Venue 363

GUS EDGAR-CHAN Venue Editor

JOSEPHINE DOWSWELL Venue Deputy Editor

Since our last issue, the trailer for a hotlyanticipated years-in-the-making slice of fantasy,

It goes without saying that I love Norwich. But also, as someone from the Midlands it’s very exciting to be

featuring fire and ice, dragons, battles, and an incredibly iconic theme tune was released. But enough about Pokemon: Detective Pikachu, because the Game of Thrones season 8 trailer is also out! And while this issue of Venue doesn’t contain full-frontal nudity, an excessive use of profanity or a shocking death of one of our section editors, at least we’re getting it out on time, so take that, George R. R. Martin! Presented within the pristine pages of our perfectly pithy publication, pVenue, is an overview on the Burning Man festival, a fantastic short story on what the future holds, a piece on the special relationship between Spotify algorithms and its users’ tastes in music, and a terrific threepage study on violence in film. And while Game of Thrones ends with the Iron Throne pulling off its face to reveal that it was Littlefinger the entire time (sorry, I’ve read the script), we end our issue with a sudoku. Enjoy.

Johanne Elster Hanson

Shelby Cooke

Jordan Hunnisett

Gabriela Williams

living such a stone’s throw away from London. We ‘ay got as many of those theatres an’ galleries an’ that back ‘ome, (as they say), so London’s a damn mecca. (‘Ay it? Arh.) Tip for second and third years who aren’t from ‘round these parts: take advantage of living so near London. Book cheap tickets and visit. Our double spread feature gives you some ideas of some culture-y things you can do (as well as things you can do in Norwich!), but goodness, even something as simple as extremely edgy shopping and sightseeing is at your doorstep. I haven’t taken advantage of being so close myself - so I’m going to do as much as I feasibly can while I’m still here. Elsewhere, we have articles on Gogh and Brexit (gosh!), an existential study of Club Penguin, and the best fits from the Oscars. I think it’s worth noting that Gaga’s diamond necklace cost tens of millions. I’d like to say that I think that’s obscene, but a part of me needs to live that way.

Nick Mason

Icons courtesy of Vecteezy

Rabbit by Fay Austen

Jodie Bailey

Gus & Josephine

Q&A with the creative team behind Sweet Charity I interviewed Hal Bennet, Musical Director and Molly Farley, Director of UEA’s upcoming production: Sweet Charity.

Firstly: Why Sweet Charity?

Hal, which song is your favourite?

I wanted to do something like Chicago but with the grandeur of Les Mis. And then I asked Molly to get involved.

I’d never directed a musical before, but I had sung the songs and loved them. I thought it was a very funny musical, which is my cup of tea. And I trusted Hal.

How does a musical come together? M: What I find with a lot of actors is that if you don’t do things chronologically, they can get very confused. So, we started at the beginning, and I went through and blocked all the scenes, so we could then add the dances. So, it went acting work, music work, dance work - in that order. It’s important to have that base layer before you go any further. Text comes first.

I went through the songs more slowly than Molly went through the scenes. It was about getting the structure down before I added in the songs.

My favourite number is Baby Dream Your Dream, which is the song Charity’s best friends Nickie and Helen sing, because it is hilarious, but also sad. You must really listen to the lyrics. At first, they are joking about all the intimacies of relationships. But at the end, even though they are mocking relationships, the characters realise it sounds really nice, and it’s a very tender moment.

What do you want the audience to get out of the show? M: Aching cheeks. H:

Yes! A jolly good time. I mean, it is such a ‘show’! Like a show-person’s show. It just doesn’t stop.

The main character inspires such a deluded sense of optimism too. I’d like our audiences to walk out thinking: ‘well, things could be worse!’

Molly, what kind of character work did you do?

Why is it important to perform Sweet Charity today?

I did lots of individual sessions. Obviously, with a musical, the characters are larger than life, but I am a firm believer that no character is every just one thing. Oscar is a nervous character, and he’s boring. But then you have to interrogate that. Does anyone actually think they are boring? Also, background for characters are important. Especially for Charity. I allow my actors freedom to invent their own backstory.

I always get shivers when I watch Big Spender. It features so many powerful women coming together. They are all very strong feminists, and they fight back at the men that try and overpower them. Very strong female characters are what drew me.

Katie Stockton

Sweet Charity is being performed at the UEA Drama Studio, 14 - 16 March, 7.30pm.

Image: Katie StocktonPho

Concrete Book Review

I am Malala by Malala Yousafzai The name Malala conjures a striking image: the girl who was shot in the head by the Taliban; the famous face behind the fight for girls’ education in Pakistan; the activist. It can be easy to reduce a young girl (she was 14 years old when shot in 2012) to a statement. In her memoir I am Malala, the wonderful Malala Yousafzai reminds her readers that there is a person behind the news, that she is more than an international campaign. It can be hard to know what to expect from this book. Part manifesto, part love letter to Pakistan, and part biography of a teenager, Malala fits many aspects of her identity into her memoir, but none of them feel superfluous. The book

meanders through her early childhood, Malala’s passion for reading winding its way through the streets of her beloved hometown. Her family plays a central role in her narrative, her father being her main source of inspiration. The state of Pakistan, both economic and political, is explored historically and personally, and her criticisms of leaders and movements are always enveloped in her ultimately unconditional love for her home country. Her fight against violence and for education is portrayed as a fight not just for girls worldwide, but for Pakistan, and despite her encounter with the Taliban, Malala never loses hope that Pakistan will recover and that she can help her people. The side of the memoir that I expected to dominate the narrative—her manifesto—is woven into her personal story so well that it tends to catch the reader off guard. Perhaps a deliberate move to slowly bring an important issue to

the reader’s attention, this also makes the book incredibly readable, and her statement emotionally charged. It is one thing to claim that girls should be allowed to go to school— it is another to illustrate this point by recounting a tale of personal loss of human rights. Malala makes it impossible to forget that the girls who are fighting alongside her, the other girls who have been deprived of their rights, are real girls. She gives her old classmates names, and she gives her female teachers a personal history. The moment of her attack is framed by the presence of her friends, sitting in the back of a car alongside her, heading to school just as she was.

The passages in the book that recount her less admirable moments—fights with friends and petty grudges— humanise her further. The girl who seems so untouchable, an idealised activist who has no interests outside of her mission, who chats with celebrities about the state of the world, suddenly becomes palpable, a girl who has experienced traumatic loss and sorrow, who misses her home country, who gets lonely without her family. My favourite moment in the book is perhaps her memory of her best friend and their shared love of the Twilight movies, as well as their adolescent fights about them. In the grand scheme of things, it is such a small, insignificant and inconsequential occurrence. But it is what Malala’s work ultimately stands for: the right for girls, ordinary girls who go to the cinema and fight about movies, to have access to a safe and equal education.

Yaiza Canopoli

Image: WIkimedia Commons

“Van Gogh and Britain” - ironic in the face of Brexit? Vincent Van Gogh is a name that almost everyone has heard of. The exhibition Van Gogh and Britain will open later this month at the Tate Britain, and has already been labelled a must-see display. Famously, another exhibition of Van Gogh’s work in 1947 was so popular that the floor of the exhibition was damaged. This exhibition has a focus on Van Gogh’s relationship with Britain, and how living in urban London inspired his painting. The much-loved Sunflowers (1888) will be among the 45 pieces displayed within the Van Gogh and Britain show. This show is the first of its kind to explore how crucial Van Gogh’s time in London during 1873 and 1876 was to the production of his art. Other iconic pieces of work that will be on show are Starry Night Over The Rhone (1888) and Shoes (1886). Van Gogh decided to become an artist at the age of 27 and committed suicide at the age of 37. During his life, Van Gogh created 850 paintings and over 1,300 works on paper. The sheer amount of art Van Gogh produced during his short life means that his legacy will continue for

Image: Wikimedia Commons

years to come. Lead curator Carol Jacobi said the artist was an ‘economic migrant’, who came to London as a trainee art dealer and became inspired by the modern and busy city he found when residing in the United Kingdom. The director of Tate Britain, Alex Farquharson, has remarked that ‘[Van Gogh] is perennially important as is the story of migration on British art… [the exhibition] is both timeless and timely.’ The exhibition is a way to educate the public on Van Gogh as an artist, his struggles and his relationship to his artwork.

Whilst the exhibition should be seen as a celebration of Van Gogh’s creativity and passion, this celebration can also be seen as ironic. Van Gogh was a Dutch immigrant who resided in London in order to pursue a better life and build upon his skills. Now, his work is being displayed in one of Britain’s most prestigious art galleries, and the exhibition opens on 27 March, the same week that Brexit is supposed to take place. As the United Kingdom is set to have

left the European Union by the end of the month, the current political climate can be seen to make the Van Gogh exhibition ironic; the work of a European migrant is being celebrated whilst some migrants residing in the United Kingdom are facing a range of abuse and discrimination. While it is good that Van Gogh’s work is now being appreciated to the fullest extent, we cannot ignore that Britain, itself a jigsaw piece of European

culture, draws inspiration from a range of countries and their cultures. In regard to the UK’s current attitude to Europe, it is especially interesting to see how our relationship with Europe and the EU is dependent on what we can gain from it. This exhibition will make a hefty profit for the Tate Britain charging a £22 entry fee, as well as it being good publicity for the museum. Although there is an ironic undertone between Van Gogh’s exhibition and how it coincides with Brexit and the United Kingdom’s political climate, the exhibition will no doubt be extraordinary and widely popular.

