Seren - 161 - 2000-2001 - October 2000 by Seren

seren

October 2000

inside Be safe in Bangor p2

UWB’S STUDENT NEWSPAPER

Free and unfettered

New Seren emerges

New music and more p6

All the Right Movies p8

Reading matters p12

Bangor in shock as new-look periodical hits streets: ‘I told you so,’ brags Associate Editor Play nicely, kids p14

Round, round, get around p16

angor was on red alert this morning following the surprise appearance of October’s edition of elusive student newspaper Seren. Doubts had been raised as to whether the beleaguered publication would ever see the light of day after the issue missed an alleged sixth deadline on its motley course towards publication, but the paper’s staff was this morning triumphant as the first copies of the new edition began to trickle into the SU. ‘This could be our best issue ever,’ crowed a source close to the editor. ‘We’ve put blood, sweat and tears into this. I haven’t touched my thesis in weeks.’

As reports of the publication spread, Bangor’s roads and footpaths were facing the prospect of gridlock as students flocked to secure their copies. The Union, however, refused to acknowledge calls for an emergency sitting of Senedd to discuss the crisis, and the local constabulary admitted that they planned ‘no special measures’ to accommodate the rush. When approached by this newspaper the staff of Seren accepted that their actions may have precipitated widescale disruption, but were unrepentant. ‘It’s pandemonium,’ conceded Associate Editor Chris Chapman, ‘but I like it!’ Staff writer and edi-

torial assistant ‘EMB’ likened the shock publication to Oxford rockers Radiohead’s 1997 album OK Computer. Production Editor Julie Neild simply purred. Reaction amongst local residents was cautious. Huw Werth, 73, of Trem Yr Wyddfa insisted that the publication of the new edition ‘didn’t really bother him,’ but Gwladys Hills, 57, of Caellepa was too overcome to speak with us. Closer to home the new issue has received a mixed reception. CCSO Will Kelly was understood last night to consider that it was ‘about bloody time’ the issue went to press. Ents Manager Shaun Casey was said to be ‘disap-

pointed’ in particular by music editor Clare Lewis’ attack on highprofile visitors Mark and Lard and Mansun, whose gigs were widely considered to be something of a coup for Bangor. Overall, though, response to the new Seren has been mostly positive, with an overwhelming 54% of respondents to our specially-commissioned survey considering the issue to be ‘quite disappointing to wholly satisfactory.’ The UWB Surf Team, which was cruelly burlesqued in the May issue, had not, as we went to press, issued a formal response to the news. The Canoe Club was not approached, for obvious reasons.

NEWS

2 SEREN October 2000

news@seren.bangor.ac.uk

Be careful out there Women’s Officer Claire Middleton offers cautious counsel

o you’ve just moved to Bangor; a haven of mountains, trees, pubs and tranquillity. Isn’t it wonderful? The answer should be a categorical yes, but unfortunately that isn’t always the case. Although Bangor is pretty small compared to some of the places you could have found yourself, personal safety is still an issue you have to consider. In the past few weeks there have been five attacks on women in Upper Bangor alone. It does happen, even in a sleepy North Wales city, and the chances are it will happen again. You can take practical steps to protect yourself against attack. Know where the danger areas are. Previous areas in which attacks have taken place include Lon Pobty (St Mary’s hill), Glanrafon Hill, Holyhead Road, the pier and the ‘magic gardens’ (the steps between the Crescent and Lower Bangor). Many of the halls of residence have areas which are poorly lit. This is one of the problems the Women’s Group will be working to change over the next few weeks. Be sensible about these problems. Never walk home alone at night. Your best protection against attack is to walk in groups of three or more. Make sure you know where the security guards for your hall are located and how to contact them. However tempting it may be do so, DO NOT give the door code to your hall out to everybody you meet. Last year a known local rapist found out a hall door code and consequently had access to the building for an entire fortnight. If you are walking somewhere alone be alert and look alert. Have your house or car keys ready in

your hand. Carry a personal alarm in your hands at all times. Do not wear a personal stereo. Tell people where you are going, giving contact numbers and what time you are likely to arrive. If you feel that you are being followed try to move to a well-lit area or enter a busy public amenity and ask for help. Personal attack alarms are available from the Welfare Office and the Union shop at a cost of £2 each. Last year we ran a successful self-defence course for female students. The course for this year is in the process of being organised and hopefully will be up and running by the beginning of November. If you would like more information or would like to take part, email me (my address is below). If you have been attacked you can talk in confidence to North West Wales Rape Crisis and Sexual Abuse Line on 01248 354885 or Nightline on 01248 362121. People are out there and they can help.

Upcoming events

Glanrafon Hill: you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy

• A campaign focusing on safety in the halls of residence will be taking place over the next few weeks. • October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Watch out for information on campaigns to highlight the risk factors and preventative measures such as self-examination.

• On the 14th of November there will be a night at the main bar for lesbian and bisexual women’s day. This will involve cheap drinks and dressing up and is open to all. All proceeds go to Lesbian Line, a local phone line providing information and support for women. Information on upcoming women’s cam-

Railtrack says no to faster trains R

ailtrack has come under heavy fire from rail watchdogs after pulling the plug on plans to drastically reduce journey times between Bangor and Chester. A new timetable, which was supposed to come into effect two weeks ago, would have slashed journey times with a 15mph speed increase between the two stations. The plans however had to be dropped at the last minute because of signalling problems. The Strategic Rail Users’ Association has accused the train company of acting ‘unprofessionally’ and hiding behind the safety issue. Blast-

ing the revised plans, Spokesman Andrew Goodwin said ‘I find it inconceivable that, in the year 2000, a professional company is given the task of upgrading speeds from 75mph to 90mph and ends up acting like a bunch of complete amateurs trying to put a model railway together.’ He added, ‘It should be more open with the rail-using public whom it has treated disgracefully.’ Railtrack’s North West Zone director Mike Cowman said that the £1m upgrade had been put on hold purely for safety reasons. ‘The outstanding issues on the North Wales route are to do with

the signalling braking distances associated with travelling at faster speeds. ‘Safety is paramount in the industry,’ he stressed. ‘That is more important than some train journeys taking a few minutes longer than originally envisaged.’ However the latest developments have also brought First North Western into the picture. A spokesman for the train-operator said ‘We are naturally disappointed by the announcement but we will work with Railtrack to make sure that the work is completed as soon as possible.’

All aboard for Chester!

paigns is posted on the Women’s Group noticeboard (next to the welfare board on the way into the Curved Lounge). If you would like to contact me about any of these issues or would like any more information on the Women’s Group, email me at clairem@undeb.bangor.ac.uk

R.S. Thomas dies

ributes continue to pour in for R.S. Thomas, who died on Monday 25th September aged 87. Holder of the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry since 1964, Thomas quickly rose to become one of the 20th Century’s finest poets. Raised in Holyhead, the poet developed close links with the University and area over the years, often using the landscape as settings for his work. Last May, he opened a centre named after him in the Welsh department, containing the most comprehensive collection of his published pieces anywhere. In 1998 he was also awarded an honorary professorship in recognition of his contribution to poetry. Dr Tony Brown of Bangor University said Thomas would be greatly missed. ‘I worked with him on several occasions and found him to be a very austere man but with a dry sense of humour. I think that he’s left us with a magnificent body of poetry that is to be enjoyed by all.’ Plaid Cymru President, Ieaun Wyn also joined in praise: ‘He helped put Wales on the cultural map and was an inspiration and role model to numerous Welsh writers. His work will remain with us as a testament to the flowering of the Welsh writing in English and the emerging Welsh identity.’

NEWS

news@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 3

Cash Talent scouts injection snub Oxbridge S

helters and projects in Bangor are set to receive a massive cash injection from the Assembly in an attempt to alleviate the city’s mounting homeless problem. The boost follows a recent survey’s exploration of the extent of the problem in North Wales. City-based Agorfa, a group which helps homeless people in the North Wales area, was just one of the many parties to benefit. It has secured £218,000 to cover its running costs for the next three years. Bangor Diocesan group Cywaith Joseff will also get an extra £90,000,

whilst St Mary’s night shelter is set to receive £40,000. The grants are part of a massive Assembly payment of £3.6m and should have a profound effect across Wales. Welcoming the funds, Agorfa coordinator Helen Snedker said ‘This is really good news. This means we can build on our work and go forward, offering a better service to our clients by helping them through their tenancy.’ ‘We will be offering day-to-day help to ensure clients settle into their new homes and maintain their tenancies.’

orget Oxford and Cambridge: if it’s talent you’re after, look to Dundee and Lancaster Universities, for they topped the list of institutions in a recent online survey of over 13,000 students carried out by online firm redmole.com. The more prestigious centres of excellence failed to make it into the top ten. Lancaster was voted best for good-looking men, with Dundee a close second. The positions were reversed when it came to women. Loughborough was voted the best all-round university. Bangor came a disappointing forty-fifth. A Red Mole spokesman however, stressed that although the quality of teaching was taken into consideration, more emphasis was put on the town’s accommodation, nightlife and, er, chances of pulling. In the overall winners category Exeter and University of London Royal Holloway were the only southern Universities to make it into the top ten. For quality of nightlife Leeds came up trumps; while Dundee stole the title for the most friendly place and having the best relations with the locals. Explaining the aims of the survey, Mr Eagles said ‘We don’t include the normal “quality of the library or facilities” nonsense, but we do tell you how good the nightlife is, how fit the “talent” is and how the Union compares with other Universities — that’s what really matters.’

Reproduced from the Lancaster University 2000 prospectus with kind permission

Newsbriefs And the survey says Cartoonists wanted C

alling all writers and cartoonists! ‘Alternative’ comic Smut is looking for contributors due to its editorial team ‘becoming old and senile.’ Applicants are invited to send samples of their work to the editors, with the promise of good pay if they are successful. Anyone after more info and a free copy of the mag should send a 31p SAE to: Arf Cartoons, PO Box 5260, Derby, DE73 1YW

Logoland I

deas are being sought for a new Students’ Union logo. ‘The current logo is very outdated,’ spluttered SU President Mabon ap Gwynfor. ‘We need a universal logo which is simple enough to be easily reproduced, yet still maintains the unique identity of our Union.’ Ideas are also being sought for a mural to be painted on the stairway leading to the second floor of the Union building. Any sketches, ideas or suggestions should be handed to the Union’s General Office on the second floor.

Pack of 40 F

rozen food giant Iceland has launched a two week ‘survival’ pack aimed at students. The £40 pack contains ingredients and recipes for a fortnight’s healthy eating, delivered to your door. Designed as a way of ensuring that parental food contributions are spent on wholesome groceries, the packs contain no genetically modified ingredients or artificial colours, flavours or sweeteners. The meat or vegetarian packs even include toilet roll and some kind of magic stickers to deter food thieves. One major shortcoming, however, is the lack of alcohol.

