 per cent of a resolution each year, if that. How do I know this? Because every single year, January 1st sees a mass exodus from local houses to parks and pavements as every man and his wind-beaten dog heads out to ‘get fit and exercise more’. Then, five or maybe six days later everyone toddles back inside again because, let’s face it, jogging sucks and odds are we’ve inherited our Dad’s quick metabolism anyway (surely).

But let’s zero in on those five to six days of motivation and talk about joggers for a second, particularly the ones I came across in the summer when I too was pretending to be an athlete. Ordinarily when you walk down the streets in a big city (or even in Wellington) people generally keep to themselves. There’s an unspoken ‘eyes to the ground’ rule and if anyone does take an interest in you it’s because they want to thrust a flyer in your face.

Not so if you jog.

It’s as if everyone in the entire world intrinsically understands that exercise sucks, particularly those who voluntarily partake in it. It’s amazing for your body but it also sucks, much like kale or salt water on cuts. Because of this, if you’re jogging along sweating waterfalls and you pass another keen bean doing the same, almost instantly this stranger will smile at you until you smile back. It’s a unique smile, a jogger’s smile. This is a smile that says “hey man, we look disgusting and smell terrible but you and I - we’re the same.

We’re both going through hell right now because it’s good for us. Or maybe

it’s because we want to look hot, or show our ex-boyfriend how well we’re doing without him. But hey, WHATEVER! We’re here, we’re doing this, and we’re in it together.”

It’s truly a beautiful space to be in. On you run receiving smile after pitying smile, almost as if the more pain you’re in the happier the jogging community is with you. And of course, this is absolutely true. Why? Because sympathy is the currency joggers used to buy off fitness envy. Everything is fun and games when you’re in the middle of your run wheezing through playgrounds with the rest of the crew, but as soon as you finish your own 30 minutes and wind down to a comfortable walking pace, 50 different shades of hate are hurled at you from everyone. This isn’t a unique street jogging phenomenon either. If you’re lucky enough to finish a treadmill session at the gym without passing out and allow yourself an indulgent “yusssss!” odds are that the person one machine over, the same person who bestowed upon you the blessed ‘jogger’s smile’ not 10 minutes ago, will turn tail and glare like they’re ready to snap your kneecaps and steal your iPod. See, most people are more than happy to support you in any well-meaning endeavor you set your mind to… as long as you don’t do it better than them. If you think about it the entire thing is unjust - why be jealous of the panting hero who just finished their run? In half an hour you’ll be heroic too; in fact if you’d have got up off your couch and started jogging an hour ago you would have been finished way quicker than that poor sucker and most likely would never even have seen them in the first place! Yes, the world of neighborhood jogging is one of hypocrisy and harsh judgment; it makes me wonder if the easiest thing would just be to lie. Maybe instead of fist pumping and swaggering back home when we’ve clocked 3kms we should fake a pronounced limp and explain to everyone running past that we’ve suddenly developed a horrendous and crippling tumour so as not to incur the terrifying wrath of society’s fitter, more beautiful half.

Of course, most of what I’m saying is complete sarcasm and shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Jogging is a wonderful pastime that can lead to major improvements in one’s health, both physically and emotionally. I encourage everyone to consider it and if it was part of your New Year’s resolution, don’t be a Wellingtonian, go for it! You can do it, you really can… Just make sure you don’t do it better than I do.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cq-biker/

Charlotte Dawson: A Call to Empathy.

By Abigail Johnson They say deaths happen in threes, but lately the barrage of celebritypassings has appeared endless: Philip Seymour Hoffman; Paul Walker; Lou Reed; Harold Ramis; Charlotte Dawson.

It was the news of Charlotte’s passing that really got to me. Sure, some of the others had what we would consider more reputable careers, but Charlotte was ours.

Was ours.

It is customary to refer to the deceased in the past-tense, but I would have referred to her this way before she passed, too. We collectively gave up on her years ago.

On January 30 an article was published decrying Dawson’s advice to Lorde.

“Leave NZ” she had said, the NZ media “will crush your spirit.”

How sage her words appear now. Literally crushed by the vindictive and jealous, and yet only a month ago trying to dispense advice.

Even more telling was the way the media dealt with this statement. Side by side they appeared, Charlotte and Lorde. Lorde; lit up with stage lights, framed by her hair. Charlotte; clutching a bottle of Moet, mouth open, face shiny. She looked like an idiot. It was a great tactic.

Their bias was obvious. She was lamenting the New Zealand media; they would take any measure they could to ensure her words were discredited.

Even the way she was described in the article spoke volumes; “Former NZ it girl” they laughed.

The article was shared on Facebook with the call for comments, and I remember thinking at the time “I know exactly what the comments will be.”

“Australia can have her!”

“Charlotte who?”

And, the classic. “She’s just a slut!”

One month later and the tables have turned. Sentimental headlines abound.