Jess Barrett

CHORTLES FOR CHARITY

Daniel McKeon is no stranger to hosting a good comedy night. Listening to some of Norwich and London’s best comedic talents - in his back garden in the middle of November no less - proved to be one of my strangest but most enjoyable evenings of the past academic year. Chortles for Charity takes all of the elements of the previous event that made it so enjoyable and elevates them. For example, tonight’s proceedings take place at the Mash Tun & Gin Palace, situated at the beginning of St. Benedict’s Street and much suited to the vibes of the adjacent bars such as The Ten Bells and The Bicycle Shop. The upstairs of the venue is well-suited to the number of people that have showed up, a number that is unlikely fit in his back garden. Along with this is the fact that tonight’s event is being

run in the name of fundraising for Nightline. For those that don’t know, Nightline is a student-run service that operates from university campuses across the country. UEA’s branch commits to offering confidential support to students on issues big and small, and prides itself on being accessible through essentially any contact method imaginable. Even Skype. We are fortunate enough to be joined by a representative of the charity in the form of the Nightline bear. Respect to any comedian who can go an entire performance with the Nightline bear sat in the front row and not make it weird. Surprise! Most performers managed to make it weird. The audience go the evening without an identity reveal, but hugs are given. I arrive upstairs a couple of minutes late to find our host has kicked off this evening kitted out in a pale blue tux. McKeon’s brand of comedy captures the full spectrum of strange adolescent experiences and pop culture references. He takes on hosting duties like a natural, interweaving himself throughout the lineup, his takes never failing to land with full flourish.

brings a musical presence to the line up that brightens the room. Alternating between takes delivered via keyboard and guitar, Jones’ commentary on the ills of clubbing - backed by a synthy keyboard demo track receives a huge response. A sudden lyric change to an older song in order to match the ever inflating prices of LCR entry was a personal favourite. Some of you may be familiar with Alexander Oliver assuming the role of host at venues such such as the Birdcage and Gonzo’s Tea Room. Tonight he closes proceedings with great ease. A Norfolk local, he delivers bits on his experiences having moved to and from London. Did you know that Cromer is the heroin capital of the UK? You do now. The night goes by in a flurry of belly laughs. Not only have the audience got to listen to some excellent comedy, but it has all been in the name of one of the country’s most deserving charities. Should McKeon make a habit of hosting nights like these (disclaimer: he should), attendance is a must. A consistently brilliant comedian keen to exhibit a mix of Norwich’s brightest comedic talent, it’s a certifiably wonderful time for comedians and fans of comedy alike. Can we talk about the tux one more time? Thirty pounds, he tells me. From ASOS. An absolute steal.

Shannon McDonagh

The show opens with Martin Westgate, the only comedian on the line up entirely new to myself. His dry, direct approach to the evening’s proceedings are the perfect ice breaker. Attuned to his audience of (mostly) students, he is quick to engage some audience interaction which goes down pretty well. Mustafa Fecto has once again journeyed from London to perform, following a performance at the aforementioned garden situation. Last year’s Runner Up of the Laughing Horse New Act of the Year - previously given to the likes of Jack Whitehall and Russell Kane - Fecto’s chilled out presence is a contrast to his self-deprecating takes on height, race and love, which guarantee a lot of laughs. After a short break so people can stock up on more pints, we are joined by UEA’s own Susanna T. Jones, who

Images: Vecteezy, Jordan Hunnisett

Stereotypes of crime: Legend Our narrator, Frances, establishes the grandiose surrounding the Kray twins within the film’s opening scene: the ‘Gangster princes of the city they meant to conquer,’ glorifying the gangsters as princes among men. Frances is Reggie’s wife; however, her retrospective narration reveals her eventual disillusion whilst she explains to the audience, ‘Believe me when I say it took a lot of love for me to hate him the way I do.’ Immediately, we are reminded of the murky moralities which lie within these twins, as Frances

serves as an audience surrogate, who is too enticed by the charm and sexiness that surrounds Reggie (I mean this is Tom Hardy after all). Despite having a common ground of a violent streak, the twins are shown to have slightly polarising personalities. Ronnie is both psychotic and completely unable to comply with social norms. Reggie is, instead, the more socially capable twin who radiates charisma. Our first scenes with Reggie where he engages in cheerful banter with his neighbours give a sense of both comfort and familiarity with him; he easily seduces Frances with just the help of lemon sherbet. A sense of humanity is awarded to both brothers due to their doting mother and the affection they both show to her. However, this is just one scene in the entire film and interestingly enough their childhood is not really explored. Perhaps, it’s not

08 Image: Universal Pictures

necessary for the two brothers to be redeemed through this overused plot device. However, it can be said that our expectations of the twins are eventually reversed. Whilst it is inevitable that Ronnie is a frightening psychopath, I found a sense of vulnerability within the man. With the severe mental illnesses he possesses as well as his dependence on Reggie, there is a child-like nature about him. Ronnie is also revealed to be gay, so it can be

argued that his hypermasculinity is perhaps a shield against the rampant homophobia of the 60s. There is also something to be admired in him due to his blunt honesty. At the nightclub owned by Reggie filled with various powerful people, such as politicians and actors, Ronnie bitterly calls out their hypocrisy. It is undebatable that the twins are pretty deplorable characters, however, who really is the worst twin in the end? I believe the film’s treatment of Frances is also rather questionable. Reggie’s eventual abuse of her places Frances as the victim. I don’t have a problem with female characters who are presented as victims, as long as there still is a sense of agency and individuality surrounding them. We don’t really learn anything about Frances in the film and she is constantly defined as ‘delicate.’ Whilst she does show some agency, both

in her actions towards Ronnie who constantly harasses her throughout the film and in being the narrator, ultimately the twins overshadow her. This puts into question how women are often confined in roles of either victims or love interests in this cinematic genre. Or in the case of Frances, a blend of both. Ultimately, Frances is solely attached to Reggie and her individuality is not really acknowledged. Frances serves as a source of redemption for Reggie, which falls flat in the end due to the abuse. This begs the question: why are women constantly victimised in the crime genre?

Overall, I think this is a brilliantly made film. It struck a pretty good balance between humanising the infamous Kray twins, without disregarding disturbing aspects of their actions. However, this humanisation and charm surrounding the twins renders somewhat pointless as there is no real substance within any of their redeeming qualities. Additionally, I think the film, unfortunately, fell into clichés of the genre due to Frances being a tragic figure. I think that the film would have avoided predictability if they instead thought outside of the box with Frances.

Juliette Kay

The attraction of violence Crime and violence have emerged as a prominent feature of the film industry, to the extent where it is considered to be a genre itself. Especially attractive to men, crime and violence in films have polarised genders with regards to their favourite movies and genres. But why is it the case that men are drawn to these films more so than women? Part of the answer lies in the portrayal of masculinity in these films. Our action hero is, in most cases, a strong,

protective, epic man that most male viewers would love to be, or at least be of equal calibre. Characters like James Bond and John Wick look suave and masculine, which in itself evokes jealousy and desire, but for them to then pull off epic moves when in a fight is the icing on the cake. It is painful to admit, but watching Daniel Craig execute incredible stunts and pick off enemies one by one is quite satisfying, and that comes mainly from wishing that I could be that smooth myself. These films serve to establish the concept of an elite and ideal man, an ultimate form, per se. How can an incredibly well-dressed man in a suit take down enemies and come out of the other side completely unscathed? Although unrealistic, men look up to these characters and spectate with fascination and, in doing so, construct or build upon a view of masculinity that is based on what they have witnessed. The problem being, the more these

films are consumed, the more this view of masculinity becomes intrinsically bound to violence and crime. Beyond the superficial notion of jealousy and adoration, the plot of some of these films highlights aspects of daily life for men that can heighten their ability to relate to the films. The example that springs to mind is John Wick. Following the passing of his wife from a terminal illness, he seeks revenge for the murder of his dog after he received it as a gift. Revenge sparks emotion in men, especially when the circumstances are potentially relatable, or at least in theory. The archetype of the protector or head of a household that has become tied to men is tapped into by these films, and men find themselves watching and thinking about what would happen should they experience such events themselves. In instances like these, it is with an empathetic mind that men view and enjoy these films, and the hypothetical relatability of the events that are documented justify the attraction that men have towards such themes in cinema.

The attraction that men experience towards crime and violence in films is not only based on the specific content of the films, but also due to the real-world gender stereotypes that are constructed. Psychologically, men are engineered from a young age, through these stereotypes and social constructs, to accept exposure to violence and more â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;manlyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; things. This can be the possession of a toy gun with the most harmless of intentions or the ideology that fighting is more acceptable for

men than women. Even the basic emotional expectation that men should get angry, and subsequently violent, over sadness and tearfulness contributes to this effect. Collectively, these norms promote aggression and violence that needs to be satisfied somehow. Of course, most men are not going to act on this impulse in reality, so watching it be carried out on screen compensates for this. The same can be said for women when it comes to romance and more light-hearted themes in cinema, with their upbringing and the influence of societal norms moulding their preferences in a similar manner. Violence and crime in film, therefore, have become almost inherently tied to the male viewership for these reasons, and given the societal and psychological foundations of this link, the correlation here will be maintained.