Turns out the nation’s favourite is still chips

doori.’ Or something like that. Their authority? A Gallup poll showing that fish and chips are still the nation’s favourite takeaway. Over 300 million chip takeaways are consumed each year, which, combined with the frozen chips consumed by those too lazy to go to the chippy, amounts to over Fish and... wait for it... 2 million tonnes of potatoes per annum. The orget the fuel crisis, Middle main reason for this, says the CounEastern conflicts and tuition cil, is ‘the excellent quality of Britfees. If Seren’s mailbox is any- ish potatoes.’ Well, they would, thing to go by, the new hot topic wouldn’t they? in Britain is chips. ‘Bin the bologIt gets better. According to naise,’ advises the British Potato another British Potato Council press Council,’ and toss into the tan- release, your chip-eating habits can

reveal your naughtier side. The psychometric arm of the British Potato Council has produced a damning report promising ‘interesting insights to your personality and your sexual appetites,’ based on, yes, you guessed it, chips. ‘Scoffers,’ it suggests, like it ‘frozen or chilled, available day or night and smothered in whatever sauces you can lay your hands on.’ ‘Grumblers,’ meanwhile, spend their lives looking for their dream chip, like ‘the one you had in your childhood but can never quite regain.’ ‘Chips... can even be an aphrodisiac,’ the report claims, illustrating the somewhat dubious concept with the suggestion of ‘spelling out L-O-V-E with chips on your tummy and inviting your partner to tuck in.’

Sexual Anxiety

Chips aside, we worry more about our studies than sex

tudents worry more about their studies than sex, a survey has revealed. Missing lectures was the major worry of 30% of second-years, while just 8% regretted sleeping with someone during Freshers’ Week. Most shocking of all was the fact that 42% of undergraduates spent more than £200 on partying in their first week, despite the national debate about student hardship. Students appear relaxed about this. Parents were more worried. 53% feared their offspring would not eat properly, while 29% were worried about who they might sleep with. 14% sent their children off with a packet of condoms. The survey was carried out by Capibus and based on interviews with 1,423 parents and students on behalf of web-site giant www.student-world.co.uk. ‘We want to help students have the best time pos-

sible when they go away to university and try to put a stop to some of the mistakes that are made year after year,’ explained marketing director Mark Hanson.

This does not concern you

Pump action 4 SEREN October 2000

ANALYSIS

analysis@seren.bangor.ac.uk

The recent fuel protests raised serious questions about our preparedness for a crisis

ust as you thought it was safe to go back to Uni… no, not an advert for a slasher movie; but the real-life horror story for most of the country makes pretty chilling reading. We’re talking about no petrol in the pumps, newspaper images of burning tyres, virtually no buses at all, operations at Ysbyty Gwynedd cut to a minimum and general disruption of everything. Apart from coinciding almost exactly with the time when thousands of students need to travel hundreds of miles in heavily loaded cars to universities around the UK, what has the protest done for us? Or more accurately, what has it done to us? What we’re supposed to do in any kind of crisis is dig in, forget about it, and eat to improve our morale. So we go to Safeway only to find empty shelves and restrictions on how much we can buy. ‘Only two bread products and two bottles of milk per customer,’ the signs say. When we get home to eat our two bread products and drink our two bottles of milk, we’re basically okay if we’re on electricity. Anyone needing bottled gas deliveries could well be pretty screwed. The full national cost of the protest has not been assessed, but it’s likely that many small businesses will go under due to their losses. To be fair, the price of fuel is exorbitant, and everyone has the right to demonstrate. 84% of people surveyed in opinion polls support the protest. Perhaps the protesters went too far; but we should look beyond this issue to see what wider implications the crisis has. It goes beyond being able to drive your car wherever you like. Our government prides itself on the boyscout ethic of always being prepared. The citizen need not ever worry, it tells the nation, as we are equipped for any kind of national emergency that could ever occur — thereby diverting our attention from questioning its level of preparedness. ‘Mother knows best’ is the order of the day. As Tyler Durden tells the narrator in Fight Club, it’s in the establishment’s best interests to anaesthetise the minds of the citizens so that they are docile and controllable. Aeroplanes have ‘be prepared’ laminated cards telling us we can survive a plane crash. But most planes that crash seem to − for some unfathomable reason − blow up, with

total loss of life. A plane hijacked in November 1996 ditched into the sea after running out of fuel, and instead of lying gracefully on the surface (as the safety cards suggest), it nosedived, making straight for the bottom. Most passengers didn’t even get to unclip their seatbelts. The recent Concorde accident in France, which killed everyone on board, showed that even the safest planes are fallible. History’s lessons seem to be ignored: remember a certain ship in 1912 that was designed to be unsinkable? We must all have been preoccupied with staring at Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. These cases are not irrelevant. The government would prefer us never to worry, as anxiety can lead to unrest and disorder. The efforts to lull us into a false sense of security may please some, but not all patients respond to placebo treatment. ‘We’re prepared,’ the message is. ‘We’ll survive.’ But often we’re not, and we won’t. There was a comic-book once produced for the public’s amusement by our benevolent government. It was entitled Protect and Survive. Its purpose was to teach citizens how to survive a direct nuclear strike on Britain. Not only did it contradict itself (advising readers first to ‘take off doors and nail them at an angle to an inner wall as a shelter,’ then later to ‘close all doors’), it was uncertain. Do you whitewash your windows, or black them out? How do you decontaminate the water you’ve

One motorist fills his tank while he can exactly when you start losing hair and vomiting? The cheery announcers of the time promised that WRVS volunteers would come around with tea trolleys, biscuits and jigsaws. Is this concept from the team that brought us Noddy and The Woodentops? Decades have passed since then, and the Cold War has evaporated to leave a confused and fragmented world where many new and small nations have nuclear weapons of their own. Alliances are tangled, complex and unstable. The word on nuclear conflict is ‘it might,

‘We’re prepared,’ the message is. ‘We’ll survive.’ But often we’re not, and we won’t. stored in another room, and how do you reach it if you have to stay under the door for two weeks? How do you get two people, two weeks’ food and a toilet bucket under a lean-to made from a couple of doors? How do you hear the all-clear on the radio if the radio has in fact melted? How do you give first aid to a blast-injured relative with whom you’re squashed under a door; and how do you cope

but it won’t.’ Even at home, we brush nuclear accidents off as ‘just a little leak.’ We had a Millennium Bug book that was for the most part fairly sensible. We have public information booklets on small things like house fires and burglary. These make sense. But for bigger problems and disasters, the policy is simply to inform the population that it’s all taken care of. They needn’t worry,

or concern themselves with the details — it’s all in place, and we’ll ride it out like we rode out the Blitz. Or something. The problem is that it’s all so much horse elbows. The fuel crisis pretty much proves it. It was no natural disaster or war. It was a group of protesters, mostly peaceful, making a point about tax. We ground to a standstill. If this event can take out so much of our infrastructure so quickly, how can we say we were prepared? We’re not even prepared for the eventual depletion of fossil fuels. It’s not as if we’ve developed vehicles that can convert to alternative power sources in an emergency. How would we cope with a nuclear war? A pandemic? A global drought or famine? Major flooding? A meteor strike? The only answer to the non-sedated has to be that we wouldn’t, and couldn’t. Nothing is in place to protect us; any preparations would be unlikely to do much good, and no form of protection can be totally relied upon. We’re not prepared, and someone somewhere keeps lying that we are. And assumptions will not defend, they can only sedate. So it’s not the fault of the protesters really. Blair and co. should have made some kind of provision beforehand to alleviate its effects. It’s a failure of the philosophy of believing that everything will be fine because someone told you so.

Hiding snake Bangor researcher discovers new species of the snake. Now the classification of this cobra makes the total number of species 11. The discovery was made during Dr. Wüster’s PhD research. The species was previously unidentified, and, as Dr. Wüster says, ‘the fact that something as spectacular as a cobra can remain undiscovered for so long is amazing.’ There are very few known specimens of the Burmese Spitting Cobra. It grows to around 1.4 Snakeswimming deserves a quiet night metres in length, and lives for up to 20 years in captivity. Its lifespan in the wild is unknown, but it lecturer from Bangor’s School of Biological Sciences is longer-lived than similar-sized mammals. Its eggs take two has identified and classified a new species of snake. or three months to hatch. Its habitat is dry, and it is confined The Burmese Spitting Cobra is an egg-laying venomous to a small geographical range. The snake is just as dangerous snake found in a region around Mandalay in central Myanmar as other cobras, but can spit venom for considerable distances (formerly Burma). This represents an important scientific dis(this makes it very different from the Monocled Cobra, which covery, as previously it was believed that this snake was a also lives in Myanmar, but which can only bite). If the venom single species. Dr. Wolfgang Wüster, who has studied herpegets into a human eye it causes immediate severe pain and tology since 1986 and spent the last 14 years researching these damage. A bite can be very painful, and causes tissue necrosnakes in Asia, found that there are in fact ten separate species sis of the affected limb. This can require extensive and costly

skin grafts, which most locals cannot afford or obtain. For those snakebite victims who are lucky enough to survive the bite and the transfer to hospital – and who can afford the skin grafts – there is a three-month wait for surgery. Myanmar has one of the world’s highest mortality rates from snake bites. As there are separate snake species, new anti-venoms will need to be developed. The snake itself is threatened by human activity: as it lives in a small area of dense human habitation, it may be over-exploited. Snakes are hunted throughout Asia for food, for snakeskin leather products, and for medicinal use. The trade in snake products is popular in Asia, although treaties exist to prevent it. Conservation is difficult as snakes have a poor image. Most people are afraid of snakes, and local Burmese subsistence farmers risk snakebite all the time. Bites mean loss of labour. Dr. Wüster believes we should raise public awareness about the snake and the merits of protecting it. Snakes only bite to defend themselves, and will not attack if left alone. The Burmese Spitting Cobra lives in the fields and eats rats, thereby reducing crop loss from rodents.

