REVIEW

EDITED BY BEN HELME AND SYED ZAID ALI

Jack Beeching's All-Time Best: Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

ere’s a line in one of Alan Bennett’s plays: “ e best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. Now here it is … and it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.” I didn’t know what this Virginia Woolf’s 1925 novel is about a woman walking around London, preparing for a party. It also features a shell-shocked war veteran, whose mind deteriorates throughout the day. I know – it doesn’t sound thrilling. But, as with other modernist texts, ‘story’ isn’t the selling point. e novel’s perspective is dynamic, itting from person to person. A London street holds dozens of stories; Woolf gives an impression of each one. e e ect is equally disorientating and exhilarating. As Mrs Dalloway walks, the city sparks thoughts and memories, linked in a free-associative, unstructured way. She’s alive, in the same way you and I are alive. at feeling of seeing another’s inner life so completely is something I haven’t found elsewhere in art.

her family estate in Belle Reve, she nds herself with nowhere else to turn. Her personality clashes with that of Stanley, the man of the house and husband to Stella, who Blanche describes as “common” and “bestial”, leading to much of the con ict in the play.

Patsy Ferran is our leading lady, having stepped into the role just a few days before the previews were scheduled to begin, due to Lydia Wilson’s withdrawal from the production due to health reasons. e run was delayed by just under a week, but this was no impediment for her in producing a stellar turn as the endlessly complex Blanche. Similarly impressive is Anjana Vasan, who plays her sister Stella. e most interesting aspect of their interpretations of the sisters is how direct and matter-of-fact their characters seemed, especially with Vasan. In the Young Vic production (where she is played by Vanessa Kirby) Stella does not seem to be fully aware of Stanley’s abusive behaviour. However, in this production I was convinced that she understands his tendencies completely, but stays with him regardless. What results is a much more tragic and nuanced approach to Stella that I was pleasantly surprised by.

Paul Mescal proves yet again why he is a rising star with his take on Stanley. Despite being cursed to live in the shadow of Marlon Brando (as perhaps any Stanley would be), Mescal manages to carve out his own path, keeping an unmistakable violence just under the surface, which boils over as necessary: “Every man is a king! And I’m the king around here, so don’t forget it!” Stanley’s animal qualities are also made explicit, especially in his climactic scene with Blanche, as Mescal prowls towards a vulnerable Ferran in the perfect culmination of his character.

e production’s more expressionistic elements are also successful. e use of live drumming as part of the sound design and score—replacing the “blue piano” Williams calls for—works to elucidate Blanche’s increasingly fraught state of mind throughout the play. Snippets of choreographed interpretive dance also help cement the idea of mental and emotional turmoil. For instance, the ower vendor in the ‘ ores para los muertos’ (‘ owers for the dead’) scene—accompanied by red light that ooded the stage—traversed the stage in expressive, wide movements as she interacts with a distraught Blanche ruminating on death and regret.

To be fair, this is arguably Williams’ strongest work. As long as his words remain, it is perhaps di cult to mess up. Nevertheless, Frecknall’s vision in this revival shines through, and with such a strong cast, it is undoubtedly one of the most enthralling productions in London today.

A Streetcar Named Desire at the

Hot o the heels of the critically acclaimed revival of Cabaret at the Playhouse eatre, Rebecca Frecknall returns to direct yet another high pro le work in A Streetcar Named Desire. Having thoroughly enjoyed the former, I had high hopes for her take on Tennessee Williams’ magnum opus—and I was not disappointed in the slightest. From stunning performances by the incredible cast, to a bold reimagining of the music and the use of interpretive dance, Frecknall manages to not only bring to the forefront Williams’ concerns in the play, but also revitalises Streetcar for modern audiences.

Williams' drama of opposing sensibilities should be familiar to many. e lively yet nervous Blanche DuBois arrives at her sister Stella's home on the ironically named Elysian Fields, having taken the titular streetcar to where she is "ashamed to be" and "not wanted", as she later confesses. ough, having lost

e White Lotus: Sicily

by VANESSA HUANG

e White Lotus has returned to bring us yet more delicious escapism with its second series. ere’s nothing quite like the allure of the obscenely wealthy and the opportunity to live vicariously through to exotic locations and wallow in the sunshine. It’s all the more entertaining when they turn out to be utterly miserable.

is series largely hits the same beats as its predecessor, with a sinister opening that in particular seems to be a copy-paste job: a dead body is discovered on the beach in a ash forward before we’re whizzed back to the present to witness a new crop of guests arriving at the White Lotus resort. We are however starting somewhat anew – relocating from tropical Hawaii to the resort’s outpost in Taormina, Sicily. Barring Tanya (Jennifer Coolidge) and Greg (Jon Gries), the characters have also been swapped out for a brand new, equally vacuous ensemble.