Sam Hewitson

Image : Sony

A vision of violence: Se7en I confess that I saw Se7en by David Fincher relatively later than I should have had, considering my idolatry for his exceptional style. Maybe my fascination of the film is inextricably linked to the fact that the film was released in the year of my birth or, perhaps more rationally, it is because of the dynamic plot that pushed me to the edge of my seat – but the aftertaste of Se7en haunted my mind, just like how the brutality of John Doe’s (Kevin Spacey) crimes invaded detective Somerset’s everyday life. Classified as a neo-noir crime film, Se7en reaches for rational depth, uncommon for most of the thrillers or crime ‘whodunit’ type of films. The story is about detective William Somerset (Morgan Freeman) - who soon will be retired - and detective David Mills (Brad Pitt) – reversely in the beginnings of his newly-fledged career path - who become the partners forced to untangle the mystery behind a sequence of brutal crime scenes. The killer, duped John Doe, punishes his victims for their commitment of one of the seven deadly sins. The goal is to find the serial killer and find out his motive for all the bloodshed in the city (typical of noir, the focus is on the claustrophobic feeling that crime won’t vanish from that place). The violence and the crime, as main themes within the film, are intertwined with memorable subtlety, revealing the curtain to shock via its extreme brutality. Fincher manages to cut from one visceral scene to the next right on time to show the aftermaths of a

Image: New Line Cinema

crime. The scene following the brothel consists in perfectly framed action: two interrogations – of the person who owns the brothel and the victim of John Doe. The screen is split in order to show the identical processes, which both of those interrogated have undergone. The violence, which was imposed by John Doe could be read not by showing us how the man obeyed the commands of Doe, but by simply seeing him stuttering and shaking in terror. This method serves as graphically as the ferocious scene itself because Fincher stimulates our imagination and encourages competition between our thoughts and the material, prepared to be exposed to us in the next five or ten minutes.

The complexities, with which Fincher crafts his brutal serial killer, easily places him on the same level as the intelligent and keen-minded villain Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) in The Silence of the Lambs. Similar to Hannibal, Doe’s character is revealed layer by layer, not by his own words, but by his actions and the things he wants the detectives to find out about him. If we go back to the emblematic scene in The Silence of the Lambs where Clarice (Jodie Foster) meets Hannibal, it is evident that he succeeds in manipulating the conversation, dominating Clarice by invading her emotional state. The same weapon is used by John Doe, who shortens the distance between himself and the people chasing him by surrendering. The surrender is portrayed superbly with one resonating scene where John

Doe shouts to drag the attention towards him in the middle of the police station. This scene is symbolic, a criminal whose homicides are read and judged but are deemed to continue, even if he is not physically on the location. The crimes that follow can’t be stopped; he acts like God, like time, like nature, he’s unstoppable. The tragic aspect of the film and the message that it conveys both signals that crime and violence are the product of a human hand. In an

interview, David Fincher himself states that ‘I think people are perverts. That’s the foundation of my career.’ This is extremely relevant to the film Se7en, where we get on the roller coaster of Fincher’s vision to explore the abnormal, the unacceptable and the unthinkable. Crimes and violence in the world of Se7en transcend the standard nature of crime. Normally serial killers act because of abuse in their childhood, or because of their sick desires. In Se7en the serial killer acts according to his own established pattern, he has a cause to become a Messiah, by providing a clear message to the world. It is of importance to notice that we never see John Doe commit any of his seven deadly sins crimes. His calmness and smoothness add up to the final vision of him as a dangerous murderer – by intentionally concealing him for the first half of the film, the effect when he appears to shout out ‘Detectiiiiive!’ is overwhelming.

Iveta Trifonova

Something to hide behind? Modern makeup and its drag influences Go to any night out and you’ll see a wide array of makeup looks from the most minimal nude to glittered, overdrawn and baked; what these all have in common are the influences they’ve taken from drag culture. In a time when shows such as RuPaul’s Drag Race permeate every avenue of our culture, resulting in mass social media coverage reaching wider audiences, it seems inevitable that these trends would be integrated into the everyday. It’s therefore unsurprising that there has been a trade-off between these current trends and past ones that were once exclusive to the nightclub performer. If you turn up the contrast on a Kardashian you will eventually get Trixie Mattel, but the techniques remain the same. Drag itself has its roots in performing gender; most

commonly it’s the female gender and the social conventions that are associated with it. Shakespeare used it as an acronym for dressing as a girl, and it has continued to act as a form of illusion. Many queens on Drag Race talk of their female personas as if they were actual people, as opposed to just a few hundred layers of paint, glue and glitter, and how this process allows them to become a completely different person. Could this process therefore be true about the average student on a night out? In some ways yes: on a night out we attempt to present a better, more ‘unreal’ version of ourselves, and are consequently able to (and actually do) things we would never consider otherwise. By adding a longer wing and a shinier lip we become someone completely different - and who doesn’t have at least one friend who changes personality completely when they’re three drinks deep? In a sense, by exaggerating the makeup we wear on the outside, we allow ourselves to explore the personality traits we feel unable to express in other situations. Like the character these queens feel, we can in essence put on a mask and become something other than ourselves; it creates a safe space in which we become the person we want to be rather than the one we typically present to the world.

she came out of herself and did all the things her boy self has always wanted to do but never felt able to do. If you ever wanted to see Kesha lose it completely I suggest you Google it, it’s honestly one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. When you assess all the aspects of a night out (especially the getting ready), from the makeup to the dressing in different clothes, it all mimics drag. It allows us to put on a different persona and escape our internal judgements, since we’ve created a foil for the rest of the world to see. Drag makeup in essence allows us to live up to Ru’s eternal mantra of ‘If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?’ By putting on a different

persona à la Beyoncé’s performance personality Sasha Fierce, we can let loose and unleash aspects of our personality that we’d normally hide. While the contestants of the show demonstrate the extremes of this concept, their basic premises can be utilised by all of us. In a time when social media constantly presents perfection, drag and its fundamentals show that anything that makes you feel beautiful is worthy of praise; while Jinkx Monsoon is never going to be the prettiest queen in the room her makeup gives her confidence she wouldn’t otherwise have. By utilising the techniques of drag makeup, we can gain the confidence to become the version of ourselves we’ve always wanted to be.

Danny Hayes

While makeup can act as a confidence booster for us, it’s what it allows us to do that really owes itself to drag culture. When we push ourselves outside of our comfort zones, we can do amazing things that we wouldn’t dream of normally. Take the infamous Winter Green makeover from Season 9 of Drag Race, truly one of the most iconic and hilarious moments of the show. Did she look fishy and feminine? Heck no. Did she look like Peppermint, the contestant making her over, in the slightest? Absolutely not. But did it give her the opportunity to become a completely different person than the sound technician we saw at the beginning of the episode? Completely. In that moment on the mainstage Image: Wikipedia

The human cost of high street fashion It is no secret that our current consumption of clothing is built on unethical practices, from growing or producing the raw materials to the final manufacturing processes. We have all seen images of sweatshops where women and children make clothes sold at remarkable mark ups in distant countries. We point to the low-cost companies caught up in scandals as the worst offenders, with Primark often held up, comfortable in the belief that our expensive, middle-class fashion would never do that. They only use organic cotton after all. But the ‘elite’ brands are no better. Chanel, Prada, Louis Vuitton and Marc Jacobs all received appalling scores for their treatment of manufacturing workers and environmental impact from Ethical Consumer. As you pay hundreds, they pay pennies. The infamous phrase ‘the high cost of low prices’ is a flawed statement, implying that by

paying more we can improve the lives sweatshop workers and cotton farmers. Whilst it is true that the poorest will pay more for such measures, with stores that have narrow margins like the aforementioned Primark unable to swallow the cost, the rich will pay no more. We talk about the awful brunt that are put on the international working class by our national working class, ignoring the disgraceful injustice of paying designer prices for clothing which was made in the same factory as a £5 hoodie. I am not seeking to justify the behaviour of Primark here, we must fight, and fight ruthlessly, to improve the situation

of sweatshop workers. Too often women and children get trapped in a cycle of poverty. Our unwillingness to help those less fortunate than ourselves, instead taking the mere pennies we save on designer brands from these unethical practices as worth it, is a damning indictment of those of us with money to spare. But placing the brunt of the expectation on the unpaid workers of our own nation is a shameful hypocrisy. It is time for companies to stomach the costs. It is time to stop viewing Prada and Chanel’s hoarded wealth merely as revenue, and instead see it as what it really is: stolen expenditure. It is money that should be paid to producers and growers. If it costs them 10p more to make a £400 handbag, the onus is on the company to absorb that. No longer can we continue to pretend that this is an intractable problem or that we must all buy at the local level to prevent it. The former solution is built on an unwillingness to act, the latter an ignorance of the effects on those in poverty in our own nation. Consumers must hold companies to account, not just by voting with their wallets, but with meaningful action, like funding trade unions and workers rights charities. These actions build lasting change. If companies are terrified of crushing unions in the Far East whenever they raise their heads, then they are the one thing we should strive to support.