ANALYSIS

analysis@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 5

Economic slavery Jim Killock considers how the rich get richer while the poor stay poor

een the news lately? If so then you might have noticed that the global economic system, of which we are all part, has been taking some shit from a growing number of people — not all of whom, strangely, are ex-public-school boys looking for brief notoriety and a fight with the law. The World Bank and the International Monetary Fund are institutions whose methods and ethics are finally being questioned, not only by left-wing economists, Trotskyists, etc., but by a substantial section of society and hopefully by you. These institutions have a 54-year history of controlling the world’s money, who has it, and where it goes, effectively choosing which of the world’s people deserve a share of its wealth. They do this by arranging ‘credit’ and ‘debt

Anti-IMF

relief’ to ‘developing’ nations, and by arranging ‘business investments’ (whilst, incidentally, supporting some decidedly dodgy regimes in the process, e.g. Myanmar, Indonesia, Nigeria... the list goes on). This they manage by siphoning governments’ money – i.e. your taxpaying parents’ money – into lucrative projects such as the Bhopal chemical plant, South American mining exploration, oil and gas developments, Turkish dams, etc. Many if not all of these projects have a proven negative effect on both the environment and the economies of the host countries. Whilst providing employment at ridiculously low wages (and you thought £3.70 an hour was harsh) to those in direct contact with those developments – or exploitations as they could more fairly be called – the subsequent debt and revenue which flows directly out of countries via the hands of corporations rather than into the hands of the producers rarely reaches the majority of their populations, who are having the piss taken out of them. This system of exploitation is essential to keep the global economy, as it presently stands, in action. Cheap labour at the point of origin means that goods are produced for sale at inflated prices in the ‘developed’ world, thereby increasing the wealth of a minority of shareholders, board members, and protesters in Washington DC a comparatively small sec-

tion of the population (the middle class) whilst everybody else works for the minimum wage. Fact: one day’s global ‘defence’ spending would pay for one year’s primary school education for all the world’s children. Recent demonstrations in Seattle, London, Prague, and the non-event in Okinawa (perhaps due to the 22,000 police and soldiers, oh, and the eight warships, provided by the Japanese government) – have served to demonstrate that there exists an increasing tide of disaffection with and disapproval of these organisations and their co-conspirators, such as McDonalds (coming soon to a street near you), whose global strategy and 100% profit-making ethic make it and its creed darlings of the World Bank. Evidently the mass media, with its need to defend the status quo, has reported riots, arrests and general mayhem as the norm — but, incredibly, omits the conferences and discussions, and the agenda which unites many different movements campaigning for a fairer world. Speak or shout for those who can’t, to reply to criticisms in rags like the Sun, happy to depict ‘spoilt brats with nothing better to do than put the boot in.’ Almost a fact: for every US dollar given to the World Bank to hand out, it is thought that two come back to the US in business contracts. The secret of their ten-year economic boom is not the genius of Clinton and co., but a well-executed policy to fuck the world. So, is there a solution, short of the violent and bloody overthrow of the ruling class? At first glance, it would appear that no, there isn’t. Internet anarchy? Technological advance? Green anarchy? Industrial Marxist society? Blair and the ‘Third Way’? The Tory Party? (It hurt to even type that.) Virtual money, obliterating the need for cash transactions, and automatically giving every person on the planet the same wealth? Or do we let faceless bastards, who don’t even pretend to give a shit, rob, rape, and defile our planet? It’s your future too, folks.

Sport for all The disabled can be contenders too

ose Hill, wheelchair athlete. Trischa Zorn, blind swimmer. The image of disabled people who succeed in their chosen sport is perhaps not as public as it could be. Yet there are disabled dance companies, wheelchair basketball leagues and of course the Paralympics to match the regular Olympic Games and the less well-known Elder Olympics (for senior citizens) and Gay Games. Baden-Powell of the Scouts was a pilot despite being a wheelchair user. People with disabilities have managed to do hanggliding, swimming, even in some cases parachuting (in tandem with an instructor). A big problem with participation in sport by disabled people is that it’s not thought of as possible, let alone desirable. This leads to a culture of neglect of disabled kids, even those who would like to do sport or at least try something new. What exists to help disabled young people take part in sports and adventure sports? The charity Riding For The Disabled is in charge of arranging and teaching horse riding to children and young people, some of whom are severely physically restricted. Most schools in the comprehensive system these days tend to lay on provision for disabled children learning to swim, alongside the other children. Another charitable organisation, the Jubilee Trust, runs sailing holidays on board a real sailing ship, for disabled people and ablebodied partners. Able-bodied single people are paired up with a disabled person, whom they have to look after for the duration of the voyage. The ship’s wheel is electronically assisted, making steering the ship easier for

weaker people. Harnesses and hoists enable shooting, bowling and table-tennis are a few those who don’t know, canyoneering is about the disabled sailing trainees to be lifted up examples and all might be possible. We have a group of people who climb sideways along into the rigging, and the more able can assist a dry-skiing slope nearby, and those with an inaccessible cliff high above water, and with furling and unfurling the sails. more mobility could try skiing. Even for the then jump from the cliff into the water, and A man with severe cerebral palsy, Clive very restricted it is feasible to be a passenger then climb back up and do it again. Bungee Bailey, attended one such voyage. He was in another vehicle: boat trips, light aircraft, jumping, bungee running, reverse bungee, hoisted up in his wheelchair and said he driving. Disabled sub-aqua diving is becombar-flying (the sport where you wear a velcro enjoyed the view. Other tasks the pairs do ing more well-known. Those with learning suit and vault up and stick onto a velcro are preparing food and cleaning the ship, and difficulties have gone on supervised gorgewall)…. ‘Look not on what you can’t do but being on watch on rotating shifts. walking, climbing and even canyoneering. For on what you can.’ Even wheelchair-bound people are helped to sail dinghies and crew small powerboats, to climb steep mountains (on people’s backs and by hauling up inclines), to climb cliffs and abseil down them, to go canoeing and whitewater rafting. Driving is obviously an option for some, and if you’re in good general health otherwise, there is offroad driving and 4x4s, quad biking, monster trucks, motor racing and rally driving, bumper cars, stock cars, go-karting, even tank driving. It all depends on your abilities, but people have gone tobogganning, sledging, sand-yachting, parascending, gliding, sometimes caving. Some sports don’t necessarily require you to Wheelchair hockey: proof – if proof be need be – that disabled sport rocks be fully mobile. Archery,

MUSIC

6 SEREN October 2000

Music H

ello mon pookies and welcome to the wonderful world of Seren’s music section. This month has some choice goodies in for review and we add our tuppence worth of thought to the great ‘Kid A: Genius masquerading as arty pants or just plain arty pants?’ debate. Bangor has a big musical happening this month: top Chester-based band (I can’t believe I just said that) Mansun are performing in Time! And only what, four years after peopled actually listened to / gave a damn about their

music@seren.bangor.ac.uk

with Clare Lewis

stuff? My God. Maybe if we’re really good Sleeper or Echobelly will pay us a visit. And if we’re really, really good, Mark and Lard may never come back. It’s time to put the Shirehorses out to pasture, lads. Was I the only person more than slightly embarrassed that this tired ‘comedy’ act was the only thing we could trot out for Fresher’s Week? We did try to corner them to ask if they’d got any new jokes since last year’s dismal show but they ran off to the pub. Hmm…. Irking me this month: remixes of perfectly fine songs. There is no safe haven, is there? Sarah McLachlan, who has a voice like an angel and some of the most blissful pianobased ballads ever on her many succesful American albums

has finally got some airplay on UK radio... with a goddamn remix. Yep, gothic torch song ‘Silence’ has gone a bit Pete Tong. Like every ‘alternative’ song jazzed up by some uniform ‘CHCHCHCHCHCHCHCH’ noises, it’ll amuse the clubbing bunnies for a while and then get the mother of all backlashes directed at it without ever selling an album for the original artist. That high chart position is kind of a hollow victory. Just ask Tori Amos, Cornershop (who have sunk into obscurity, unlike their remixer, one Norman Cook), and the countless others we’ve all forgotten now. Oh, and yes, we are a bit slender this month. Mailing lists and all that. Blame the man, the system, the red tape and not in any way your friendly local Music Editor.

Child’s play Kid A by Radiohead

o finally, Kid A has arrived. Amid fevered hype and high expectations among what seems like half the record-buying public in the entire world, here it is, the difficult fourth album. The band have made no secret of the record’s more experimental leanings, and true enough, it’s a strange LP which variously recalls Spiritualized (‘Motion Picture Soundtrack’), Aphex Twin (‘Idioteque’), Orbital (‘Everything In Its Right Place’) and Autechre (errm, other bits of it). On one occasion it even sounds like Radiohead; the acoustic strum and warped choirs of ‘How To Disappear Completely’ wouldn’t have felt out of place on OK Computer. On one level, Kid A’s warped electronica works. The looped vocals of the title track disorientate the listener in a good way, and the aforementioned ‘Idioteque’ even goes so far as to have a groove to it. It kinda works as chill out background music, if occasionally getting a little too heavy going. However, there are three problems. First of all, the album is largely a tune-free zone. Many bands are successfully combining new-fangled electronic music with old-fashioned concepts like melodies (Super Furry Animals, Primal Scream, Asian Dub Foundation, Doves, Death In Vegas etc.) so there’s no need for Kid A to be so devoid of choruses and hook lines. OK Computer managed to be original sonically and have tunes, so the lack of them here just seems like laziness. The second problem is that, despite its disdain for traditional song structure, the album is not experimental enough. Radiohead have merely aped Orbital and Aphex Twin without expanding upon those acts’ musical uniqueness. They sound like exactly what they are; a guitar band who have tried to make an avant-garde electronic record. Kid A lacks any breathtaking moments of sonic innovation; there’s nothing here that makes you sit up and think ‘I never heard anyone try that before,’ like on every single Aphex record. A final problem – and it’s a big one – is that the album lacks any kind of direction or cohesion. The tunes drift aimlessly into one another, and wash over the listener, making no impression. Even Thom Yorke seems somehow disconnected from proceedings, his voice oddly restrained.