Twitter is filled with messages of support. It all leaves one with a very sour taste in the mouth.

How did this happen? How did we collectively bully this woman to death?

How did we let the media get away with such belittling tactics?

As far as I can see it comes down to insecurity.

We live in a world of insecurity. Are we good enough are we smart enough; are we pretty, witty and gay enough?

The easiest way of dealing with this insecurity is telling others they aren’t. We are constantly criticizing. The Kardashians are NOT classy, Beiber is NOT talented, Miley is NOT cool, the Ridges are NOT smart; it goes on and on and on.

We believe that by pushing others down we can get to the top. We are superior, we are funny; we aren’t like “those people.”

But it has always been my experience that elevating others elevates oneself.

That defending the voiceless lifts oneself.

What happened to our empathy? What happened to trying to understand each other? We question how we can stop kids from bullying each other to death, right before logging back online and dissing the latest and ‘dumbest’ socialites.

Oh poor Jaime Ridge and her designer dresses, you say. Poor Kim Kardashian and her millions. Well yes, poor them, I say. It is obvious from the state of the modern celebrity that money doesn’t buy happiness. I couldn’t imagine having to avoid cyber-space in order to feel un-tormented. Feeling like the world hates you.

We need to remember that celebrity does not make a person untouchable.

We need to remember that shitty music does not necessitate a barrage of hate, that people who we may consider un-classy, un-talented, or dumb are just people on their own journey.

We need to remember our empathy.

21

My two lists

by Laurien Barks I’m a traveller. Through and through. To my very core. I believe that travelling, and I mean really travelling (ie. none of that hotel/resort nonsense), has the power to heal the soul, feed the heart, and reveal the basis of our individuality. And while I may be an extremist, I truly think that everyone, even the homebodies, needs to get out there and experience the wider world, at least once. I’m a strong believer in the real life magic that only travel can offer us and, believe it or not, I have a fool proof method of harnessing that magic in the most effective of ways.

Many people are aware that travel grants the most unique of experiences.

No matter where you go, chances are high that the memories you make while travelling will be unlike any you could ever hope to construct within the boundaries of your home - I can personally testify this to be true. My weirdest, most wonderful, and craziest memories all take place in locations far away from home, and while spontaneity played a huge role in the construction of said memories, so did my secret travel weapon: I never board a plane without two lists.

That’s right - lists. One written by me, and the other written by my dad. Lists of goals. My list includes things I wish to see, taste, and do. The other list includes things that my dad wants to see me do, most of which involve acting like I never learned the basic rules of social behaviour. It started as a joke - dad wanted me to take a few embarrassing photos when I went on a holiday without him, a game of ‘dare’ if you will. But it quickly turned into a necessity when it came to milking my travels for all they’re worth.

You see, the items on the list that I make for myself are things like ‘visit this beach,’ ‘go to that night market,’ ‘taste this food,’ ‘bike around this island,’ etc and they always create a vague outline that allows room for spontaneity in my travels.

My list eventually leads to those cliché, wonderful, and unexpected experiences that mould interesting stories, and long-cherished memories.

Things like, leading me to the beach on which I saw dozens of baby sea turtles hatch and crawl out from under my unsuspecting towel. The personal lists have brought me to streets where I bargained my butt off

for a cheap bowl of goat-leg soup, and to concerts where I’ve been surrounded by thousands of twerking Bajans (this was pre ‘Miley loses her shit’...so twerking was actually cool and impressive). I’ve woken up in the middle of the night to see wild dingoes howling right outside of my tent, and heck, I’ve danced with a drunk Mexican man at one in the morning thanks to my list. If that’s not what travelling is about, I don’t know what is.

My weirdest, most wonderful, and craziest memories all take place in locations far away from home, and while spontaneity played a huge role in the construction of said memories, so did my secret travel weapon: I never board a plane without two lists.

These kinds of experiences are incredible. They’re never planned, and you just can’t argue with the beauty that lies in the unexpected wonders of the world. That being said, my second list, contrastingly reveals that magic can also be found in the completely 100% expected wonders.

The list my father writes, allows me to bask in the glory of anticipation and the satisfaction that comes when you achieve something you told yourself you wouldn’t be able to. I’m talking about a list of absolutely absurd goals that you are handed before you step onto a plane, that you read on the plane, and that immediately cause you to panic because you have no idea how you’re going to bring yourself to do them. But that’s the brilliance of it. It’s like right before you launch yourself off of the platform of a bungee jump. You don’t know how you’re going to do it, but once

you do, you realize that the giddiness, laughter, and memories that result, were worth all of the anticipating panic. In fact, they were amplified because of it.

So, what kind of mischief have these silly second lists gotten me into? Let me think. They’re usually lists of things that I need to take photos of, or with.