Nick Mason

Olivia Colman: Norwich at the oscars Norwich’s own Olivia Colman was the shock win of the Oscars for many (I predicted it and wish I placed a tenner on it). Eschewing her namesake mustard for something your mum would wear to a friend’s wedding, she was a beacon of Britishness in the glitzy Hollywood event. People may point to her visible surprise, Emma Stone’s support,

Image: Pixabay

and a speech written even more hastily than the average summative to show how unprepared she was to be thrown into the spotlight of the silver screen, but her modest and tasteful getup was the thing that proved it.

Nick Mason

She wore what? The awards season is one of spectacular importance in the fashion world. Who wears who? Who slightly misses the mark? Who hits an entirely separate target? And now that it’s all over, it’s time to rundown the top 5 outfits that unapologetically tore up the red carpet and had us all talking!

Lady Gaga

The award-winning star posed on the Oscars’ red carpet in a stunning Brandon Maxwell black silk gown. We, of course, couldn’t keep our eyes off the huge glimmering rock that hung from her neck.

Florence Welch

The alternative singer took to the Brits true to her own style. Wearing an intricate, lace, floor length gown, Welch looked timeless. We’d label it ‘21st century Miss Havisham… with a substantial budget.’

Emily Atack

The Inbetweeners actress has dominated our screens

these past months and the Brits were no exception. Atack stood proud in a curve-hugging one shouldered dress. If we had her figure we would 100% strut around in the classy number too.

Amandla Stenberg

The Hate U Give actress graced the Oscars in a shimmering, nude floor length dress. She paired the dress with simple jewellery and a beautiful, braided updo. In a word: elegant.

Selma Blair

And last, but certainly not least, our absolute favourite look of the season goes to Selma Blair. Her dress interweaved pastel colours brilliantly, including a stunning sheer fabric cape that lightly draped over her shoulders. As much as we love her look, we love her motivations more. Blair is currently raising awareness about MS, and showing her own struggle with the devastating disease. She debuted her personalised cane, with her monogram and pink diamonds, and it’s safe to say we’re all in love.

Abbey Hancock

Oscars fashion: adaptive clothing

The Vanity Fair Oscar party marked Selma Blair’s first red carpet appearance since she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Dazzling, in a beautifully multi-coloured Ralph and Russo dress, Blair glowed. As she posed, flaring out her cape behind her, colours of black, pink and green, cascaded around her. Blair oozed style as her painted nails gracefully held her custom created cane. Transformed from a simple mobility aid, it was monogrammed and customised with a pink diamond.

Blair must be praised for her courage and determination in looking so powerful despite her diagnosis. Her radiance and the way in which she openly used a mobility aid sends out such a powerful message about self-confidence which is sure to inspire many others suffering with conditions in which they reply on aids. Selma herself says ‘A cane, I think, can be a great fashion accessory’ and this shows that anything can become an accessory when you incorporate your style into it. Not only does Blair show how her illness doesn’t limit her and in fact shows off her beauty and confidence, she is also looking to start a clothing line that would be deemed accessible fashion. She claims ‘I would like to partner with someone like Christian Siriano on a line for everyone—not just people who necessarily need adaptive clothing, but for those who want comfort, too. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice style. Like, let’s get elastic waistbands to look a little better.’ Blair perfectly embodies the kind of message that celebrities and influencers should be presenting to people about fashion and self-confidence. She shows how fashion can be used to inspire power and strength, despite any limitations someone might be suffering from. This is exactly what fashion should be used for, to inspire self-love and confidence: messages that should be accessible to every individual.

Leia Butler

Image: Wikipedia

WHAT’S HAPPENING AROUND NORWICH?

Looking for stuff to do the weekend, next week, over easter? Our writers reccomend events for you to sink your teeth into, with everything from shopping to theatre. London’s a cheap return ticket if you’re smart about it, so why not treat yourelf to a day trip? NORWICH WHAT LIES BENEATH e ANTEROS ARTS FOUNDATION e NORWICH

Submerged beneath the steel-grey waves of the Norfolk coast, a vibrant landscape is in bloom, but for how much longer? Inspired by the delicate beauty of the North Norfolk Chalk Reef, artists Sue Purser Hope and Rainie Kay have collaborated to create ‘What Lies Beneath’: a multimedia exhibition which draws attention to this captivating underwater world and the forces which threaten its survival. Alongside the exhibition, Sue is teaching two glasswork workshops, and diver/photographer Rob Spray (who’s photographs of the reef were vital to the project) will deliver an illustrated lecture, enticingly entitled ‘Our Local Wilderness’.

Lizzie Louise WHEN: MARCH 5 TO 16

FREE

GUIDED TOUR OF DRAGON HALL e NORWICH

Dragon Hall, a medieval trading building that is now the home of the National Centre for Writing, is hosting free tours about the Hall’s social and architectural history. This is perfect for history buffs and writers alike: if you’re not interested by its historical movement from trading hall, to residential slum, to rectory, to pub, then it’s a great place to be aware of if writing and publishing is on the cards for you. As a literature development agency in the UNESCO City of Literature, it’s home to showcases, workshops, festivals, and talks.

FREE

Josephine Dowswell WHEN: MARCH 18, APRIL 1&15

PPL FILM FESTIVAL e E FRY BUILDING e UEA PPL film festival returns to UEA this week with a series of film screenings happening from the 11th to the 16th of March hosted by philosophy society. We are an interdisciplinary festival with an emphasis on diverse topics and hope you can join us for an evening or two to have an open discussion about film and its relevance in modern society. The event will be free to all UEA students plus refreshments will be provided.

FREE

Samuel Woolford

WHEN: MARCH 11 TO 16 MORWENNA FARREL e STUDIO 20 e NORWICH

If you’re a lover of vintage, then you’ll love local designer Morwenna Farrell’s funky, western upcycled clothing. Opening on 27 April in Studio 20, she’ll be selling screen-printed vintage shirts, mirrors, dresses and more. Her eccentric and iconic figures - cowgirls, greasers, burlesque dancers - are a wonderful statement piece for your wardrobe.

Josephine Dowswell WHEN: APRIL 27

LONDON PIERRE BONNARD e THE COLOUR OF MEMORY e TATE MODERN e LONDON

Pierre Bonnard’s versatility and talent shine through in this exhibition, with over one hundred paintings, drawings and photographs from this often-overlooked PostImpressionist. These range from the lush, vibrant re-imagining of war-torn Europe in Summer 1917, to more small-scale paintings of his house and still-life objects. Despite the diversity of artworks present, however, it still manages to be coherent, portraying Bonnard as a pacifist, bohemian and constant innovator. It is also surprisingly intimate, shining a spotlight on the carefree, romantic nature of his relationship with his partner. Definitely one to see.

Edward Grierson WHEN: UNTIL MAY 6

TICKETS: £18

BILL VIOLA e MICHELANGELO e THE ROYAL ACADEMY e LONDON

Immersive and addictive, with screens so big they swallow you whole, Viola’s work truly reconciles with the exhibition’s title of Life, Death, Rebirth as the viewer is reminded of the precarious nature of being alive. Bodies falling from water in reverse slow-motion, huge mirrors suspended from the ceiling, and hallucinatory, multi-layered screen projections; these are just some of the pieces Viola exhibits as he uses the format of video to alter perceptions of reality. Paired alongside Renaissance master Michelangelo’s intricate drawings of the body, this exhibition is thoughtprovoking, stripped back, and unbearably human.

TICKETS: £20

Ally Fowler

WHEN: UNTIL MARCH 21

BERBERIAN SOUND STUDIO e THE DONMAR WAREHOUSE e LONDON

Berberian Sound Studio is a theatrical masterpiece, an exhilarating and perfect pitched horror engaging with the complicity of bystanders in abusive creative environments and the resulting manifestation of second hand abuse. Written by Joel Horwood and directed by Tom Scutt, the play follows Gilderoy, a timid Foley sound designer from Dorking who travels to Italy to create an aural nightmare for a giallo horror film. In his quest to create the perfect sounds for the film’s concluding torture scene, Gilderoy discovers the unorthodox methods used in creating this film, blurring the lines between reality and fiction as he slowly loses his mind. A pinnacle of post #MeToo theatre. Frederick Zennor

TICKETS: FROM £10

WHEN: UNTIL MARCH 30

ROSMERSHOLM e DUKE OF YORK’S THEATRE e LONDON

There have been several Ibsen-productions in the West End over the last few years: From Ralph Fiennes in The Master Builder at the Old Vic, to the Almeida’s post-MeToo adaptation of The Wild Duck and The Print Room’s bilingual production of The Lady From the Sea, English theatregoers seem to be crazy for the Norwegian dramatist. Now, Ian Rickson will direct among others Hayey Atwell in a new production of Ibsen’s masterpiece Rosmersholm at the Duke of York Theatre. The play will premiere on 24 April, and its themes of the separation of ideology and ethics could not be timelier.

TICKETS: £18-46

Johanne Elster Hanson WHEN: APRIL 24 TO JULY 19

Images: Bill Viola Studio; The Tate; Morwenna Farrel; Susan Purser Hope & Rainie Kay; Flickr; Wiki Media; the Donmar Warehouse; National Theatre

The laziness of the live album On my Facebook feed the other day, I stumbled across not one, not two, but three adverts for different live albums. The things seem to be multiplying at dangerous rates, like a rodent infestation in an old house. They may not be new, ever since studio equipment could record multiple takes we seem to have harked back to the days where mistakes were permanently on record, but they certainly are becoming more common. Somewhat amusingly, most bands now dub the raw tracks in the studio to cover the mistakes, making a sleek and

sell the finished product, but it also takes away what makes most live shows special: the raw feeling of being in the moment. With multiple camera angles and studio quality tracking, the shows feel sterile.