Heiress Tanya is now married to Greg and is clueless as ever, arriving in Sicily with her assistant/emotional support animal, Portia (Haley Lu Richardson), in tow. Also holidaying at the resort are a multigenerational trio – Albie (Adam DiMarco), his father Dominic (Michael Imperioli), and grandfather Bert (F. Murray Abraham) – on a nding-your-roots trip hampered by Dominic’s history of in delity. Joining them are two young, nouveau riche couples, played by Aubrey Plaza, Will Sharpe, Meghann Fahy, and eo James. e two men, former college roommates, are tragically quintessential bro-types, engaging in cartoonish alpha male power play. Weaving together these seemingly disparate groups are the hotel sta alongside two local sex workers who mingle with the guests in the hopes of earning some more income.

As relationships sour and lives implode, showrunner Mike White taps into the schadenfreude we experience as voyeurs of the uber wealthy getting their comeuppance. It’s something that seems to be trendier than ever this year — Glass Onion, e Menu, and Triangle of Sadness have each had a go at class commentary. But while these depictions have verged on heavy-handed skewering, e White Lotus handles its satire more de ly, navigating complex interpersonal relationships with an acerbic wit that nonetheless holds some space for nuance.

Where the rst series was a ruthless dissection of the intersections between class, race, and colonialism, this series has shi ed its gaze towards sexual inequalities, laid bare through White’s punchy dialogue and foreshadowed by a stunningly operatic opening credits sequence. Acting-wise, there is a step up from the rst series: the endlessly meme-able Coolidge, far and away the standout from the rst series, is more evenly matched this time by the likes of Plaza and Fahy.

Yet for all its strengths, this Sicilian iteration can’t quite escape the shadow of the rst series. White is a little overly reliant on replicating the formula that made the rst series a runaway success. e satire just isn’t as biting the second time around. With the news of a forthcoming third series, it’s di cult to see where this well-worn template on wealth and its discontents will be able to go.

e White Lotus sets out to expose the self-destructive greed for more that lies beneath our performative free-spirited hedonism. ough it’s hardly the subversive, cerebral masterpiece that was promised, it’s still a wildly enjoyable albeit anxiety-inducing thrill ride.

As children, we see our parents as infallible. Over time, this image is slowly chipped away and we realise the people we relied on to guide us through the world might be just as lost as we are. It’s this heartbreak that Charlotte Wells’s A ersun, works with, and to remarkable lm unfolds from the perspective of Sophie (Frankie Corio), an 11-yearold girl going on holiday with her young father Calum (Paul Mescal). Twenty years later, adult Sophie (Celia Rowlson-Hall) revisits these memories. Some are grainy camcorder recordings that she plays repeatedly. Other times, these memories are in a liminal space; her original memories are spliced against the strobing lights of a rave where her adult self meets her father, now both the same age. She’s piecing together these clues about her father and building a new, more nuanced image of the man that he was. eir holiday is largely happy: the pair spend their time swimming, playing pool, and going on day trips. But these scenes are also underscored by a deeper sense of melancholy. While Sophie’s doing a fair bit of growing up on her own –she kisses a boy for the rst time and hangs out with a group of older teenagers – her dad grapples with his own vanishing youth. “Can’t see myself being forty,” he remarks. “Surprised I made it to thirty.” An elusive character, his eroding self-worth is concealed behind armour, only drawn out in wistful silence and pained glances. Beyond their physical distance (Calum lives in England, while Sophie lives with her mother in Scotland), he’s a man of limited means – even Sophie isn’t oblivious to this. But he’s still trying to be the world and more for his daughter: he o ers to pay for her singing lessons and a stack of books on meditation and tai chi indicate a determination to manage his depression. is is a lm about reconciling our rosy childhood naïveté with a more aged wisdom, and mourning the little things we once shrugged o that would come to mean everything to us now. If only we could reach back in time and grab onto our loved ones, when at the time we unknowingly let them slip away. It’s a beautiful companion to Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman, another lm exploring the gulf that exists between children and parents, even in the presence of enduring love. e two leads shine in this nostalgic masterwork – Mescal continuing his streak of bringing a gentle sensitivity to masculinity and Corio as a young newcomer in her rst acting role. Helmed by Wells with an absolutely singular vision, we’re presented with a lm that’s as understated as it is brutal, and delivers just about the greatest needle-drop in recent cinematic history. A ersun packs an emotional wallop. It’s not the kind that elicits dramatic sobbing – it’s something more deep-seated, creeping in slowly until it hits you like a shot to the heart.