Things like ‘pose with a stranger’s child’, ‘break one clearly stated rule in a public place,’ etc. While these little items may seem silly and minute in comparison to the more legendary memories on my self-written list, they’re always the basis of my funniest/most absurd travel stories. I can proudly say that I’ve done the ‘I’m flying, Jack!’

Titanic pose with a variety of men, all of different ethnicities. I’ve snuck a very large camera onto a rollercoaster by somehow managing to stick it in my bra. I’ve also managed to get said roller-coaster shut down for several minutes while they collected the camera and made me delete the apparently illegal photos I had taken.

I’ve been threatened by parents for asking to take a photo with their children, but I’ve also been granted permission by other parents to, not only take a photo with their child, but also give said child a kiss on the head for ‘bonus points,’ (oh Dad…). Not only have these second lists landed me photos of myself kissing random kids, but planting one on grown adult strangers, as well. I’ve also been kicked/chased out of clothing stores for reasons, while perfectly legal, I still don’t really wish to discuss…

I guess what I’m saying is that, while not necessary for a great time, taking a couple of lists with you when you travel the world only enhances the experiences you’ll have. Next time you buy a plane ticket, have someone close to you write a list of 10 goals that are uniquely designed just for you. Tasks that they know will pull you outside of your comfort zone and undoubtedly result in a hilarious tale for you to tell when you get home again. Pair that list with a more sensible one that you write for yourself and you’ve got a killer combination, one that will lead you to experience things that you never thought you would, and the other will lead you to experience things you never thought you could.

Allow yourself to be pushed to all of your limits, and the world becomes your limitless oyster - you’ll feel more alive than you ever thought possible.

23

CLAP CLAP RIOT

L-R: Dave Rowlands, Stephen Heard, Tristan Colenso Interview by Matthew Cattin Not many bands can trace their roots back to penile dysfunction and in that respect, Clap Clap Riot are rather unique.

Speaking to guitarist Dave Rowlands, I was filled in on the entertaining origins of the Auckland threepiece. Like many a good story, it all started at a school camp.

“This dude got kicked off camp and there was a talent show the next night so the three of us got together to write an ode to this guy,” says Rowlands.

The song, written at the expense of the fella sent home, was a hit and a comedy folk act “a la Flight of the Conchords” was born - the name was Penile Dysfunction.

“The weird thing was that the principal and everything were really supportive of it so we were playing assemblies getting introduced by the principal as Penile Dysfunction,” says Rowlands.

From these strong beginnings, the lads changed lineups, genres and awful band names (Dave’s words, not mine) several times before settling on Clap Clap Riot. This included the nu-metal band Token (named in tribute of the band’s token black and ginger) and Band Theft Auto.

After a spot of gigging around the country and overseas travel the band members refined their tastes and started working on the sound that would become Clap Clap Riot. It was 2008 when they earned their first solid break, winning MTV’s ‘Kick-Start Your Career’ band competition.

“It was a pretty epic thing for us – it was awesome in the timing. We moved up to Auckland and obviously knew very few people up there and by going so well in that particular competition, it immediately introduced us to industry people and

a lot of the MTV guys. I think we definitely would have done it, but I think it would have been a lot harder to get our foot in the door,” says Rowlands.

In addition to the contacts and bragging rights, the competition also gave the band some hefty prizes, including ten grand for flights, an MTV advertising package, mentoring and a video – plenty enough to give them a head start on their 2008 EP TV Knows Better.

Despite the boost from MTV, it took Clap Clap Riot four years to get their first album Counting Spins on to shelves, but not by any fault of their own. The album was recorded around a year and a half before it was released – the delay was due to politics explains Rowlands.

“Between about October and January, so four months of the year which is a massive chunk of the year, it’s just lethal to put a record out. You’re completely overtaken by Katy Perry’s and Celine Dion’s and you’ll be fighting for your space in the newspaper and advertising,” says Rowlands. “A) you don’t have the budget, and B) you’re always going to fall to the bottom of the list.”

During this frustrating delay, the band stayed busy working on follow up Nobody / Everybody, meaning they were well ahead of schedule and able to take all the time in the world to perfect the record to their standards.

“I’m so happy with how this record has turned out and honestly if no one liked it, if it went nowhere, I would still be incredibly happy about how it has turned out. You want to always be putting out something that you are really proud of and something that you have put your blood, sweat and tears into, rather than something you have tossed together really quickly. And we’ve done that with all of our records.”

Clap Clap Riot’s first EP, explains Rowlands, was recorded live in the studio, as opposed to the more commonly used overdubbing method. This

means all instruments were recorded together in a single take, rather than layered one by one. For their first album however, they decided to switch it up and try the more traditional track-by-track method.

Having tried both, the band felt the live approach was better suited to their sound and energy and decided to dive deeper into the technique for Nobody / Everybody.

“We wanted to keep that organic character to the recordings. We decided that we prefer working far harder to get a good live take than to tweaking and fixing things as we go along, largely because of the character it gives – and you have more pride for the record when you finish it.”