Live albums can be fantastic, don’t get me wrong, especially set to footage of the gig. I love The 1975’s live album and Green Day’s Bullet in the Bible is on rotation whenever I have tickets to one of their shows (which, is pretty much any time they have dates this side of the pond), but they don’t scratch the surface of the brilliance of both bands in the flesh. The polish is needed to

Even more egregious is the ‘full album’ live album, where the band releases a full playthrough of an album and only the album. Live albums like The Black Parade Is Dead is only worth listening to if you think The Black Parade didn’t have enough of Gerard Way sighing and saying the phrase ‘Mexico City’. If you want that, go ahead, but it’s a pretty niche desire. Certainly not

I’m a die-hard Spotify user. I love the service and one of my favourite things about it is the ease with which I am introduced to new artists that I wouldn’t have otherwise discovered. One of my favourite features of the app is the Release Radar playlist that is personalised and released for each user on a Friday.

you to ones that Spotify believes you will like based on your previous listening history.

refined finished product with a little bit of crowd recording.

There are live albums I am, admittedly, very glad exist. Bruce Springsteen’s live version of Atlantic City kicks the original into the dirt (and I like the original), but he has nine live albums on Spotify. Why so many? Simple, they are easy collector fodder. Put one or two rarities on each live album and watch as diehard fans race to buy them.

something I would refer to as an ‘essential’ part of the My Chemical Romance discography. As every band strives to make every studio release ‘essential’, why do we accept these half-baked efforts every three or four years? Simply because, unlike studio albums, bad live albums are written off and ignored with no impact on the legacy of the artist, whilst great ones are held up. Unlike new material, it’s a win-win for label and artist alike with no risk of lost fans or lasting difficulty following a bad release. Live albums typically serve little purpose. Other than alternative versions or performances which are truly game changing (as in Nirvana at Reading important), there is very little point to a slightly worse performance of the hits. After all, we have the hits. The reason labels love them is the same reason we should avoid them: they are low effort, quick and cheap to make and can be sold at a premium.

Algorithmic anthems

A relative to the more generic New Music Friday playlist, which collates the releases of the most popular artists into one place, your Release Radar is designed to make you aware of new music from artists that you already know and listen to whilst also introducing

I have always been thrilled with the new-to-me artists that Spotify injects into my weekly listening. However, this service has definitely changed my process of discovering new music. Although the app makes it easy to search a track or artist you want to give a try, the first place I turn to when I’m tired of my current playlists is my Release Radar. I’m often pleased with what I find there, but does this mean that Spotify is gaining an increasing amount of control over the music I am hearing and the artists that

I choose to Absolutely.

Nick Mason

look

into

further?

It is impossible to know exactly how Spotify chooses which music to present to which listener. It could be entirely possible that Spotify is curating the artists that they want us to hear, and which they, or someone in the music industry, are pushing to become the next big thing. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that a computer system is controlling my music taste, but the impact that streaming services such as Spotify are having on our listening habits is remarkable.

Ellie Robson

Weezer: pop-punk goes dad-rock How far can being self-aware of the ridiculousness of your premise carry a project? It’s a question that often appears in film and theatre, with metacommentary being essential parts of productions as varied as Deadpool, 21 Jump Street and the stage productions of The Mousetrap and The Woman in Black. Finally this question enters the musical fray in the form of Weezer’s compilat- I mean, covers album. The Teal Album roots itself firmly in the 1980s (approximately half of the cuts are from the decade of

big hairdos and pastel colours), with covers of Africa and Take On Me leading the charge. Other than Stand By Me, every non-80s song gets the 80s treatment and that pretty much marks this effort for what it is: a very glossy 80s-style romp. Now that I have used the decade four times in a paragraph, it is safe to say you should be able to

guess the sound. Every cover is competent and well produced, with key elements replicated to the tiniest detail (the synth on Sweet Dreams (Are Made of the This) must be a sample or something the band spent hours perfecting). This is the fault and strength of the album, the covers are brilliant and, at times, feel like the originals with Rivers Cuomo giving his best impression of the original artist. That is also the flaw. If Weezer had made this a Weezer cover album, I would be singing its

far their self-awareness can carry them is about half of the album. For all the fun of Take On Me, Africa, Sweet Dreams and Mr Blue Sky, the other cuts are just not compelling enough to warrant a second listen. Especially as you can just playlist the originals on Spotify.

praises. As it is, the covers of Billie Jean and Happy Together aside, the band do little to make the material their own. However, for all my criticism, there is great fun in hearing the band that brought us Buddy Holly, Hash Pipe and Tired of Sex blasting away MTV-core hits. The answer to how

Nick Mason

Oscars: right winners, wrong nominees This year’s controversial Oscar ceremony has now been and gone and whatever your thoughts on some of the strange wins, the Best Original Score and Song category were won by the right people. Lady Gaga picked up the coveted gong for Shallow, featured in A Star Is Born, of which her passionate performance with Bradley Cooper was a rather memorable moment of the night. For Original Score, Ludwig Göransson won for his Afrofuturistic, techno-infused score for Black Panther. However, Göransson’s win was no surprise in a rather lacklustre set of nominations. Whilst all of the nominated scores fitted in well with their respective films, none of them

represented their composers best work. There were other far superior scores that should have made the cut. Whilst Göransson’s inclusion shouldn’t be disputed, as it is a good score, it is a crime for the Academy not to have at least nominated the late Jóhann Jóhannsson’s electrifying final score for the surreal and hallucinogenic Mandy. Jóhannsson’s score is nearperfect, both itself and for the film, and is very memorable. He experiments with heavy metal and electronic elements and the result is a pulsating score that heightens in tension in tandem with the film. The use of King Crimson’s Starless in the opening credits is also fantastic. Radiohead-lead Thom Yorke’s first venture into film scoring

for Suspiria was also excellent, as was Justin Hurwitz’s memorable score for First Man. Finally, West Dylan Thordson’s score for Glass (if its release date qualifies) was excellent, successfully melding both the themes of Unbreakable and Split whilst crafting its own sound, as was Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans’ haunting and unconventional score for Boy Erased. Whilst the Academy will never cater to everyone’s personal tastes, one can at least appreciate Göransson’s deserving win, even if his competition was weak.

Oscar Huckle

Conny Plank: a forgotten genius Occasionally in the history of music, there come individuals, with their technical vision and knowledge of sound, aspire to make and break boundaries. The producer, in any case, is an artist’s inner voice, a diary in which their ideas are entrusted. If The Beatles had George Martin, then West Germany had the genius of Conny Plank. Born in 1940 in the early years of the Second World War, Plank was of the radical generation of Germans, not determined to make the same mistakes of past generations.

Soon he was at the centre of the countercultural ideas that grew from Berlin and submerged cities like Düsseldorf and Cologne, the latter of which, would become the epicentre of new German music, or under its new term ‘Krautrock’ would ensure the popular music of an entire nation was so distinctive and recognisable. Plank’s career as a producer, began in the 1960s where he also worked as a sound engineer, appearing on early Krautrock albums of Kluster, and forging an early partnership with Dieter Moebius, something that lasted until his dying day, and saw Plank’s ability as a musician come to fruition. He would go on to record three albums with Moebius under the name Moebius and Plank,

where his work as a musician, let alone as a producer, would have a profound effect on the soundscape of Germany, largely on the use of synthesizers and electronics. Plank’s creativity was helping pave the way for the revolution of electronic music; he worked closely with bands such as NEU! (of whom they joked he was a hidden member) as well as CAN especially with his relationship with founding member Holger Czukay. In 1974, the potential of Plank’s true genius would be realised as Plank went on to produce Kraftwerk’s ground-breaking debut album, Autobahn. He became responsible for the iconic Kraftwerk sound that would influence an entire generation of new music as well as change the way in which music was supposed to be listened, finding pleasure and utilising the most primitive items and using them as sound effects. His heavy insistence on the nuance of electronics and its cosmic features made him even popular by the time of the 1980s. Synth-driven pop acts of the 80s saw Plank as a true maverick and far more ground-breaking then perhaps Giorgio Moroder or Quincy Jones, who, despite their critical acclaim, were driven to produce

Image: Andreas Hagstrom, Wikimedia Commons

hit records with mainstream artists. It saw a new age of artists inspired by Plank to persuade him to produce them: Eurythmics, Brian Eno, Devo and Ultravox would all have Plank work with them. By now the recognition Plank received was through his consistency and quality of music delivery, and all from the centre of his home-built studio on the outskirts of Cologne. In a 2018 documentary, his son Stephan Plank spoke of how, for his father, there was a ‘fine line between who he could and could not record’. The great sadness of Conny Plank’s story is that he never lived to see the legacy and trends that he was ultimately responsible for. His death from cancer in 1987 ended a groundbreaking career, in which the sound of Krautrock shaped the state of a nation and with it he became a true pioneer in his field that is yet to be matched. With producers and engineers, artists are enabled to become the true original sound they want to be. Without Conny Plank there simply would be none of the iconic sound that is Krautrock, indeed there would be no Kraftwerk – not a nice thought.