At last, a band with tunes and feeling! A song by people who play from the heart. Or maybe not, but that doesn’t matter cos it sounds like they do. Haunting, simple piano coupled with soaring guitar lines then topped off with Chris Martin’s untouchable voice. I can’t gush enough about how good this single is but in a word — beautiful. ‘Trouble’ is a pop song that deserves to go to the top of the charts. It’s just unfortunate that it won’t. HHHHH EMB

Ewww, UK garage. Usually, this reviewer can find at least one song in every genre that he likes, but MJ Cole and his bland MOR ilk just leave him cold. ‘Crazy Love’ is shit, obviously. It skates across the listener’s consciousness like an expensive-but-fashionably-dressed oil slick, leaving no impression at all as it oozes chartwards. You already know what it sounds like: lightweight drum’n’bass blended with saccharine soullite vocals about, y’know, crazy love and that. Christ. IIIII Dan Hartley

Llama Farmers Snow White

Tonight, Matthew, we’re going to be Suede At the end of the day it’s in the compromise between trying their hardest to be experimental and not wanting to alienate too many fans that Radiohead’s new album fails. It’s not that it’s a bad album, it’s just hard to figure out who is going to like it. The Travis-buying public will be turned off by the record’s emotional coldness and lack of tunes, while Aphex Twin fans already have many bands to love who do this sort of thing a lot better. A flawed experiment. HHHII Dan Hartley

Bossa Nova by Shivaree

Coldplay Trouble

MJ Cole Crazy Love

Gothic novel hivaree are fronted by Ambrosia Parsley, indisputably the woman with the coolest name in rock today. But what does the band actually sound like? The short answer is, Shivaree sound like the goth Sneaker Pimps. This isn’t as bad as it sounds. The creepy

Singles

soundscapes that Shivaree create occasionally sound fantastic, although sometimes they collapse under the weight of too many trip-hop clichés. For example, the ace guitar loops of the title track and the piano and percussion onslaught of ‘Arlington Girl’ put me mind of Portishead and

Nine Inch Nails at the same time. Which is cool, obviously. Not all the tracks work: ‘Lunch,’ ‘Ash Wednesday’ and about four other songs all merge into one amorphous goth-hop mass, and Parsley’s lyrics basically scream ‘I’m dead interesting, I am’ utterly failing to convey any sort of emotion whatsoever. Bossa Nova is, basically, decent background music for goth parties. That doesn’t make it bad, but it’s not exactly gonna change the world, now, is it? HHHII Dan Hartley

The Llama Farmers could have called this ‘I Wish I Was In Nirvana,’ because the band is obviously besotted with US alt.rock. Gently chiming guitars suddenly give way to HUGE power chords and lots of shouty singing. It’s all very nice, but you can’t help but feel that it’s all a bit pointless, what with a thousand other bands doing it better (Muse, JJ72, My Vitriol et al). Still, B-side ‘Wez’ shows that there’s a bit more to the Farmers than nicking old Smashing Pumpkins riffs. A bunch to watch out for. HHHII Dan Hartley

Muki I Don’t Want to Know

This is dance. You can tell it’s dance ‘cos it’s crap. The unfortunate thing is that the B-side that isn’t a remix is actually quite good. Sophie Barker’s voice is very pleasant, conjuring up comparisons with Sarah McLaughlin in my mind, and the elegant and gentle acoustic guitar makes the song complete. If they hadn’t made a ‘Truesperanto Remix’ as the single I’d say buy it. But they have. So don’t. HIIII EMB

Sisqò Unleash the Dragon

There used to be a time when R’n’B meant white people with guitars playing the blues, but with rhythm. Think Jimmy Page and Peter Green. Funny how things change innit? Because now R’n’B means shite like Sisqò and his ilk, singing about thongs and unleashing dragons. This is R’n’B by numbers, with those skittery hi-hats, ‘funky’ bass and soulless soul singing. Predictably, there’s a rap bit towards the end, and equally as predictably, it sucks. HIIII EMB

MUSIC

music@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 7

Boo madly Go With Yourself by Brave Captain

artin Carr’s triumphant return. You know, Martin Carr from The Boo Radleys? Remember them? Well, Martin Carr is now Brave Captain. I assume there’s a band as well; it’s hard to tell from the press release. Brave Captain released a mini-LP in August — The Fingertip Saint Sessions Volume 1. Did you get it? No? I don’t blame you, it passed me by as well. Anyway, this is their first full length LP. Nine tracks! Just count them! Go on! Count them, damn you! Nine! And I have no idea what any of them is called — it says nothing on the sleeve and it says nothing on the press release. I get the impression Brave Captain is trying to be experimental. Perhaps Martin is still plagued by the straightforward, easily accessible ‘Wake up Boo.’ Get over it, dude. Stupid noises and general discord is not necessarily the answer. Track six is a great example of this — it starts like a return to the friendly pop song but then loses the plot amidst chaotic Spiritualized brass before going back to the song properly. It’s not a huge departure for the song; it just seems to be put in there to guarantee it won’t get too much radio coverage. There’s no need. Track four, again with the chaos. What’s the matter with you, boy? You couldn’t just let it alone, could you? It started with promise; a bit of guitar, then piano, then a weird sample of someone laughing, then end of the lyric with a repeat on your voice. Cool. But the chaos? It works, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve heard it done so much better.

Track seven reminds me of Blur – a bit ‘Beetlebum’, a bit ‘Bugman’ – but with strings as well. Nice. Track eight will take you by surprise. It did me; it sounds like The Beautiful South for fuck’s sake! And after all this trying to be weird it comes as something of a gear shift. Does he have a problem with staying power? It’s hard to say. Track one is under two minutes long and sputters out. Track five started so well — simple guitar lines backed up by a bit more brass, and it was good – even when he fails to hit the right notes you don’t notice it for long – but again it’s all over after two minutes. Then there’s track nine, which goes on for nearly nine minutes. It’s a jam! They’re just jamming along and left the 8-track going! It’s like the end of ‘Come On’ by The Verve, only it doesn’t rock and it isn’t very interesting. Overall this is an entertaining not-debut. It doesn’t rock, you can’t dance to it, but you can listen to it and not be too bored. Perhaps this is why the half-hearted experimenting — okay, some of the noises seem to be in there because ‘it worked for Primal Scream,’ but they do make the songs a bit more interesting than they would’ve been otherwise. This is an album that’ll grow on you if you persevere. And you should. And this is where the review ends. But I have one last thing to say: Brave Captain are to make their live debut in November. Only a handful of dates, not too high profile at all. But why isn’t he coming to Bangor? God damn it! And him! And all his kind!

Is this man trying too hard? I wouldn’t get this worked up during an album review but the press release told me something that grates, just a little: this album was recorded at Ofn Stiwdios. Anglesey. Fucking Anglesey. What’s the matter with him? He can come all the way out here to record but he’s to good to play a gig here for all the students desperate to hear a bit of live music? Bastard. I give the album HHHHI; I give Martin Carr a big fat IIIII for being a git. I’m sorry, but I’m trying to quit smoking. EMB

Sparkless Size doesn’t matter Wishville by The Catherine Wheel

his is The Catherine Wheel’s fifth outing (not counting Like Cats and Dogs — ‘an album of non-album tracks’) and I have to admit I’d never even heard of them before. The Catherine Wheel boys have been plodding along all this time never quite acheiving the success they yearn for; will this album be the shot at stardom that they hope for? I’m sorry, but no. This is a perfectly adequate album, but that’s as far as it goes. ‘Mad Dog’ and ‘Ballad of a Running Man’ almost stand out by virtue of their extreme blandness. The tragedy is, they’re not bad, just very runof-the-mill. Don’t get me wrong, just about all albums have filler tracks; but Wishville doesn’t come up with the goods the rest of the time. ‘What We Want To Believe In’ starts with a Jamesesque opening riff but goes downhill from there. A good riff doesn’t make a good song, and when the lyrics and their delivery have all been done a thousand times before the wannabe-anthem chorus is bound to fall a little flat. ‘Gasoline’ has a slight Suede feel to it – especially the bassline – but fails to go anywhere interesting, so, at four minutes twenty, it’s a good minute and a half too long. There are highlights to the album though. The opening track, ‘Sparks Are Gonna Fly,’ is a great stomp-along that conjures up immediate Super Furry Animals parallels (if not as experimental) and promises greatness. ‘All Of That’ has an interesting drum pattern offsetting the nicely understated guitar and organ. ‘Idle Life’ brings in the standard string section that all indie bands seem prone to using and, while not quite in the same league as The Verve or even Embrace, rises above the other straight-ahead, unassuming indie-rock tracks. The trouble is, ‘good enough’ seems to be as far as they can go. Even the closer, ‘Creme Caramel’, finishes not with a bang, a chantable chorus or a full-on rockout but just fades away leaving a rather poor impression of the album as a whole. This isn’t a bad album, and that’s what really hurts. I couldn’t in good conscience recommend that people go out and buy it when I know that there are far superior indie albums that don’t get the credit they deserve. Perhaps if you already had every good album going and had a spare tenner lying around then you could check this out, but I think you’d be disappointed. Wishville is not good. It’s not great. It’s average. It’s not even average that’ll sell, like Travis, it’s average that’ll get you dumped by your record label. Sorry guys, maybe number six will be the lucky one? HHHII EMB

In the Mode by Roni Size / Reprazent

he winner of the Mercury Music Prize a couple of years ago returns with a less ambitious album than his previous, award winning effort. Where New Forms seemed specifically designed to reside on the nation’s coffee tables, In The Mode has been touted as a return to Roni Size’s roots. The direct result of this is that much of Size’s second LP with the Reprazent ‘crew’ sounds like it was recorded in the mid 90s, when drum’n’bass was still ‘underground’. The irony, of course, is that it was Reprazent who thrust the genre into the mainstream in the first place, so this apparent attempt to go back underground smacks not only of inverted snobbery, but almost seems like an apology for introducing d’n’b to the masses.

Current single ‘Who Told You’ sets the tone for most of the album: brutal jungle beats, deep juddering bass and taut, spat-out vocals. Reprazent even get a couple of famous friends to help out; Wu-Tang’s Method Man crops up on ‘Ghetto Star’, while Rage Against The Machine’s Zack De La Rocha lends his unmistakable voice to ‘Centre Of The Storm.’ This record’s major drawback is that every single tune (and there’s upwards of 20 of them) sounds identical. New Forms experienced similar problems, but at least that had a few stand-out moments of experimentation. In The Mode will probably not sell as many copies as its predecessor, and you do have to question Size’s motives for releasing such a backwards-looking record. HHHII Dan Hartley

Goatbox

GOAT: The Greatest of All Time by LL Cool J

but one-dimensional drunkard chef in Deep Blue Sea. It’s perhaps no surprise then that G.O.A.T., his first proper LP in nearly seven years, finds him keen to remind us of his gloriSeren cannot fuck with this man ous past, both in the somewhat he years have not been kind to LL strange title of this album (does anyCool J. Riding high on the back of body else find the word ‘goat’ at all disthree epochal albums, he entered tracting?), and repeatedly throughout the nineties a universally-respected the lyrics. Sadly, however, LL seems to young hip hop pioneer, namechecked have neglected to bring his work up to by every emcee and thanked on every date, and there’s not much here that – on record sleeve. Yet in 2000 if he’s remema cursory listen – would have sounded bered at all it’s chiefly for the wholly out of place on 1993’s 14 Shots to the average ‘Ain’t Nobody’ from Beavis and Dome. His delivery is as smooth as ever Butthead Do America and as the loveable but the trouble is, he’s simply not saying

anything particularly interesting. While Grandmaster Flash, Run-DMC and even Public Enemy have faded, to be replaced by the millennial sneer of the Bloodhound Gang, Limp Bizkit and, yes, Eminem, LL is still banging on, wholly without irony, about ‘life on the streets.’ It’s an especial disappointment because these aren’t even LL’s true colours; until the mid-1990’s his was a sensitive, intelligent voice even at its most belligerent. Nowadays it’s all fuck this, fuck that, bitch this, nigga that. It’s disappointing stuff from the man who got all the way through 1991’s vein-bursting ‘Mama Said Knock You Out’ without swearing once. Still, the music’s pretty funky, and it’s hard not to bob your head to tracks like ‘Can’t Think’ and ‘Hello’, making this album far from unlistenable. Nevertheless, from the selfproclaimed ‘Future of the Funk,’ this is disappointingly uninspired stuff. HHHII Darien Graham-Smith