Behind the mixing desk of Nobody / Everybody was Kiwi muso of The Mint Chicks’ fame Kody Nielson, selected personally by the band for his experience as a songwriter and his studio knowhow.

“They [songwriters] have got a really good grasp of how songs are put together and so Kody was kind of our top pick. We sent him the songs and he really liked them so it all kind of spiralled from there. It was great. He brought a lot of tricks to the studio and he really did make us feel like we had a lot of creative freedom,” says Rowlands.

As for being in a Kiwi band, Rowlands says it’s a fantastic place to tour and he enjoys the community vibe of the music scene but you won’t make it if you aren’t cutting the mustard.

“If you’re shit in New Zealand, you’re going to know about it. It’s too small a country that we would veto any rubbish bands before they could see the light of day so we’ve got a really tough quality control in New Zealand. I think the quality of music that comes out of New Zealand is amazing and that is in turn why a lot of my favourite bands and songwriters come from here.”

-POSSIBLE SHARKSby Matthew Cattin In mid-January, the Hawke’s Bay Today ran a story headlined ‘Possible Shark Sighting in Waimarama’.

What followed was an unbelievably poor attempt at journalism, complete with obscenely ambiguous quotes and speculation from locals.

Nobody interviewed had laid eyes upon the ‘possible shark’ but they had all heard salty rumours there might have been a shark in the ocean – a possibility that handsomely fulfils the requirements for a strong news story. "There's a chance. There's always sharks in the ocean so there's a good chance there is one out there,” said a lifeguard, unlucky enough to be on duty when the newshound smelled blood in the water.

What are the chances, hey? That a shark might potentially, possibly, perhaps be inhabiting its natural habitat? Well, there might be some teeth to this article yet…

I would like if this article could be branded a one off but unfortunately, every summer brings with it a tide of sensational articles that have really no point other than to confirm the existence of sharks in the ocean. They’re usually not as stupid as the article described above, but nevertheless meaningless headlines like “Sharks Spotted at Piha” start popping up in late October and hang about until Autumn, reminding the public that beneath the ocean waves awaits hungry mouths of death.

Without sharks, the ocean simply does not work.

You cannot remove the top predator from the food chain and expect life to flourish, despite the seemingly logical thought ‘less sharks = more fish’. Without sharks, the oceans will die. Despite this, sharks are being killed at an unprecedented rate, as many as 11,000 every hour according to academic estimates. The majority of this figure, of course, is due to fishing – unsustainable fishing, but still fishing. And then there is the shark finning, an unfathomably wasteful practice that defies belief… But what I’m prattling on about today, is the ignorant and hateful attitude so many have of these fantastic creatures.

To many, sharks embody a mindless and cold evil.

Don’t get me wrong, they are the world’s most refined and evolved predators, but their cliché ‘misunderstood’ label is also accurate. There’s no denying they will eff you up in a one-on-one, but if you put your faith in statistics, there are far scarier animals out there, including (but not limited to) deer, dogs, ants, bees, hippos, snakes, crocodiles, horses, cows and jellyfish – all of which kill more humans annually than sharks.

You see it wasn’t just local speculation, oh no, a marine scientist was also consulted for an academic assessment of the dire situation – a marine scientist who believes the shark spotted could be a blue shark but didn't rule out a great white. Wow, such insight. I can imagine the conversation went a little like this…

Can you even imagine being eaten alive by ants? It sucks apparently. The Siafu ants of Africa travel in giant swarms eating anything in their path. They can inflict painful bites and stings but that’s the least of your worries – these ants will get in through all your orifices and eat you inside out, flooding your lungs and creeping in through your ears. Box jellyfish are known as the “suckerpunch” of the sea because they float along virtually invisible and their sting isn’t felt until their venom is injected. After that, you’ll often have between two and five minutes of pain, followed often by death.

Newshound: “Hello, I’m writing a sensationalised piece of shit for Hawke’s Bay Today – apparently (and I can’t confirm this) there was a possible shark sighting yesterday in Waimarama. May I ask you a few questions?”

Expert: “Oh yes of course”.

Newshound: “Excellent – thank you. Right. What kind of shark was it?”

So in the grand scheme of things, shark deaths are so improbable you really are an utter fool to fear the oceans. And if you are stupid enough to hate a creature that present less risk to your safety than your pet pooch, lightning strikes and vending machines, well be my guest – the ocean doesn’t want you weeing in it anyway.

Expert: “Um… I’m going to need a bit more than that… Did anybody see the shark? Can you describe it?”

Newshound: “Well we’ve had six interns cold calling all day and we haven’t found anybody yet who has seen it. But I’ve heard rumours it was big, ferocious even… A man-eater”.

Expert: “I’m sorry I don’t think I can help if I have no description… It was likely just a blue shark – they’re very common at this time of year.”