Lewis Oxley

GAME OPINIONS - An existential study of Club Penguin: Rewritten Club Penguin Rewritten is a completely free identical copy of the original Disney game, Club Penguin, loved by millennials all over the globe – an integral and uniting aspect of many of our childhoods. This new version lets users enjoy a little bit their youth again (regression? Perhaps) without any of the financial limitations of the original, and lose themselves in blissful nostalgia (avoidance of real life? Procrastinating our deadlines? Maybe). The original game was great fun – I remember running out of school every day to go home and throw virtual snowballs at my friends on ‘Snowflake’ (an ironic domain name considering current media’s assumptions of the millennial generation). Apparently I had an interest in the concept of interior design at this point in my life, so the ‘decorate your igloo’ aspect of the game particularly enthralled me. As I was online from the moment I got home from school until I was called down for dinner, I managed to

Image: clubpenguin2011, Flickr

stack up quite a fair sum of coins to spend on pimping out my igloo. My lavish penguin had the whole works, including a split-level igloo upgrade and the ridiculously expensive dance floor, as well as a puffle in every colour (how I managed to keep them all alive I’ll never know). I really was living the high life. But, as all childhood pleasures do, it didn’t last. My month long membership expired. When you weren’t a member,

you lost access to all your items, clothes, igloo interiors, and the ability to buy anything to replace them. All your hard-earned coins became redundant. It was then, when that extravagant month came to an end, that I discovered money does in fact buy happiness. Now that I was without it, I truly had nothing. My igloo shrank to a pitiful standard issue white cell, my puffles disappeared (I still wonder what became of them in the wild, or if they were simply re-homed to another penguin with more consistent funds), and I was at a loss.

Over time, member perks grew more and more extravagant, to the extent where they even gave them free coins, while the activities that nonmembers could partake in dwindled. Of course, the company wanted all players to be fuelling them with £4.85 a month. A schism grew between the elite members, adorned with their snazzy costumes and puffles at their heels, and the non-members. Their cartoon eyes seemed to crease into a condescending smirk every time I waddled naked into the scene. Sure, the mini-games where still fun, and the whole secret agent plotline was entertaining, but I soon lost interest when there were no shiny new things to buy. Looking back, I wonder if I knew when I logged out for the last time that I’d never come back, or if I simply forgot about the whole thing and moved on to the next big craze without a second thought for my abandoned, impoverished penguin. The original site was officially shut down in March 2017 after interest had

been dipping since 2015. After all, most kids had access to hundreds of games apps on their phones by then. The rewritten site, a seemingly identical copy, started as a side project by a few self-proclaimed “broke college students” [Club Penguin Rewritten Twitter account] in February 2017, a month before the original closed for good. They miraculously managed to avoid copyright issues through US educational ‘fair use’ laws, stating that they have “the right to use portions of copyrighted materials without permission for purposes of education, commentary, or parody” [Stanford University]. These guys not only reproduced every tiny nuance of the site, including all of the minigames, the ever changing themes and events (currently a significant portion of the island is underwater, a possible nudging finger at rising sea levels), and every secret agent mission, but they also made every single player a member by default. That’s right, no more elite division of resources, no more bare, soulless igloos, and no more futilely gathering coins with nothing to spend them on. The playing field has been levelled.

beyond excited to try it out.

Naturally, when I found out about this gem of a remake the other week, I was

Now I feel guilty for messing around on a kid’s game when I have piles of

But something wasn’t quite right. The nostalgic joy of exploring the familiar locations again, after assuming I’d never see them again, was pleasant for a while but it had soon run its course. After that, I tried out a few of my old favourite mini-games, like Sled Race, Fishing, Card Jitsu, and Mine Surfer, but they all left me disinterested and uninspired to put any effort in. For a while I enjoyed Pizzatron, but that was probably only because of the illusion of productivity which it gave me for managing to crack out a five seaweed pizza in one go. I’d loved this as a kid, but now it just feels…boring. The game is exactly the same, but maybe the world has evolved since kids went crazy over it. Are games just more exciting now? Better graphics? A greater choice of more exciting gaming plot lines available elsewhere in the vast sea of content that media conglomerates produce every second? Probably. But something else has changed, too: me.

University work to be getting on with, so many other, more important, things to do. The original Club Penguin had been hours of pure enjoyment, but now it’s just another method of procrastination. And there isn’t exactly any desire to save up coins on a videogame now that I have to do it in real life to pay my rent. I’ve grown up in the ten years since I last played the game. I was in primary school when I first played it, but now I’ve nearly finished my degree. Life really does fly by once you hit fourteen, doesn’t it? Who knows where I’ll be in another decade. It’s all just so fleeting. Hell, how can you see any point in playing a game like Club Penguin when you realise we’re all going to be dead in a handful of years? The planet is dying, the politicians have failed us, we barely even know how to connect to each other in the state that society’s in. Don’t play this game. Sure, it’s kind of fun for the first ten minutes, but don’t waste your dwindling existence on it. Go outside, call your mum, go to the pub with your mates. Time is precious, waste it wisely.

Eli Court

REVIEW - Far Cry: New Dawn As the fastest-selling title in Ubisoft’s famed Far Cry franchise, and grossing over $310 million in its first week of sales alone, it was hardly a surprise when developers started work on creating a sequel to Far Cry 5. Even then, though the game may have been one of the best selling titles in the series so far, the nature of the content itself gives reason enough alone for the recently released Far Cry: New Dawn. It was as if, in a way, the sociopolitical commentaries that narrate Joseph Seed’s tyranny, the quasiChristian ethics of his doomsday cult (aptly named Eden’s Gate), and the wider environment of Hope County, did not speak enough about the state of modern U.S. society in Far Cry 5. Although taking influence from recent historical events like the Cold War and the September 11 attacks, and proving to be a story-driven game that delves extensively into Americanism to spark both complementary and scathing reviews alike, there was something missing from the game - something missing, concerning the fate of the U.S. in our future, after its explosive ending. Far Cry: New Dawn, while as much as a masterpiece as its predecessor, can feel less a ‘spin-off’ and more an addition to Far Cry 5 in that the premise follows Hope County’s

Image: SteamXO, Flickr

future in a world of post-nuclear war. Seventeen years after ‘the Collapse’, players take the role of a protagonist coined ‘Captain’, one of a handful of survivors under a group led by the heroic Thomas Rush. In attempts to rebuild a community with the likes of Carmina Rye, the Captain finds themselves caught up in a battle against a group of militized bandits under the name of the Highwaymen. Pilagers and murderers, the group is run by the game’s main antagonists, twin sisters Mickey and Lou. As events unfold, the Captain, Rush and Carmina are given little choice but

to seek assistance from New Eden, the remains of what was once the Eden’s Gate cult. Joseph Seed and the Deputy, protagonist of Far Cry 5, make appearances as post-nuclear Hope County is swallowed by groupagainst-group warfare. As a response to the American postapocalypse canon and contemporary studies on gun violence, terrorism, climate change, religion, and nationhood, Ubisoft developers have certainly taken an interesting twist on what the U.S.A’s future might look like - not only in plot, but also in setting. It has been no secret that the Far Cry team have wanted to create a game set in a post-apocalypse for a long while, but their approach to setting in

Far Cry: New Dawn is anything but the usual grey wastelands and monsterinfested cities that have been seen in other gaming franchises such as The Last of Us and Darksiders. With the many of the guns and other, often bizarre weapons in the game decked out with flamboyant graffiti, and a cast of characters in striking neon biking outfits, the actual environment itself appears disturbingly appropriate; blooming wild flowers; iridescent lakes; mutated yet beautiful animal life; burned-out cars amongst roadsides covered in greenery; dishevelled pine trees against a light-shattered blue sky. Whether the game relies heavily on its predecessor - and whether its predecessor relies on it - is perhaps a trivial matter considering the brilliant work Ubisoft have put into the making of Far Cry: New Dawn, as well as how captivating and enjoyable it is to play. It may have made a better DLC than its own spin-off, although it remains as one of the cheapest Triple-A titles in gaming this year. Ultimately, for fans of the series this release is a fantastic addition to the franchise - and besides, who wouldn’t want to see a bit more of Far Cry’s take on U.S. society? It’s terribly fun.

Jordan Hunnisett

This Time with Alan Partridge After a long gap of six years and since his feature film Alpha Papa, Steve Coogan’s quintessentially sociallyinept character; Norwich’s favourite son famed for his frank, no holds barred delivery, and renowned for being the king of awkward, made a stunning return to the BBC. Sadly, for long-established Partridge fans like myself, his return didn’t come in the form of Monkey Tennis or YouthHostelling with Chris Eubank, or possibly his best idea: Inner City Sumo, but in the form of co-hosting the BBC’s flagship magazine show, This Time (a parody on The One Show). What could possibly go wrong? The answer: just about anything and everything. This Time is a new venture for Partridge in perhaps the greatest history of roundabouts for a character of his kind,

from all those years ago on The Day Today to the low points of living in the Linton Travel Tavern, and being placed on Radio Norwich’s ‘graveyard’ slot in I’m Alan Partridge, the whereabouts of Partridge in his topsy-turvy career never cease to amaze me, even if he is back on what he calls ‘The BBC gravy train’. The relationship of a divorced couple is what can describe Partridge’s relationship with the BBC and in this latest venture in the Alan Partridge story, the classic, bitter tension is still present and hilarious as ever, showing (like the title of his autobiography) that he has well and truly bounced back.