A ersun is undramatic, meandering through these passages of holiday sunshine without much happening. ere’s no grand reveal; questions remain unanswered. Wells eases us into recollection that’s both fragmented and non-expository with a restraint that proves instrumental in avoiding the pitfalls of standard ashback narratives.

EDITED BY LIV KESSLER

Fashion icks: the results are IN

By SOCIAL &

Illustrated

by FAY QIAN

Hello, hello, hello my fellow LSE fashionistas!

Today, we’re talking about fashion icks and hot takes - a contentious but lighthearted topic if you like. In true LSE researcher style, we at the Beaver conducted research by asking you for your thoughts on di erent fashion choices, and results are in!

80% of the LSE community seems to be loving skirts, which I completely agree with - aren’t they just so versatile and pretty!

However, whilst everyone seems to have made up their mind on skirts, LSE students seem pretty divided over low-rise jeans. 52% love them, and 42% hate them. Is this just a divisive trend? Or are folks already set in their dislike of them? is is something that only time will tell as we see this style either increase or decrease in popularity.

A personal ick of mine, with which I cannot come to terms with, is when guys wear high neck polo shirts. It just does not look good to me at all. However, it seems like I’m in the minority on this, with 85% LSE students being against me. Some argue it’s a particularly cultured style, especially in semi-formal settingsbut I think I’ll need some more convincing on this one.

Su ce to say, whilst most are loving the turtleneck, we’re back to being divided as a society when it comes to UGGs. 52% of people aren’t fans of them which makes sense - why would you even wear UGGs in the UK, where it rains every other day, and besides, Starbucks no longer has their basic PSL on the menu to pair them with. So, there’s really no point.

Despite this, it’s safe to say that we can (almost) all agree on how odd crocs are as a choice of footwear, with 70% thinking they should only be used as bathroom shoes.

at’s all from us today in our fashion hot takes column. anks for tuning in to our Instagram poll! Now that all’s been said and done, we’d like to take this moment to remind you that whatever you choose to wear, you slay all day everyday. Embrace your style and your fave pieces with all your heart!

Love,

Beaver Social Team

• 80% love skirts

• 52% want low-rise jeans to make a come back

• 85% choose the turtleneck way of life

• 47% say its them and their UGGs against the world

• 70% refuse crocs supremacy

Carol 2022: a (sober) look back

By REGRETFUL

PARTICIPANT & illustrated

by

Francesca Corno

As a rst-timer, Carol was truly an eye-opening yet traumatising experience. True, I was mentally prepared for the upcoming fun and challenges the day would o er. However, up to today, I still question the decisions of my fellow society members and me.

To begin with, travelling to zone 2 for a 7 am “breakfast” was not a smart choice. Although I did not have a choice as I had a 9 am class that I could not miss (classic LSE student). Despite missing the predrinks experience, I didn’t want to walk into the SU Venue sober. It was simply unacceptable. Getting tipsy on campus was a challenge, considering the security was on high alert that day. A few of us still managed to have some fun in the Marshall building...

To paint the scene inside the Venue, instead of exposing my own embarrassment, it seems more entertaining to disclose other people’s misery. To put it mildly, one could say that the outstanding costumes, mediocre music and strong smell of alcohol, are not something you o en see on campus. A poor guy with a green sickly face was laying on the oor. Considering his companion had a throwingup bag ready for him, I can only assume that he had to tap out at 10 am.

Speaking of tapping out, the myth of only a few being able to stand until the last round of clubbing surprised me at rst. I would consider myself a resilient individual, despite my alcohol tolerance being less than high. I was arrogant enough to believe that I would last until midnight (again classic LSE student). Clearly, that did not happen.

A er the rst round of dancing, screaming and more drinking, I went to my friend’s house for a second round of predrinks at noon. To be honest, the only highlight was the frozen pizza as it really saved my stomach. Yet, I was not smart enough to take a nap or stop drinking. To be very honest with you, my memory is not clear enough to provide further details such as: how I got to the club, how the club felt like or how I went home. However, I vividly remember the terrible headache I su ered for the rest of my night.

Nevertheless, for those who are considering participating next year, I would highly recommend it. In fact, I would say that Carol is a must-try experience. Lastly, apart from apologising to those who I talked to that day, I would also like to express my appreciation to those who made it to the end. You guys de nitely deserve a rst.