Newshound: “Oh… Could it have been a great white? You know, like the one in Jaws?”

Expert: “Well as an endangered species, it wouldn’t be the most likely shark in these waters.

But since there is no description, we really can’t rule anything out just yet”.

Newshound: “Perfect. That’s all I need. Thank you!”

Expert: “No worries – I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. Give me a call back if you… Hello? … Are you there? … Feckin’ Journalists…”

Last year, more than 250 people were killed on New Zealand’s roads – a shocking statistic, especially when compared to the mere 12 shark deaths in our waters since, well, 1847. If the media played fair, we should also see articles headlined “Possible Bad Driver On State Highway One” because statistically, that is where you are far more likely to meet a gruesome end. But when has fear, or the media, ever been rational?

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Half empty cup of love

By Matthew Cattin As I lay mostly naked on a K Road bar late one Friday night, one thought kept resurfacing in my mind; it was meant to be a sunny afternoon at the zoo...

It was February, humid and heavy, and a few friends I wandered around the Auckland Zoo, eager to check out the animals that had retreated into their hidey holes in anticipation of the brewing storm. It started spitting lightly, the type of rain that suggests its potential for wickedness, the tip of the ice berg. Liam Finn trooped through an endearing set as the raindrops matured, hit puberty, got married, and let their figures go, bloated and flabby. Being the only one with a raincoat (thanks mum), I took one for the team and sacrificed it for the good of the group’s phones and wallets, wrapping the goods in a rainproof parcel for safekeeping.

With that taken care of, we danced barefoot in the mud and rain, fully embracing a classic Auckland summer’s day.

Unfortunately, due to the absolutely unreasonable weather, Phoenix Foundation had to pull the plug – something to do with electricity, rainwater and imminent death.

Disappointed but understanding, we found ourselves with a bit of time up our sleeves. An hour’s drive from home and with adventure in our hearts, we made an executive decision – the night was young, we outta follow suit. We decided to get our kicks somewhere in town but soaked to the skin, we first needed to dry our clothing. Surely a Laundromat would be open?

Brilliant plan.

And so it was we found ourselves standing in the CBD’s “only 24/7 Laundromat”, our clothes in the dryers, our hands covering modest bulges and clingy boxers. I’m going to level with you here, it wasn’t ideal. It was dark out and in the harsh light of the Laundromat, we stood out like erections, vulnerable and pasty. A traffic light outside the shop ensured we got our fair share of honks and yells and it was perhaps this that attracted the danger.

We heard a deep voice, scandalous and

suggestive, announce from the doorway “Oh. My. God.” Like crabs in a crack, we turned our backs to the wall and hoped for the best.

Standing in the doorway muscled and towering, were three transvestites, their dolled up eyes glittering hungrily. The next few minutes were a blur of nervous giggles, cheeky comments about Christmas (amongst other things) coming early and the recurring thought “I knew K Road was a bad call…” However, after a few moments, the charming trio turned on their six inch heels and bid us farewell. Wiping the nervous sweat from our brows, we urged the dryers to hasten their loads before anymore unexpected creatures of the night could swoop in – but we were too late.

The midnight beauties returned within minutes, bringing a few friends with them. We posed for photos feeling like New Zealand celebrities (yes, it really is that easy) and everything was going swimmingly, until they decided to take us with them. We tried to say no, tried it every damn way we knew how, but we were outmuscled, outnumbered, and frightened. The tranny trio took a lad each by the wrist and led us out the door as our girlfriends gathered our clothes and wallets. There was no hope of escape, no time to make ourselves modest as we were led out into the drizzly night.

Like a trio of sad lambs being led to the slaughter, we were dragged in to a bar across the road. The tallest of our minders announced, to a great deal of applause, they had found three suitable contestants for the ‘cup of love’.

My mind started to race. Would I be cupping their pumped-up, waxed breasts? Their muscular buttocks? Would they be cupping mine? Was there any hope of making a break for it? And where would I even go? I was soaking wet, disillusioned and lost in a dark, comfortless place.

Luckily for us, we had stumbled into the wolf den on a hen’s night and as we were introduced one by one to the hungry pack, they bared their fangs and howled in ravenous delight.

It was a competition of sorts – the lucky lad with the loudest cheer would go on to do brilliant but terrible things, the cup of love. I’m not sure if it was because I was the third to be

introduced, or perhaps because I looked the most vulnerable and easily broken of the three, but the cheer went up, louder than the previous two. I looked at my two friends beside me and saw the tears of relief, of sympathy and pity leaking out of their eyes. I wanted to hug them, to thank them for being there with me, to let them know everything would be okay and that they needn’t feel guilty, no matter what happened to me… No matter what became of my mind, of my sanity.

I was lifted onto the bar as though for surgery, weightless and detached. I was ready to meet whatever, head on and with dignity.