This Time sees the legendary Norwich character return as a stand-in for the original male co-host of the show accompanied by his female counterpart Jenny Gresham (Samantha Fielding) taking a humorous look into the socially challenging interactions off-camera, which plays straight into Partridge’s hands given he is the archetype of ineptitude and someone who asks a question at never the right time. It wouldn’t possibly be textbook Partridge if it didn’t have an appearance from his long-suffering PA, Lynn Benfield (Felicity Montagu). She, despite being at Partridge’s side for all these years, is just as vital to his personality, like countless others, especially with reference to Partridge’s extremely rude antics. What is good about This Time is that it shows how vital a

character Partridge is, especially in a world where satire is in short supply. There is still a sense, that no matter how void of empathy Partridge gets, his jokes are still as funny and outrageous and the approach Coogan gives to the character, suggests that he is not done with him yet. Needless to say, Partridge, in all his irreverent ineptitude is back at the top and This Time proves that he is here to stay.

Lewis Oxley

Image: BBC

Fleabag Returns For people who love a bit of dark filthy humour in their life it feels like a long wait for Fleabag’s second season. Killing Eve was just enough of Pheobe Waller-Bridge’s distinctive writing to tide us over till now, but it will be great to see her face back on our screens as opposed to just a name in the credits. The show is an adaptation of her one-woman show, the comic monologue is worth a read even if you’ve seen the TV version, so it will be especially interesting to see what direction this season will go in now that Waller-Bridge is moving further from the original piece. The first season dealt irreverently with tricky subjects such as feelings of grief and isolation, and the use of sex as a coping mechanism through a House of Card’s-like, fourth-wall breaking, direct address to the audience.

From the looks of the trailer for the latest season, Fleabag will be going into some much-needed counselling, so it will be interesting to see how Waller-Bridge tackles this using

her distinctive mix of sincerity and dark humour. There is also an interesting addition to the cast with Andrew Scott playing a priest who Fleabag grows close to, could she have found religion or is she back to seeking out new sexual partners? It will be fascinating to see how the relationships with her dysfunctional family develop as the series continues and I am excited to see more of Oscar-winning Olivia Colman’s performance as her condescending god/ step-mother. The first season felt so refreshingly different, it seems so rare that we as an audience are allowed to root for such a flawed (but relatable) female character, Waller-Bridge’s work is consistently at such a high standard that the second season is sure to hold up to the brilliance of the first. You can catch up with the series so far on BBC iPlayer and watch episodes live every Monday at 10:35pm on BBC One.

Emily Taithe

Dirty John - a modern morality tale? Netflix is truly playing up to the age-old phenomenon of people obsessing over true crime now. We’ve had the shocking Abducted in Plain Sight and the worryingly gripping You. Though the latter was based on Caroline Kepnes’ 2014 novel, as opposed to genuinely real events, its identification of our reliance on social media embeds the story into the real world. While they have their very interesting parallels, the star of this article is not You, its Dirty John – both of which I binged in far too quick succession. Dirty John is based on real events and has a plethora of binge-worthy media titbits related to it – I’m also half-way through the podcast to which the series has remained scarily accurate. With eight episodes of around 40 minutes each, the plot follows the trials and tribulations of Debra Newell’s (Connie Britton) relationship with the psychopathic John Meehan (Eric Bana). Supported by the likes of Julia Garner, Kevin Zegers and Juno Temple – the last two of which got my mid-2000’s self quite excited and nostalgic – the horrors of a loving family unit being mortally disrupted is played out with impressive authenticity. With love inevitably as its central theme, the series explores romantic, familial, and ultimately toxic relationships. This exploration is made even more uncomfortable with the reminder that this is not the work of a scriptwriter interested in social commentary, but a real-life nightmare

somewhat exacerbated by the recent phenomenon of online dating. And so, we see how the age-old chestnut of people obsessing over true crime has morphed into something more; we’re also obsessed with the consequences of living in this tech fuelled age. However, I’m personally worried that this is becoming a lazy, go-to plot trope. There have always been bad people in the world. There have always been pathological liars who use people for their own means. There have always been fraudsters, drug addicts, and stalkers. The world is a scary place, and I’ll be the first person to put my hands up and say that I love a good true crime documentary. But I am cautious of the motivations behind the sudden flurry of social media-oriented shows. There is an element of undeniable usefulness in learning from other people’s mistakes in this way, but if they are all intended to be moral lessons then we’re risking placing too much blame on the internet and these social platforms. Of course, I think it’s unlikely that this is the sole intention of these shows, but they certainly have sprung up with a strange frequency recently. With some fabulous, if heartwrenching, acting to compliment the tragic storyline, Dirty John is a thrilling binge-watch.

Becca Allen

The philosophy of... The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Netflix’s 2018 release of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina is a much darker and eerier representation of teen

witchcraft than the original sitcom Sabrina the Teenage Witch featured. Beginning the week of Sabrina’s 16th birthday, which falls on Halloween, we trace Sabrina as she struggles with the decision of whether or not to go through the traditional Dark Baptism that comes along with a witch’s 16th birthday. However, Sabrina is only a halfwitch, and enamoured with her mortal life and boyfriend. She isn’t sure that she wants to sacrifice these, even to further her magical education and essentially become a servant of Satan. Sabrina is an orphan being raised by her two aunts and older cousin, whose information about her parents she has blindly trusted for years. The traditional nature of witchcraft rituals means that Sabrina’s life is pretty much laid out for her at birth, with the understanding being that Sabrina will sign her name in the Dark Lord’s book and transfer to the Academy of Unseen Arts at the age of 16. However, the show sees Sabrina frequently questioning her parents’ motives – they aren’t alive to see the course that her life has taken so far, so why should she be reliant upon their wishes when deciding her entire future? To complicate matters further, Sabrina experiences visions of her parents in which they give her advice that is entirely contrary to the advice upon which she has been raised. This show throws up lots of interesting questions about parental and familial influence. Obviously, the circumstances are a little different to the average teenage experience, but it nevertheless makes for an interesting on-screen conflict. The most interesting thing about The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina is its approach to witchcraft. Rather than treating it as the innate development of magical powers and abilities, witchcraft is presented to us as a religion that requires the same levels of faith and dedication as any other denomination. However, the show does draw on

lots of pre-existing religious iconography. When trying to make the decision about whether or not to undertake her

Dark Baptism, Sabrina seeks advice from a fruit called the malum malus - the ‘apple of evil’. Her cousin Ambrose tells her to ask a question of the apple, and then bite into it, revealing her answer. Kind of like a more dramatic magic 8-ball. Of course, apples have their own place in the writings of Christianity. Sabrina is told to ‘be what nature meant you to be’, but her decision is further complicated by her parents’ history. As well as the conflicting plans that she hears from her aunts and spectral parents, Sabrina must consider that her father was a High Priest in the Church of Night; a stereotypically patriarchal establishment. The figure of Satan is presented to us as a demonic goat, and the magical academy which Sabrina comes across is rife with pentagons and Satan-worshipping monuments. Baptisms are even conducted with the blood of dead animals. The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina does carry a couple of valuable messages beyond its exploration of witchcraft as a religion. The show demonstrates the need for discernment rather than blindly accepting truths from people, even if they are people you are inclined to trust, such as your family. The strongest messages of the show lie in school environments – both in Sabrina’s mortal high school and witchcraft academy. Feminism and anti-bullying messages are prominent in both locations and are excellently handled. You may not expect a programme about teenage witchcraft to pay so much attention to philosophical and social debate, but The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina balances these themes with the overall entertaining and enjoyable nature of the show.

Ellie Robson Image: Netflix

Sea Glass

When glass is discarded, Besmirched and tarnished, Helping hands will carry the shards To the ocean’s bed, But not to be laid down to rest. Indignant waves will strip its layers, And salt will scrape its surface, And before the rage is soothed, it will first worsen. You were thrown away, Forgotten, Presumed never to see the light of day. But look now at your soft planes and frosted glow, Such progress from all those years ago. Take these clichés, A well-loved pair of shoes, Wear them like armour and Remember, the sky will always clear after a raging monsoon, A guitar with a broken string can still carry just as beautiful a tune, To get a butterfly you need to emerge from a cocoon. Like shattered glass left at bay, Don’t worry, You’re going to be okay.

Rose Ramsden

A Nuclear Survival Guide

Brick up windows and remove handles from toilet cisterns.

Try to put a plug in the financial black hole facing the NHS. Allay fears of a tide of nationalist sentiment spreading across Europe. Make a fallout room. With the help of the government, invest £240 million in modernising the Football Association. In the event of 3000 people dying, lie the bodies flat (in a ditch) and create a multicultural park in Copenhagen. Cover exposed skin of the head and hands. Support the post-referendum economy before McDonald’s closes. Store 3½ gallons of water for each surviving person in your bunker. In the event of Armageddon, call for a public enquiry and welcome the government’s funding contribution for this activity. Remain behind bars until 2021. Try not to think about what they will do with the space remaining And try not to question if they know something we don’t.