MOVIES

8 SEREN October 2000

Movies L

adies and gentlemen, welcome to the brand spanking new film editorial (sound of cheering crowd, smash of champagne bottle on string against Seren computer). We don’t usually do this, so bear with me here. Firstly, I do apologise for the arrival of my ugly mug (left) on the pages of Seren. My editor is a sadist and there is little I can do. If

you are a new, uncorrupted fresher type, then welcome to All The Right Movies, a lovely film section thing. If you’re not a first year, then you know the drill; you’ve seen all this before, you have my pity. This month has provided us with a rather odd bunch of movies: for once, we’ve had the chance to legitimately dole out some five star reviews, but we’ve also had to cope with a couple of dubious-smelling big hitters. Read on and you will discover all. The Genius! article is a new feature that will return in future months.

movies@seren.bangor.ac.uk

with Chris Chapman

We’re always on the lookout for new writers here, so if anyone is brave enough, just write to me on that lovely address at the top of the page (bribes will be considered, but probably not accepted). In advance, I must apologise for any future gratuitous references to General Zod, Brian Blessed, Mary Poppins, Goonies and Commando. However, I will be attempting to help all students by avidly campaigning for the execution of Steve Guttenberg. I’m sure you are all behind me: I will take the matter to the International Court of Human Rights if necessary.

Creepy hollow

hat’s that? You want me to link Big Kev to Adolf Hitler in six steps? No problem. Kev was in JFK with Tommy Lee Jones; Mr Lee Jones shared his screen time with Robert Downey Jnr in US Marshalls; Dodgy Downey played Charlie Chaplin in…er… Chaplin; and finally, Chaplin himself satirised Hitler in The Great Dictator! There ya go! So Kevin Bacon is officially linked to Hitler. But wait! Kevin’s suddenly disappeared! Goddammit, the whole equation is breaking down! Damn you Kev for playing the Hollow Man; my sad party games are ruined! Paul Verhoeven (Robocop, Starship Troopers) puts a new spin on the thirties classic movie The Invisible Man. This isn’t exactly the first time this has been tried; anyone remember Chevy Chase (Chevy Chase? Arrggghhh!) doing his see through thing in Memoirs of an Invisible Man? I bet you wish you didn’t. This time round, Hollow Man tells the story of slightly bonkers scientist Sebastian Caine (a name loaded with evil), played by Big Kev, who, along with his dippy team of scientists (including Elizabeth Shue and ex-big brother in Goonies, Josh Brolin), has discovered the secret of invisibility. Caine’s ego gets in the way however, and rather than hand over his completed formula to the government for human testing, he tries it out on himself. Chaos ensues as he takes a turn for the psychotic, attempting to dispose of anyone who knows of his invisibility. However, this being a Verhoeven film, Caine is also a raging pervert. We expected nothing less from the man behind Showgirls (so to speak). Hollow Man begins (and goes on) in a rather unconvincing vein; we are expected to believe that Caine is randomly guessing new DNA programs with cute little circles on his home PC, when he stumbles across the ultimate key to

Hollow Man, now showing at the Plaza cinema

‘... and when I flick this switch your acne will also be invisible.’ invisibility. God, and you would have thought it would be quite complicated. We then receive a guided tour round the invisibility labs (bearing an unnerving similarity to the sets of 80s Harvey Keitel shitfest, Saturn 3). In some of the film’s more imaginative moments we are shown shuddering empty cages with little doggy barks emanating from inside, only to see the little invisible mutts within via a heat sensitive camera.

However, it’s when an invisible ape is brought back into the land of visibility that the special effects really kick in. As the gorilla returns to our sight, vein by vein, bone by bone, muscle by muscle, we can see the visual genius of Verhoeven’s film. This scene is repeated to greater, more emphatic effect when Caine takes the invisibility plunge. These sequences are impressive, thankfully drawing us away from the clunky dialogue and rather uninspired characterisation of the team of boffins. In its first half, this is the film’s biggest flaw: each member of the cast can be summed up in two words. Mad ego; old flame; upstanding man; animal rights; goofy hair; Welcome, Mr/Mrs/Miss/Ms/Unsure Seren Reader. I’ve been expecting you. Have a seat and ponder these et cetera et cetera. However, the specunning fox-type questions. Be thoughtful, be vexed, be yourself. Just be. OK? cial effects are just about enough of a diversion. For now. 1 Who played ‘the greatest criminal mind the world has ever seen,’ The film is often laughable (many, many arse/willy shots — put it away, Lex Luthor, in the Superman films? Kev!) as the scientists cover inviso2 In which film does Danny DeVito get Arnie pregnant? Bacon in what seems to be strawberry mousse and are subsequently fooled 3 What is the name of the red-eyed, card-throwing mutant excluded by Caine’s ‘ingenious’ use of the looped from the recent X Men movie? film trick out of Speed; yet Verhoeven never really seems to have his tongue 4 Which James Bond movie pits 007 against Christopher Walken in his cheek as he did on Robocop and and Grace Jones? (Grace Jones? Arggghhh!) Starship Troopers. Thus we are left with his usual unsubtle approach, but with 5 Is Mary Poppins evil? no giggling asides to balance it. You still here? Oh, the email address, right. Dispatch your answers to movies@seren.bangor.ac.uk! The The idea of invisible man as sexeditor is very pretty and his decision is final. And no more death threats, hey? obsessed loon is something of a schoolboy ploy, but it still raises some

H WIN GO ON VIDEO! H

interesting moral questions. However, it isn’t explored clearly or sufficiently before Caine’s slight seediness spirals into full blown homicidal tendencies (the only explanation we get is that he’s feeling a little cooped up in the boring lab), and any questioning of sexual morality is completely forgotten as the film transforms into a by-numbers slasher flick. The whole cast is locked in the lab, and evil Caine goes after his Abel brothers one by one. All sense is lost as the film proceeds to crash and burn. Bacon does his best, hamming up as much as possible, but the rest of the cast resembles an old log cabin. Verhoeven can’t really do suspense or horror – he relies on shock tactics and gore – but at least his use of Caine-ovision steadicam shows him trying to branch out into more sinister territory. However, the film’s biggest saving grace is its special effects, consistently inventive, and actually putting annoying CGI to good use for once. In the end, if I have any reason to be suspicious of this film, it would be its laboured reciting of a Superman/Wonder Woman joke that I was telling to fellow high-schoolers many years ago on assorted rugby coaches. Perhaps this sums up the immature nature of Verhoeven’s films: as with many of his past ventures (particularly Total Recall) Hollow Man leaves you with a dull yearning to see what a more mature director could have done with such an initially interesting concept. I bet Kev wishes he really were invisible now. HHIII

MOVIES

movies@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 9

No smoke without fire

The Insider, available to rent now from Albin’s Video

Al, fancy a fag?

ags, eh? They kill you, you know? Dangerous little bastards. But what if it weren’t the cigarettes that were making attempts on your life, rather it was the gigantic, seemingly-omnipotent tobacco factory that produces them? In Michael Mann’s The Insider, former tobacco scientist Geoffrey Wigand (Russell Crowe) is faced with just that problem. Geoffrey is approached by 60 Minutes producer Lile Bergman (Mr Al Pacino!) who needs the brainbox’s help in deciphering some industry techno jargon. However, Wigand knows a dark secret about his former employers, one that Bergman sets out to uncover. As the questioning continues, Wigand and his family are stalked and threatened by the angry company, forcing him to ask himself whether the truth takes pri-

ority over his life and the people around him. And to make you even more apprehensive about that next cigarette, all the film’s events actually happened. Crowe, now better known for being ‘husband to a murdered wife, father to a murdered son, owner of a mutilated gerbil’ and wanting a whole lot of Roman vengeance, is in completely different territory here. You may be used to his hard nut heroes in Gladiator and LA Confidential, but here, he tones down the madfella histrionics, puts on a few pounds, dyes his hair white and plays an altogether more subtle character. Wigand is the emotional core of the movie, not a particularly likeable character, but still the moral guardian of the piece. From the moment he sees his daughter through her

asthma attack by telling her exactly what’s happening inside her lungs, Crowe has our undivided attention. Though he missed out on the Oscar for this role (it went to jammy Kevin Spacey), it’s still the best showing of his career. That’s not to say that Pacino underperforms: on the contrary, he gives his best performance in some time, managing to tone down his usual shouty shouty attitude, making Bergman both comforting and manipulative. However, in its later stages, the film relies far more on his character than on Crowe’s. Pacino suffers in this time simply because Crowe is so so impressive. Director Michael Mann (previously responsible for The Last of the Mohicans and Heat) has created a complex and incredibly detailed political piece that questions both the motives and the morals of the press and the real meaning of ‘in the public interest’. Its nearest cinematic relation is probably All The President’s Men, again a vast picture about the press uncovering a powerful scandal, told in the same kind of immense detail. However, a warning to anybody with an easily challenged attention span: this is not a film for goldfish. It’s very much a slow burner, intentionally so, to show the giant political oak that arises from the initial curious acorn. Certain scenes stand out, particularly Wigand’s nervy encounter at the golf range, and his early confrontations with his bosses, turning both his life and our viewing into an extremely claustrophobic experience. Christopher Plummer is excellent in support as Pacino’s pompous interviewer, giving a wonderfully two-faced performance. The score too, is perfectly suited, constantly off-kilter, disorientating, and aptly portraying the lunacy of Wigand’s predicament. It is ironic that on the film’s release, the tobacco company involved once again tried to silence Wigand’s message by trying to ruin the film’s box office chances. The film, just like 60 Minutes, was threatened with censorship, but in both cases they won through. The Insider ably mixes politics, ethics and concern about family into a viper of a film, slithering silently along, but from time to time taking savage bites at its prey. Michael, you the Mann. HHHHH

Don’t interrupt me!