Still in nought but my boxers, the kindly transvestite placed a lip-shaped pillow over my considerable bulge, preserving what was left of my self-respect. It was time.

A shot was brought forth and poured into my belly button, penetrating and cold as an incubus. I knew what was coming next, but the knowledge did not make it any easier. By about the third cup of love, I was emotionless and indifferent to the invasive tongues wiggling in my orifice, the barely consensual bellylingus.

Thoughts drifted to my family sitting at home, watching a spot of Friday night television, dry and safe in comfort. I looked to my friends for comfort and security but found none – they were too busy taking photos of my darkest hour.

For our rough ordeal, we were offered free drinks for the rest of the night which my friends took full advantage of. A kindly transvestite named Ling Ling also hooked us up with handfuls of free condoms and the priceless advice “up the bum-bum, no babies”. Perfect.

When I finally made it home, I got straight into the shower and curled up in the foetal position for a long, long time. It took a while to wash the sticky lip gloss from my snail trail and get the glitter out of my belly button but the memories could not be cleansed away, despite my weeping and rough scouring.

But hey, at least the photos made it to my 21st right?

BEST DRESSED

by Nathalie Owen The Oscars is one of the most important nights on the fashion calendar, and this year was no exception, with all of Hollywood’s biggest stars sashaying down the red carpet in their designer gowns.

Pastel colours and shimmering metallics were the trend of the night, with golden girls Cate Blanchett and Lupita Nyong’o battling it out for the best dressed crown.

CATE BLANCHETT

Lupita Nyong'o

Best Actress winner Cate Blanchett looked breath-taking in a stunning nude embellished Giorgio Armani gown and Chopard jewellery.

Best Supporting Actress winner Lupita Nyong'o was Queen of the night in this stunning custom Nairobi blue Prada gown and Fred Leighton jewels.

T H E O S C A R S

ANGELINA JOLIE

KATE HUDSON

Jennifer Lawrence

Angelina Jolie reigned supreme in a shimmering silver Elie Saab Haute Couture gown and 42 carat Robert Procop diamond earrings.

Kate Hudson brought high fashion to the Oscar’s red carpet in this incredible silver Atelier Versace gown, complete with it’s own cape!

Jennifer Lawrence looked every inch the movie star in a vibrant red Dior Haute Couture gown and Neil Lane jewellery.

SANDRA BULLOCK

NAOMI WATTS

KERRY WASHINGTON

America’s Sweetheart Sandra Bullock stunned in a knock out Alexander McQueen gown.

Naomi Watts looked effortlessly chic in a white Calvin Klein column gown and stunning Bulgari jewels.

Fashion darling Kerry Washington takes pregnancy chic to the next level in27a beautiful Jason Wu creation and Jennifer Meyer jewellery.

(Debate student magazine only) (offer excludes papatoetoe store)

KKI IT T

HARINGTON HARINGTON

C AARRR R C I EI- EA -NANN E NE

MOSS MOSS

MI IL YL Y EE M

BROWNING BROWNING

A DDEEWW A A LAEL E

AKINNUOYE-AGBAJE AKINNUOYE-AGBAJE

A CITY WILL FALL.

JJ EESSSSI IC C AA

LUCA LUCA SS

WITH WITH

JJ AARREEDD

HARRIS HARRIS

AND AND

KKI IE EF EF RE R

SUTHERL SUTHERL ANDAND

A HERO WILL RISE.

Artwork © Artwork © 2014 2014Constantin Constantin Film Verleih Film VerleihGmbH. GmbH. All Rights All RightsReserved.

Reserved.

ON L Y

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SYNOPSIS

POMPEII is set in the days leading up to the famous eruption of Mt Vesuvius, which destroyed the ancient city of Pompeii. Kit Harington (TV’s Jon Snow) stars as

3 D

A N D

2 D

Milo, an enslaved gladiator, who must fight for his life in the arena every day. When Cassia (Emily Browning) enters his world and his heart, he must also fight his feelings for her – a noblewoman who can never be his.

That is until all the world is changed by a storm of ash and lava that will seal the city like a tomb. Now they must all fight to survive.

In Cinemas March 20 M: CONTAINS VIOLENCE

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REVIEWS

Do your strong opinions drive away your friends? Send us an email at mcattin@aut.ac.nz to contribute to our reviews section.

Dallas Buyers Club Directed by Jean-Marc Vellée Starring Matthew McConaughey, Jennifer Garner and Jared Leto

Dallas Buyers Club, I left the cinema with no doubt in my mind of how incredible McConaughey’s performance was, and that these victories may not be so out there after all.

Beginning in 1985, McConaughey stars as Ron Woodroof, a male epitome of every Texan redneck stereotype out there; lives in a caravan park, works as a low level electrician, drinks, smokes, sleeps around and is outspokenly homophobic at a time when AIDS is at its height. However, after passing out, Ron is told he has HIV and only thirty days to live.