Eve Mathews Image: Public Domain Pictures Wikimedia Commons

Pulse ‘I want a love that’ll never get too old. No slow days, an ever-changing pulse, busy nights, the brightest lights.’ I glance at his profile from the corner of my eye. Balanced there on the wooden fence, his eyes never wavering sideways or up or down, the sunset ahead of him casting the contours of his face in writhing shadows, he seems eternal. My elbow brushes against his as I readjust on the fence, which takes me by surprise. He has a way of always being there but never in a way you’d think you could feel. I look back ahead. I know this stillness, which would captivate him every so often, and I know that there is nothing for me to say, and that it is tangential whether or not I listened. ‘It’s like -’ a long, intent drag from his cigarette - ‘I don’t want to get used to the feeling of -’ long, focused exhale - ‘my own heartbeat. You know? It’s nice to have it there, so you know you’re alive, but fuck, once you don’t even have to look for it, that’s it, you can throw in the towel.’ Ahead of us the sunburnt sky turns away, sinking into the horizon to our left. My hair shines red with its remnants - a fleeting fray of red that knows its time is close to over - and blows around me in the restless late summer breeze. An eclipse perched on a fence on top of a hill in the suburbs. A once-in-a-lifetime event. Still, he doesn’t look.

‘The thing is you can just never know, like, what the future might hold,’ he says after a while, then frowns. ‘No. It’s just that - everything fades in the end, doesn’t it? You keep moving on and on and on until you don’t have a heartbeat to feel for. But what if all this time you’ve spent trying to avoid looking out for your heartbeat it’s just been going, you know, steady, there was never anything that made it go ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom, and you never realise that there was nothing in your life that was like, fuck, my heart is racing right now! And you just… never realise? What does your - Shit, can I borrow your lighter?’ I fish it out of my pocket and twist towards him. His dark face against the last dregs of the day seems defiant, rebellious, how dare the sun presume he should live by its time. As I re-light his cigarette I swear I can see his silhouette pulsating. Long, intent drag - ‘What does your life even amount to, if that happens -’ Long, focused exhale - ‘You know? And the worst part is you’ll never know it. The only way you’ll know it is when you might accidentally feel around in your chest one day and find out there’s nothing there. How can you know that it might happen and just… keep going?’ I turn away from him again and towards the urban sprawl at the base of the hill. It seems to anticipate the moment the sun gives way to the stars and mirrors it, slightly ahead of schedule, a pastiche of the clear summer sky. I know these constellations better than the ones up there, maybe because I never stare up there, always straight ahead, always at the lights that glow with human warmth, more reachable and changeable than the stars. He, too, always stares ahead of him, never sideways or up or down. This whole summer I’ve been wondering if it mattered, if he was seeing anything at all. ‘It’s getting late,’ I say. He doesn’t respond, not at first. His cigarette, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, has gone out again but he doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t ask for a light, so I don’t offer. The constellations at the base of the hill swim in the slowly darkening, hushed space left behind by the sun’s retreat and I’m not sure whether he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. ‘Late for what.’ His words are more a statement than a question. ‘What’s next? What’s after this? Why has there always gotta be something after?’ He looks at me, finally. ‘It’s summer, there’s nothing on tomorrow, where are you rushing?’ ‘I didn’t say I was going.’ I don’t like feeling like I need to defend myself to him, so I busy myself with rolling up a cigarette. ‘I was just saying. The sun’s about to go down.’ For a second his eyes narrow and the space between his eyebrows compresses, folds, then smooths itself out again. ‘Oh, right,’ he mutters, and his eyes shift away again towards the last watercolour purple smudges giving way to blue. ‘Right. Can I have that when you’re done?’ I hand him my lighter. He toys with it, spinning it between his fingers, pushing at the switch halfheartedly. ‘You can’t ever be truly still, you ever realise? Even when you’re not moving everything inside of you is going to keep moving. Your heart is gonna beat and your chest is gonna heave when you breathe and even your internal organs are at it, all the time, digesting food and converting oxygen and creating cells and destroying them and you can’t really make it stop even if you’re very still -’

Defiantly, his foot starts bouncing on its perch on the fence, lightning-quick, that sort of way you can feel more than you can see. I brace myself, a hand on either side on top of the splintered wood which clings to me as much as I cling to it. ‘Stop,’ I tell him breathlessly, slightly snappishly. ‘Stop, I’ll fall off.’ ‘Sorry,’ he says, and re-lights his cigarette. ‘It just drives me crazy.’ In the blackness it’s hard to see where the splinters have dug themselves into the palm of my hand but I can feel them. I can feel him, and hear him, too, the dragged out drags of his cigarette, the space in between inhale and exhale, not so much savouring them as much as trying to make each one last longer. The moon above us seems stunted, painted on the canvas of the sky as an afterthought, shedding no light, outperformed by the glitter around it. ‘I might go home,’ I say, noncommittally. ‘Don’t go yet,’ he drawls, without effort. He knows me, I think. He knows my voice and how it acts and what it’s really saying. ‘It’s nice up here, don’t you think?’ I can’t really see him anymore but I look sideways anyway. ‘I guess.’ ‘Feels safe. Constant, you know? It’s like these lights have always been there, even before, like, electricity was even a thing, like it doesn’t really need electricity to shine like that. It’s like a massive colony of fireflies and it makes you feel like you’re nothing in this world, like nature is so much bigger than you are, which it is, I guess,

and it’s comforting. Like, fuck, what’s the pressure really? What’s the rush? I can stay here and sit as perfectly still as I can and nothing will change, in the grand scheme of things - Fuck!’ His leg starts shaking again and it doesn’t stop even as I reach out blindly and rest my hand on his thigh. ‘It’s okay.’ My voice wavers in sync with his leg and the fence and the shuddering flames from the houses at the base of the hill. ‘Don’t - it’s alright.’ For a second I can feel what he’s feeling, the earth beneath us moving, really moving, and space gliding past like a boat ride display. ‘You don’t understand,’ he says, shifting as if trying to maintain his balance, and I let my hand drop at my side. ‘I can feel my heart all the time, I feel like it’s made an imprint on my chest, I feel like I know its shape and maybe its colour and its size and it’s always the same, always, always - I can’t make it stop and -’ ‘Let’s go home,’ I tell him, and climb down from the fence. His outline casts a shadow on a star-speckled sky so dark that he could almost melt into it. Maybe that’s what he’s wanted all along, to be incorporated into light that has already been and gone, years ago. Travelling at the speed of light could probably make his heart race if nothing else could. He chucks his half-smoked, unlit cigarette and jumps off the fence. ‘Same time tomorrow?’ Tamar Moshkovitz

Gus Edgar-Chan Image: Max Pixel

THE BURNING MAN FESTIVAL The Burning Man Festival, held each year in the deserts of Nevada, is a name that most have heard. My younger self incorrectly thought that Burning Man was like a cult, mainly due to the name, isolated in the middle of nowhere with the antics taking place there being secretive. Obviously, this is not the case, but what is the Burning Man Festival, and how has it changed since its introduction? The festival is a celebration of art, performance and shared ideals at a basic level. It describes itself as a temporary metropolis, highlighting the scale of the event and the establishment that it has become. On their website it states ‘Burning Man is not a festival! It’s a city wherein almost everything that happens is created entirely by its citizens, who are active participants

in the experience.’ The emphasis on community is fundamental; attendees are instead considered to be ‘participants’, and contribution is heavily encouraged. Participants are invited to create artwork, performance art, and more to make the event bigger and better. The event has been associated with being a culture in and of itself, which is a result of the strong sense of community around common ideals. The theme for the 2019 festival, which tickets have just been released for, is Metamorphoses; it’s intended to tap into the transformative nature of the festival. People leave having experienced something life-changing, the exposure to new ideas and artwork; the vibe that thrives there would influence any of us. The community created is infectious and challenges perceptions that people possess of the world and other people, hence the focus on change and progression. The artwork will stick to this idea, as the area is scattered with giant art installations that are incredibly impressive, all contributing to the theme that changes annually. These massive sculptures come from all over the world to be placed at Burning Man,

Image: Flickr.

making the event a global phenomenon that in itself is an ode to the community vibe. Beyond the yearly theme, there is a continuous notion of anti-consumerism which is present in the stripped back, almost primitive nature of the event. Since its inception, the festival has become increasingly public and been more extensively captured in mainstream media, especially with the influx of social media in recent years, which has served to challenge the attitudes towards consumerism. In recent years, the event has increasingly reflected capitalism inherently, conflicting the anti-consumerist ideals. Instagram fame hunters and celebrities travel to Burning Man to brag about where they are, dressed in designer outfits and still representing big brands as they would in day-to-day life. The emergence of this

tendency has created a blatant irony. What is supposed to be an event to celebrate anti-consumerism is turned into yet another opportunity for some to promote the consumerism that is rejected. We now have a festival like any other, where social media influencers set out to get the best shots that make them look the most beautiful. Populism, the main goal of any ticketed, paid event, has had a hand in deconstructing the fundamental basis of the festival. As social media continues to grow and take over the world, this problem can only increase and push the festival further and further from its roots. It is safe to say that festival is losing sight of what it was and should be as it grows in popularity. This then raises the issue of priorities. Should the festival seek popularity and subsequent financial gain, or should it maintain the ideals that are central to its origins and entire meaning? One cannot be obtained without the other, especially given the strong sense of community that is of utmost importance. The Burning Man festival is changing, so get yourself there before it becomes an entirely new event that cannot be likened to the original.

Sam Hewitson

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Image: Hannah Tomlinson