Girl, Interrupted, available to rent from Albin’s Video

hroughout my life I have been told that the men in white coats are coming for me, but I’ll tell you what, if I’m going anywhere resembling the mental hospital in this film I won’t put up any resistance. Only one thing would put me off: the baths are very far from private, and all leg shaving must be supervised by a cold eyed nurse (just in case you try to kill yourself with your Bic Ladyshave). Apparently most patients choose to stay fuzzy rather than ‘fell the forest’ in front of these supervisors. I don’t know if I could live in a yeti-like state, but then again I’m not crazy. Not as far as I know. Apparently Girl, Interrupted is supposed to be in the same vein as One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but I’ve never seen that, so I couldn’t tell you. However, what I can tell you is that this movie has the same standard plot as any movie where the lead character gets institutionalised. It happened in the Shawshank Redemption and it basically happens here only with women in a psychiatric hospital. It’s a sad state of affairs when this ‘Hollywood duplication’ (as I have termed this syndrome, such is my power) happens: you just feel cheated out of your valuable time and your even more valuable money. You can practically see someone just out of shot, with

a checklist of clichés to include: 1. lead character is put in the psychiatric hospital for her own good; 2. parents are suitably embarrassed; 3. lead character is befriended by long-term psychiatric case and 4. gets chummy with stereotypical mental cases; 5. she makes a bid for freedom, but 6. fails, allowing 7. a change of personality and subsequent 8. happy(ish) ending. There is little embellishment of this basic plot and you get to the point of wishing Suzanna (Winona Ryder) would finish her bloody book so you can beat her insipid character around the head with it. Even Whoopi Goldberg plays the same part she always does — just think Star Trek. The only character highlight is Angelina Jolie’s criminally insane Lisa; given

her beautifully tortured performance as Gia in the film of the same name, this is of little surprise. But then again this is the woman who, in reality, got married in leather with the groom’s name written across her shirt in her own blood. Hmm.

So what does Girl, Interrupted teach us? Well, I learnt that psychiatric nurses are so dense as to not realise a set of keys is missing; that it’s remarkably easy to get lost in a simple corridor; not to watch any new movies where people get

locked up as I already know the plot; that psychiatric hospitals can look much more accommodating than student halls, and something else… oh yeah: ‘Don’t point your finger at crazy people!’ HHIII Louise Phelps

‘I never seem to get any mail,’ sighed Winona

Flower power MOVIES

10 SEREN October 2000

movies@seren.bangor.ac.uk

Magnolia, available to rent now from Albin’s Video

eviewer A opened his eyes. They hurt like hell. Running a broken old comb through what was left of his hair, he made his way from the couch to the front door, picking up his favourite leather jacket on the way. As he hurried along the silent suburban streets, his thoughts somehow settled on the video he had watched the previous evening: Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia. He remembered with a wry smile how daunted he had previously felt upon reading that the epic drama was going to go on for over three hours. He also remembered how it had all been very much worth it. Maybe he wouldn’t kill himself after all. Reviewer B sat silently in her car. The keys were in the ignition. The car was still in her garage. She was tempted. Very tempted. Inexplicably, however, her thoughts wandered from vague images of life’s pointlessness to vague images of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia. Her troubled thirtysomething mind tried in vain to form some kind of coherent plot description for the complex, multi-plot story. She was pretty sure that at its simplest level it revolved around the two troubled events of a long running children’s game show and the death of an old, rich father with a missing son. She recalled with a dirty grin how Tom Cruise had wisely ditched his Kubrickian bemusement and John Woo ego and ably taken on the persona of hysterical yet tragic ‘Seduce and Destroy’ men’s group visionary John Mackey. She thought he had been very good, particularly in his confrontation with his father. Actually, come to think of it, the whole bloody cast had been superb. A perfect Hollywood ensemble if ever she had seen one. Character actors just crawling out of the walls. That guy, what was his name? Ah, William H. Macey, he was good too. Ugly but fantastic Phillip Seymore Hoffman gave one of those unselfish subtle showings that aids everyone else. Even the little kid actor was great. Lashings of superlatives all round, basically. She smiled. Maybe she wouldn’t kill herself after all. Reviewer C had to hurry. His date would be at the restaurant in less than ten minutes. He ran as fast as he could without actually flinging himself into the passers by on the busy city street. He was so stressed, so frazzled out of his body. Despite his lateness and state of mind, though, he had been diligent. Jenny, the imminent romance, had told him earlier all about her new favourite film. He hadn’t heard of it before. It

was Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia. So, in preparation for this evening, he had hired this unknown quantity. Maybe get to know her a bit better. In some ways, it had reminded him of the multi-plot devices of hip flicks Go and Pulp Fiction, but he had soon realised that it was far more ambitious than either. Anderson’s gleeful audacity at weaving so, so many storylines together, yet never losing plot logic or audience attention was the thing that seemed to stand out. The way they had weaved certain central themes in to multiple story strands had really impressed him. Returning themes of cancer, of the beauty and sacredness of children and of not being able to escape your past were still troubling him now. Some of it had been so, so dark, nastier than the last part of Anderson’s own Boogie Nights. He sighed. Maybe he would kill himself after all. Reviewer D waited patiently in the restaurant for Reviewer C. He was late. Typical male. She was holding out hope that he had not been a completely sad bastard and hired out Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia; he was so very predictable. He could never really appreciate it like she did. He always concentrated on the depressing things: he would have overlooked just how funny this particular film was. Personally, she preferred it to the excellent Boogie Nights. Tom Cruise’s stage arrival to the tune of that music out of 2001, ‘RESPECT THE COCK!’, that had made her giggle. The frankly bizarre but ingenious final rainstorm too, and not forgetting the inspired narration opening. This was a very funny film. Yeah, well, it had made her cry as well, quite a bit actually. Everyone had seemed so depressed, so stuck within their shitty lives. But the ending, oh the ending. She decided not to think about any plot twist spoilers, but did not understand why. She had loved the soundtrack though, just as good as Anderson’s choices for Boogie Nights, perfectly tying into events on screen. The sequence where everyone in the different strands was singing along to the same song, that was wonderful. The sense of a controlling coincidence factor governing all the people’s lives, connecting to each other in the same way that Vito Corleone connects to Michael in Godfather II — oops, she was getting pretentious again. She smiled. Reviewer C would never understand it. Maybe she would have to kill him after all. Reviewer E had missed the press screening of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia, so he was currently feeling like a bit of a twat. His film editor was going to kill him.

Hey, Magnolia (aie!) Reviewer A finally arrived at work. His boss caught him picking his nose and he was fired. He personally blamed his momentary lapse on thinking about Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia too much. He decided he’d just have to go and hire it again: it’s that kind of thing that could get better and better. Reviewer C suddenly and implausibly exploded into a ball of fire. All his opinions were sadly lost. Reviewer B realised she had nothing more to say on the matter. It only remained for her to wind down her car window, gain the attention of the passing Seren Film Editor, stick out an optimistic arm, and raise all five fingers in salute. The editor understood. He took note, and typed it in on this page, right here. HHHHH

Get outta my head!

Being John Malkovich, available to rent now from Albin’s Video

Maxine: the one with bendy legs

ver wanted to see the world through someone else’s eyes? Well, you could a) invent a really cool mind-occupying machine; b) force yourself into a deep state of hallucinagenic meditation and hope your brain does something freaky; or c) rent Being John Malkovich. It’s probably a whole lot more interesting anyway. The film opens on failing puppeteer Craig Schwartz (John Cusack). He is a genius at his work, constructing vivid and hideously complex puppet shows, but sadly there’s not much of a market for his trade. Tired with his life and his slightly weird wife Lotte (an almost unrecognisable Cameron Diaz), he spies a filing job for nimble-fingered men of ‘short stature’ and jumps at the chance. The strangeness begins when he is first shown to the 71⁄2th floor and discovers a portal into the mind of actor John Malkovich. He investigates. His wife investigates. His ice-goddess co-worker, Maxine (Catherine Kenner) investigates. Then, gradually, things start to go horribly wrong. It’s an ingenious and original scenario, and the fact that Malkovich has the guts to send himself up so much is a testiment to his good sense and lack of ego. Director Spike Jonze (who previously gave us the

Daft Punk music video with the talking dog/ man and Fat Boy Slim’s ‘Praise You’) runs with the premise, surprising us at every opportunity he gets. The lovingly-shot puppet show that opens up the movie draws us immediately into the theme of control. It’s extremely unnerving, just as later events will be. Cusack and Diaz take turns in controlling Malkovich, while the devilish Maxine ends up controlling all of the characters in some way. The film begins in a light tone, relying on sight gags and plain bizarreness (such as the smoothly spoken executive who believes he has an incomprehensible speech impediment), but the ending is far more tragic than you would expect. Cusack is good, though he’s not really stretching himself. He adds a tragic string to his Grosse Pointe violin, but little else. It would be nice to see the talented actor branch out a little. Diaz gives her best performance yet, and the scary/sexy Catherine Keener walks away with many of the scenes. However, Malkovich himself steals the show, taking over much of the movie’s second half. The sequence when he travels inside his own head only to discover that everyone is wearing his face and speaking

using only the word ‘Malkovich’ (it’s best not too be too drunk whilst viewing this scene) is pure, manic, Pythonesque genius, A rather bizarre self paroding cameo from Charlie Sheen is also great. As the film bundles itself through its crazy narrative, it is Jonze’s witty asides that grab the most laughs, such as the wonderfully observed film that Cusack is forced to watch, showing just why there is a 71⁄2th floor, and the genius chimpanzee flashback. The humour is perfectly pitched, great for the more fucked up students among us but still accessible to even the most innocent CU member. No explanations are provided, leaving the whole film with a tint of magic, a fairytale feel. At times, however, proceedings may seem a tad too flippant, perhaps distancing itself a little too far from reality for its themes to be effective. However it never quite becomes lightweight, and always manages to rescue itself with another inspired gag. Despite the merriment, it is the darker aspects of this film that shine through. The final shot and end credits sequence will haunt me for some time to come. Spike Jonze may well become a very important man. HHHHI

MOVIES

movies@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 11

Shafted again

Shaft, which used to be on at the Plaza cinema

He can dig it

ell, I think I can honestly say that I got more enjoyment out of the ‘waazzzzup?’ Budweiser adverts than I did out of this movie. OK, I know I’m a female of the species, but I’d have paid an awful lot more attention if there had been some real action along the way. Apart from a couple of meagre car chases and a few gunshots, the film seemed to revolve simply around different groups of homeboys trying to identify their ‘weakest link’. Where’s Anne Robinson when you need her? Samuel L. Jackson plays John Shaft (nephew to the Shaft in the original movie), an NYPD cop out to catch a racist murderer. The plot revolves around Shaft’s attempts to find a key eye-witness (Toni Colette from Muriel’s Wedding and Sixth Sense) and use her vital info to send suspect Walter Wade (Christian Bale) down. The film’s major strength is Jackson’s presence. He plays Shaft with real conviction, with the wit and intelligence of his character creat-

GENIUS!