After initially denying it, Woodroof becomes sicker and descends into fearful desperation to stay alive, trying to get hold of the only drug approved for human treatment while getting shunned by his equally misinformed friends. After deteriorating further, Ron flees to Mexico where he learns of alternative medicines unapproved by the American FDA. Jared Leto comes into the picture as Rayon, a transgendered man who Woodroof is initially hostile to, but the two form a partnership when Ron decides to sell the unapproved drugs to other HIV sufferers.

While not a technical masterpiece like Gravity or an epic tale like 12 Years A Slave, Dallas Buyers Club is a simple but powerful story worthy of its Best Picture consideration, one that is greatly enhanced by the excellent performances of McConaughey, Leto and Jennifer Garner, who is in fine form as Ron and Rayon’s doctor. It paints a gritty picture about the treatment of AIDS/HIV patients in this time period, and it says a lot that it took two decades after the script was written to tell this story. The direction and cinematography add to the grittiness of the film, yet it is the surprisingly funny script that is at the heart of Dallas Buyers magic; it is actually quite rare to see such a character transformation in movies these day, but Ron’s story is believable and heart-warming, and his uncanny friendship with Rayon is one of the best on-screen relationships I have seen recently.

Reviewed by Ethan Sills I am probably not the only person out there who, upon seeing this year’s Oscars race dominated by Matthew ‘alright, alright’ McConaughey and the lead singer from 30 Seconds to Mars, uttered some variation of ‘Really - them?!’ It is quite weird to get your head around the fact that a man who, until a few years ago, was starring in the crappiest rom-coms out there, is now an Oscar-winning actor. However, after seeing

Lone Survivor Directed by Peter Berg Starring Mark Wahlberg, Taylor Kitsch, Emile Hirsch and Ben Foster

Though there are the themes of acceptance and tolerance, and hefty commentary on the failures of drug testing and monitoring, Dallas Buyers is ultimately about life and what we do with it. Presented in a very charming, heart-warming package, this was an absolute pleasure to watch with little to fault, and McConaughey greatly deserved that win on Oscar night – let’s just hope he leaves those rom-coms in the past.

have left feeling a lot more miserable and cheated than I did. I was prepared for a tragedy, and a tragedy was delivered. However, for all of its potential, it never quite managed to sucker punch me in the feels.

Based on the 2005 Operation Red Wings in Afghanistan, the story focuses on four Navy SEALs and their compromised attempt to take out some local ruffians. Sneaking through the mountains, everything is going to plan until the camouflaged team is discovered by goat herders, whom they quickly overpower and tie up. They are faced with three options, and none appeal a great deal; remove the threat, release them, or leave them tied and let the powers that be decide their fates. After a heated discussion, the goat herders are released and the SEALs, knowing their positions will shortly be disclosed to the enemy, begin their retreat.

The action, when it begins, is intense, despite knowing exactly what comes next. I found it hard to believe that the bullets and brutal falls down the mountain didn’t kill the SEALs quicker – perhaps Hollywood went overboard here? But who knows, maybe the men were as tough as they were made out to be, with death-defying stamina and hulk bodies.

I enjoyed all of the actors in their roles and live now in hope that they will never shave off their beards. Friday Night Light’s Taylor Kitsch particularly impressed me and Marky Mark is always a good time. While the action was seemingly Hollywood throughout, the film really delivered in its opening and closing sequences which both used real footage of the SEALs in training and at the end, photos and videos of the deceased men of Operation Red Wings. With Peter Gabriel’s cover of Bowie’s Heroes bringing the feels, it for me it was the emotional climax to a film that failed to really grab me.

Reviewed by Matthew Cattin I’d say spoiler alert but I’m fairly confident anybody who can read will be able to deduce how many soldiers make it home in Peter Berg’s real life war drama Lone Survivor.

Oh, it’s just one.

In most cases I would say giving the film’s ending away in the title is a dumb move…

But on the contrary, Lone Survivor not only gets away with it, I think perhaps it was even a necessary decision. If I had of gone into the theatre with optimism, I would definitely

Is it okay to enjoy a film about a doomed mission? It’s been accused of glorifying war and I suppose in a way it does… But for me, it seemed a fitting tribute to a team of brave men that made a moral decision come hell or high water and paid the ultimate price. It also pays homage to the brave Pashtun villagers, but I won’t spoil that for you.

If you don’t mind a bit of war gore and a bleak outcome, this may be right up your alley.

Lantern A play by Renee Liang Directed by Eli Matthewson and Hamish Parkinson Starring James Roque and Chye-Ling Huang

Directors Eli Matthewson and Hamish Parkinson can be credited for their casting choices.

Both James Roque and Chye-Ling Huang suited the majority of the roles that they were required to portray in this dual-role piece. Roque excelled in his physical and vocal transitions and I found it much easier to distinguish between the age and personality of his multiple roles, than Huang’s. That being said, both actors deserve positive recognition for their performances overall.