One Man’s heroic battle to discover the movies that are so bad, they are somehow... gooood.

Operation #1: Commando (1985)

fter having retired from his crack group of specially trained US marines, John Matrix (Arnold Schwarzenegger) has started a new life in the hills with his daughter, Jenny. His tranquil existence is disrupted when the other surviving members of his squad are murdered, inexplicably, one by one. General Kirby, Matrix’s former superior, informs him that he is the obvious next target. The crooks behind it all, led by Matrix’s former friend, Bennett, kidnap his daughter, and order Matrix to assassinate a political leader who stands in their way. Matrix must find a way to foil their diabolical plans and save his innocent child. Can one man make a difference?

spring as if she were somebody else’s bag of potatoes! See Arnie and Jenny messing around with ice cream cones, laughing at each other’s silliness! See Arnie and Jenny stroking a cute little deer in front of painted scenery! DO YOU SEE? THEY ARE ENJOYING A PEACEFUL EXISTENCE WITHOUT A CARE IN THE WORLD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO YOU? It is also disturbing to spot the credits of composer James Horner (Titanic), producer Joel Silver (The Matrix) and actor Dan Hedaya (The Usual Suspects). GENIUS!

3 ‘WHITE MALE, 6 FOOT 3!’

EIGHT STEPS TO GENIUS...

Arnie’s ego gets the better of him for this unfortunate quote. As the mall police flock to take him on, they fearfully describe the Austrian Oak as being something of a giant; of course, in reality, Arnold is a midgettastic 5ft 8in! GENIUS!

1 BENNETT (PRAISE BE TO HIM)

4 SULLY: SUCH A NICE MAN

You might assume that Bennett, the most formidable of Arnie’s crack squad. thrown out because he ‘enjoyed the killing too much,’ would be one rock hard motherfucker. Wrong. Bennett is a camp, overweight, Australian Freddy Mercury lookalike with a weakness for chainmail string vests. ‘Matrix and I could kill all of your men in the blink of an eye!’ he snarls; in a perfect world, this man, with his kinky squeaky boots and Village People ‘tache, would be a Hollywood megastar and gay icon of massive proportions. His bizarre orgasmic groan as Matrix finally brings his limp-wristed reign to a ludicrous close cements his credentials as… GENIUS!

2 TITLE SEQUENCE FROM HELL

See Arnie carry wood! He’s a lumberjack and he’s OK! See Arnie apply his elite military training to spotting his daughter sneak up behind him! See Arnie lift up said off-

ing some of the film’s finest moments. The scene when ‘the cat who won’t cop out’ frames a group of hired assassins, in particular, is a standout. However, the seemingly straightforward and tight plot is unnecessarily complicated by the inclusion of sideline drug baron, Peoples (Jeffery Wright). Wright plays his part convincingly enough but his presence seems pointless. He is merely there to spin the plot out to its required length and provide one or two unintelligent comic moments at his character’s expense. Bale is good as key baddie Walter, forcing you to believe that, as the film suggest, he could well be a Nazi Klu Klux Klan maniac. Sadly, the screenplay lets his menace down, as he orders Peoples to carry out his dirty work and is thus left in the background for much of the action, wasting his evil potential. Toni Collette suffers even more, her character remaining undeveloped, though her potential teasingly shines through

6 THE CARNAGE

Hot Shots Part Deux parodies the carnage of Robocop and Total Recall by showing a slaughter with a ‘body count’ at the corner of the screen. Commando, however plays it dead straight: Arnie literally kills upwards of 70 men on his own while standing bold as brass in the middle of a lawn. Seemingly every Eastern extra in Hollywood is shooting at him, yet he survives with barely a scratch on him. Look, he’d get shot in the head, OK!? Never has such a display of crap enemy fire been witnessed by the movie industry. Men are blown through the air, embarrassingly revealing the barely disguised spring boards that launched them, and bizarrely, the same moustached trooper seems to die upwards of seven times. GENIUS!

7 THE SHOWDOWN

Matrix vs Bennett! The King of Camp has the initial upper hand as he sleazily grabs hold of Arnie’s daughter; but cryptic genius Arnie overcomes Bennett’s advantage with some ingenious and subtle reverse psychological warfare: ‘You don’t wanna shoot me; you wanna stick dat knife in me and watch it twist. Let’s party, Bennett!’ Bennett loses

in the scene when she tells Shaft of her two-year hell in hiding. In hindsight, it’s rather hard to link the events of the title sequence to the rest of the film. The seductive nature of this sequence seems to suggest that love will soon be in the air for ‘the man who would lay down his life for his brother man’. However, the 90s Shaft seems to be a pretty celibate beast, with no love interest within ten blocks. It would appear that this is unexplored potential for Shaft as a character, as the film seems to subtly suggest that deep down, he just wants a woman. Shaft is a film attempting to convey a moral message via immoral means, with a decent twist at the end thrown in for good measure. However, since the violence rarely rises above the level of, say, Dumbo, I would actually stoop to say that manure-whiffing Double Jeopardy makes for far more compelling justice/ revenge viewing. HHIII Claire Watkins

it big time, moving up to ham factor ten. ‘I don’t need the girl! I don’t need no gun! (cue limp-wristed ‘throw gun away’ action) I’m gonna kiiill yooouuu nooow!’ Knife fight follows, then fisticuffs, throughout which the two men are shown to have equal strength, despite Bennett’s sizeable girth. See the wonderful continuity errors! Bennett’s hand on Matrix’s neck – no, his chin! – no, neck! – chin! – neck! — it’s all over the place! Bennett is pushed into an electricity fence, screams and seems to be dead... but no! He comes straight back out of it with a punch, seemingly none the worse for his little shock. Arnie finally dispatches of his adversary though the genius of throwing a big pipe through his nemesis into the gas cylinder behind him. ‘Let off some steam, Bennett!’ Job done! Daughter safe! Back to paradise and tranquility! GENIUS!

8 THE LEGACY

But are we right to laugh at it? There is a slim chance that Commando may be (whisper it) tongue in cheek. A knowing mockery of Arnie’s screen persona? Is Bennett the only one in on the joke? Discuss. However, one thing is for certain, this film is… GENIUS!

Bennett’s sleazy, cocky henchman’s chat up technique consists of asking a girl for sex, and, if she refuses, calling her a ‘fucking whore.’ Nice. Matrix has to ‘let him go’ as poor old Sully is dropped from a big bad cliff. ‘You remember, Sully, when I said I’d kill you last?’ ‘Yeah Matrix! You did! You did!’ ‘I LIED.’ ‘Arrrrrrgggghhhhhh!’ GENIUS!

5 ‘FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!’

During Arnie’s big hotel-based fight with nasty hood Cook, they throw themselves into the next room, where a geeky bloke is having sex with a busty porn-star type. Said couple look shocked, scream a bit, and the fight goes on. Ah, Hollywood clichés. In the script’s most masterful moment, Cook points his gun at Arnie and cries ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ But, wait! No bullets left in gun! Arnie’s witty retort: ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ GENIUS!

Bennett horrifically tortures Arnie’s lovable daughter

BOOKS

12 SEREN October 2000

Books

spent my summer flying a broomstick, furthering science, exploring the planet, fighting the French and winning a gold medal for swimming. Well, sort of. Fed up with working to pay off my overdraft, bored of being at home and away from my friends here in Bangor, books provided the perfect escape. A lonely night in became the desperate battle for an entire nation; a relaxing bath was a race to win Gold for my country; before I fell asleep I unravelled the mysteries of human evolution. Books let me escape from the ordinary. The Harry Potter novels are just the type of thing I’m talking about. I admit I was dubious: I’m always wary of anything that’s hyped so much. But I swallowed my pride and bought the first novel. The next day I bought the next two,

and despite intending to wait for the paperback, I bought the fourth on the day of its release. Fantastic stories of adventure, magic and mystery, exactly the kind of book that used to keep me enthralled as a child. Everyone who loved Roald Dahl will love these books. They let you forget about stacking shelves and lose yourself in a world of magic spells, invisibility cloaks, ghosts, werewolves and fire-breathing dragons. The 131⁄2 Lives of Captain Bluebear and Darwin’s Radio (see below) were just as good. Never before had I flown on the back of a pterodactyl. Whilst sunbathing in the garden I discovered the secrets hidden within human DNA. In Shakespeare’s Henry V I fought the French on the battlefield of Agincourt as volley after volley of arrows were launched, the air thick with the cries of battle, the ground covered with blood and fallen men. Exciting? I was engrossed. Similarly, Swimmer by Bill Broady had me enthralled, and I’d recommend it to anyone. In the style of Charlotte Gilman’s

culture@seren.bangor.ac.uk

with Julie Neild The Yellow Wallpaper, this novel draws the reader into the swimmer’s thoughts, feelings and experiences. You cannot help but get caught up in her discovery, her training, her Gold medal victory, the end of her career and her subsequent fall into a sleazy underworld. Broady’s writing is beautiful and full of emotion, with humour, hope, consolation and even a spirituality if you are open enough to realise it. The author’s observations of the human condition are beautifully descriptive and enchanting. Only 140 pages long, it is short, easy to get into and well worth reading. A good novel is not just something I once read for GSCE English. It is my passport out of the mundane and a window into the unknown. You can read a book anywhere: on the bus, in the park, in the bath, in bed… and in return, a book can take you anywhere. I spent my summer winning Quidditch matches and solving the mysteries of the universe. Expand your world: read a book.

Bear essentials

The 131⁄2 Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers

‘The Minipirates had little iron hooks instead of hands and wooden stumps instead of proper legs, nor did I ever see one without an eyepatch. At first I thought they’d been wounded during their reckless attempts to board a prize, but I later learned that they were born that way, complete with hats and moustaches.’

aptain Bluebear is a bear with blue fur, and The 131⁄2 Lives of Captain Bluebear is his ‘demibiography’ — ‘demi’ because, whilst cats have nine lives, bluebears have no less than twenty seven. Having already sold over a quarter of a million copies in Germany, Bluebear has a huge European following. Each chapter is devoted to a different adventure in which his courage, skill and ingenuity enable him to escape a different danger. His travels take him to many unique places, including the Demerara Desert (a large expanse of wild sugarcane which, after thousands of years of exposure to sunlight, has concentrated into pure sugar); Gourmet Island, a floating paradise where everything is edible; and a notyet-flooded Atlantis. On the way he encounters such ingenious creations as the Hobgoblins – strange spirits devoid of their own feelings who revel in those of others; the Babbling Billows – talking waves who normally taunt shipwrecked sailors for weeks on end with tasteless jokes but who take it upon themselves to teach Bluebear every possible way and manner in which to speak – and a Bollogg, described in the Encyclopaedia of Marvels, Life Forms and Other Phenomena of Zamonia and its Environs thus: ‘The Bollogg, like all one-eyed, outsized life forms, belongs to the Giant Cyclops family. Although Bolloggs are born with sev-

Doctor’s orders Sin Boldly! by David R. Williams

roblems with your quotation marks? Unsure when to use a hyphen? Confused as to how to use footnotes? Never even heard of the subjunctive, let alone know how to use it? The bemusingly-titled Sin Boldly! — Dr. Dave’s Guide to Writing the College Paper doesn’t tell you how to begin writing a publication to rival Seren, but actually explains all the types of thing that lecturers are looking for when they mark essays.