While I adored certain aspects of the piece, such as the flawless transitions between scenes, and the red light casting shadows on the face of Roque as he recited an exquisite monologue about his character’s personal reasons for hating the J‘aps,’ there were also aspects that I wasn’t keen on, which ultimately placed this production smack dab in the middle of ‘Averageland’’ for this theatre geek.

The set bugged me. There was too much. I’m a minimalist, so I realize this is only a matter of my own, very biased opinion, but if an object has no purpose on the stage, GET IT OFF! It would be one thing if the play was naturalistic, and needed the entire contents of a home to mirror the realistic representation of the narrative. But it wasn’t. Several generations of characters were played by two 20-somethings, the set was divided into three separate pieces, and chopsticks were used as pens. Last time I checked, this is not how the world is. So for goodness sake, get the extra books, tables, pots, and blankets off of the stage, and create a set that works alongside the minimalistic representation of society, instead of a set that distracts my attention at regular intervals.

Reviewed by Laurien Barks As part of the 2014 Auckland Lantern Festival, Pretty Asian Theatre (PAT) Company’s production of Lantern by Renee Liang, was performed over six dates at the Musgrove Studio. The play was a positive and relevant contributor to the festivities as a whole, but when isolated from the celebrations, lacked the particular lustre needed to propel a piece of theatre onto my ‘must see’ list.

12 Years A Slave Directed by Steve McQueen Starring Chiwetel Ejiofor, Michael Fassbender, Brad Pitt

Overall I disliked the dual-role style of the piece. I don’t think that my dislike was a result of any one particular person’s weakness, just a collection of little things that didn’t quite work. I think that writing all four characters into the final scene was a risky decision.

Having the two actors jump around between chairs while engaging in fairly rapid dinner conversation was distracting, and I found myself more overwhelmed by my anticipation of their movement, than by the story itself. I also think that it takes a more seasoned actor to convincingly ‘bounce’ back and forth between two characters of such polarity. While the young cast made a fabulous effort, it didn’t quite do it for me.

I think that if you were swept away by the colourful culture of the Lantern Festival, Liang’s Lantern would have been a sweet little addition to your celebrations. However, if it was produced at any other time of year, my humble and ever eloquent opinion is one of ‘meh, take it or leave it, aye.’

brutal years free man Solomon Northup spent as a slave in the mid-1800s. A wealthy and respected violinist with a wife and family, poor Solomon is deceived by a pair of travelling opportunists, sold into slavery and transported south. Forced to work under various ‘masters’ in this time, Solomon struggles to adjust to the harsh reality of living as a slave. Essentially a dark, humourless Django Unchained minus the revenge plot, expect unflinching realism, upsetting scenes of brutality and general nastiness.

Definitely ill-suited to its R16 rating – I didn’t expect it to be too bad but I must admit there were moments in there where I wanted more than anything to look away. Steve McQueen is renowned for his long shots and remains true to his style, despite my squirming belly. If you’re expecting a daring adventure, a racially charged Great Escape perhaps, look elsewhere – 12 Years A Slave is not an action film, it’s a dark drama that will burn your heart and make you mad at white people.

Lead actor Chiwetel Ejiofor, who I can’t say I had heard of before, was compelling to watch, emotive and sincere. He is masterful in his expressions, bringing me close to man tears on several occasions. I’m yet to see Dallas Buyer’s Club but old Matthew would have to be pretty damn perfect to top Ejiofor’s performance – he was beautiful. A special kudos for his singing scene – when you see it, you’ll know.

With a supporting cast boasting Brad Pitt, Paul Dano, Paul Giamatti and Benedict Cumberbatch, you simply couldn’t ask for a stronger bunch of actors. Of the above, the creepy Paul Dano was typically brilliant, stealing scenes with possessed fury – he will soon find his place amongst the greats. Adepero Oduye (Eliza) and Lupita Nyong’o (Patsey) absolutely held their own, both delivering stellar performances as enslaved and abused women. Nyong’o was particularly outstanding, deservedly earning an Oscar for best supporting actress.

Reviewed by Matthew Cattin Hailed with perfect reviews and a stack of Oscars, Steve McQueen’s 12 Years A Slave was never going to disappoint – it couldn’t possibly. A big fan of his 2011 film Shame, but not so much with his somewhat tedious debut Hunger, it seems McQueen’s finally been handed the keys to the kingdom, Hollywood’s golden jackpot.

So are the critics right? Is it a near perfect film? Yeah, I’d definitely say it is. You won’t leave the cinema feeling uplifted, but then again, considering the film’s dark context, nor should you. If you don’t mind a spot of whipping and crying at the cinema doesn’t bother you, see this film ASAP – it may be the year’s best.

Based on a true story (although you’ll wish it wasn’t), the film accurately portrays the 12

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