Across seventeen chapters, this book covers everything from the format and length of your essay through developing an argument, to proper use of grammar and punctuation. Despite the fact that Dr. Dave is American, the information in his book is important to all students who write in English. Not concentrating on one subject (like English Literature), Dr. Dave’s book is a good reference book for any student who must write essays.

Writing in his own unique, witty and irreverent style, Dr. Dave is very readable and could be quite useful. He provides helpful advice in ways that are easy to understand and apply to your own work. The language he uses is very simple to read, and unlike most dire ‘how-to’ books, he doesn’t try to hide behind big words and make the reader feel inferior and stupid. All in all, this isn’t a bad book, and if you are having trouble with

your essays and are looking for a helpful guide, then this may be useful. It doesn’t explain all the nuances of the English language in the same depth as something like Fowler’s Modern English Usage but will provide a simple starting point. After all, how can you look something up if you don’t know it exists? The best thing about this book is the title — if nothing else, it gives great advice for life. Sin boldly! HHHHI

eral heads, once they reach a height of 150 feet or more the heads become superfluous as they lose all forms of social awareness. From then on the Bollogg takes in nourishment through its pores, which are so big that small animals can easily be ingested and fed into the bloodstream.’ This highly original work is definitely worth a look, not only for the fantastic and imaginative creatures that inhabit it but also for the visual humour which shines through the hundreds of glorious illustrations and for the delightfully creative use of layout and typography (one passage is printed in Wingdings!). Moers combines the fun and surreality of Dr. Seuss, the humour of Baron Munchausen and the style of Douglas Adams, and John Brownjohn’s translation is an effortless read. In all, The 131⁄2 Lives of Captain Bluebear is an enchanting and charming read, full of excellent descriptions and lavish illustrations which are a pleasure to behold. It will appeal to kids of all ages, though it is very wordy, and does at first appear to be quite an intimidating tome (think Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire). Completely worthy of cult status, for the execution if not for the story, The 131⁄2 Lives of Captain Bluebear is perhaps not a book that you’ll be able to read in one sitting, but is something you’ll find yourself returning to again and again. A treasure to own. HHHHH

BOOKS

culture@seren.bangor.ac.uk

WHO WANTS TO

WIN A BOOK? T

he Literary Detective is an anthology of John Sutherland’s three best-selling collections of literary puzzles, Is Heathcliff a Murderer?, Can Jane Eyre be Happy? and Who Betrays Elizabeth Bennett? Investigating brain-teasers such as ‘Why does Robinson Crusoe find only one footprint?’, ‘Why does the invisible man not make himself an invisible suit?’, and ‘Where does Fanny Hill keep her contraceptives?’, Professor Sutherland raises the questions intelligent readers often ask and learned critics rarely answer. His forensic skills take in the pantheon of classic novelists from Defoe and Fielding to Tolstoy, Wells and Woolf, relishing in particular the great masters of British 19th Century realism - Austen, Collins, Dickens and the Brontës. By addressing real-world questions, Sutherland brings literary criticism down from the rarefied heights of academe and into the everyday discourse of ordinary readers who have much expertise of their own which can be brought to bear on the interpretation of classic fiction. In his new introduction, the author quotes from some of the many letters he has received, which amply demonstrate that we can all be astute and entertaining critics. The ‘Sherlock Holmes of Literature,’ as he has been called, John Sutherland reminds us of the sheer pleasure and excitement that great books inspire and of their endless ability to surprise and delight.

And you can win your very own copy simply by answering this impossible question:

What is John Sutherland’s nickname? a. The Sherlock Holmes of Literature b. The Hercule Poirot of History c. The Inspector Gadget of Home Economics Send your answer to culture@seren.bangor.ac.uk, sit back and rub your hands in anticipation of a cracking good read.

SEREN October 2000 13

Changing genes Darwin’s Radio by Greg Bear

hen I first came to this book I was extremely dubious as to whether it would be of any interest at all, or whether it was merely another science fact-ion novel about the end of the human race. However, I was more than pleasantly surprised when I began reading. Although Darwin’s Radio looks like a Richard Dawkins book, Greg Bear has actually written a highly readable, exciting and enjoyable novel. Three apparently unrelated incidents – a disease that affects only pregnant women; the discovery of a mass grave of mutated bodies; and a mummified prehistoric family found in the Alps – converge to reveal a frightening truth that will shake science to its core and change the human race forever. Previously thought of as dormant, ‘junk’ genes that have been part of our DNA for millions of years are suddenly waking. Pregnancies are mysteriously miscarrying; then the women are spontaneously becoming pregnant again without any sexual activity, but their babies are not ‘normal.’ The government begins emergency measures, and world wide panic is not far from taking over. Only three scientists believe that what is happening is not a plague — but can they put faith in their science and go against overwhelming fear, supersition and hysteria? Despite the occasional spouting of scientific (and at the beginning, climbing) terminology, the narrative is easily followable. Even I, an English student whose understanding of science stopped with GCSE Biology was able to grasp what was going on and (I flatter myself somewhat) actually understand to an extent the theoretical concepts that Bear is dealing with. This may be due to the fact that although Bear writes

very convincingly on genetics and so forth, he does not have a science doctorate and is entirely self-taught in this discipline. A slightly sentimental ending provides a certain relief from the mounting tension and anxiety. By the end of the first page I was intrigued, and by the end of the first chapter I was hooked. Each chapter is written from one of the three scientists’ perspectives; Bear moves between them, and so keeps the reader interested and involved, as well showing how the characters’ lives are thrown together and become inextricably entwined. Darwin’s Radio was one of the most compelling reads of the summer, and though all the scientific spiel may occasionally leave one feeling tired, it is a throughly enjoyable book. HHHHI

Yawnmower A

The Lawnmower Celebrity by Ben Hatch

bizarre book. Plain and uninspiring front cover and more than ambiguous title, but actually vaguely readable. A book I would have ignored if I had seen it in a bookshop, but because I had to read it, I was relatively surprised. The novel takes the form of a diary of a young man, aspiring to be a famous author, by the name of Jay Golden. Detailing his life from February through to April, the novel gives an insight to the feelings and everyday frustrations and so forth of this youth and explores how he tries to cope. ‘The reason I’ve kept this diary,’ he explains at the outset, ‘is so Omnibus researchers can piece together my early life when I’m famous. It’ll help them get their facts straight and stop them relying on potentially corrupting sources, such as Big Al’s Golden Delicious Kebabs and Dad, who thinks I’m a prat. My ultimate ambition is to write a great novel which will make me a major authentic voice for a generation.’ Having to work for a living and still living at home, Jay has to cope with the pressures of family life. As well as the ordinary everyday tensions there are more serious emotional traumas — his mother having recently died of cancer, his father struggling to cope (and seems to be stressed about work all

the time) and his younger brother Charlie developing quite serious problems. The young boy seems to think of himself as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Oh dear. On top of all this there is the usual male angst over girls, as Jay fancies his best mate and is unsure whether to make a move or not. However, it’s not all as heavy and depressing as that. This book does actually have moments of humour and wit, and Ben Hatch’s style is quite enjoyable. Although it does cover some serious problems in the life of the character, Hatch doesn’t let the narrative get too bogged down, and he tries to keep the story moving. The diary entries are a good idea they try to show how Jay is feeling in different situations, though, when you have five or more entries per day you start to tire of the whole thing. When I first started reading this book, I thought it was kind of fun and unusual, with moments of humour that made me giggle out loud (such as the episode where Jay and Gemma place a prank call to Paul Daniels, accusing him of abusing rabbits by pulling them out of hats). However, after reading a quarter of the book it was starting to get a bit tiresome and I no longer found anything giggle-worthy. It could have been a good book, but unfortunately it fell short. Maybe I should have ignored it. HHIII

GAMES

14 SEREN October 2000

Games

irst things first. Welcome to the Games section, where Seren delves into the murky high tech world of the internet, but mostly just plays PlayStation games. The more astute reader may have noticed that all of the games reviewed this month are for Sony’s platform. There are two reasons for this: firstly, we only get sent PlayStation stuff (I plan to remedy this). Secondly, I only have access to a PlayStation and a PC. So if anyone out there wants to review N64, Dreamcast or even PS2 stuff, e-mail games@seren.bangor.ac.uk. We need more reviewers for PSX and PC games too. Right, advert over, now for a biased and seemingly random rant. Napster is, as I’m sure many of you are now aware, a piece of software which allows you to search the MP3 files of

thousands (if not millions) of other people. This has proved highly unpopular with music business, because people are downloading ‘product’ for free. This has resulted in a high profile court case in the US with the industry attempting to close Napster down so they can carry on with ripping off the record buying public. Now, I quite like Napster for the simple reason that it combines two of my favourite things: music and getting shit for free. The music industry is terrified by it for the same reason. If I can download the new Radiohead album for free, why should I bother paying an extortionate amount of money for it in HMV? The entire music business is built up around fleecing the fans, and now at last, the fans can fight back. The most unsavoury thing about this whole Napster business of course is that it’s not just the faceless suits with major coke habits who are fighting this battle, it’s the bands

Ribbon racing Vib Ribbon out now for the Playstation

h man. I’m getting flashbacks already. Vib Ribbon is one strange, strange game. And I mean strange as in taking a load of mushrooms and watching all the pretty colours come out of lamp-posts is strange. Inevitably, it’s Japanese. Basically, you play a rabbit who has to run along a ribbon avoiding various obstacles. The game uses only four buttons, one for each kind of obstacle (pits, blocks, loops, waves or a combo there of) and has two-dimensional, wire frame graphics. If this were not odd enough, the obstacles come at you in time to music. There is already music with the game, but Vib Ribbon allows you to use your own CDs to play along to. It is this stroke of genius which elevates Vib Ribbon out of the addictive-but-annoying puzzle game graveyard. Seren recommends playing it to ‘Come To Daddy’ by Aphex Twin. I can see myself getting very bored of Vib Ribbon very quickly, but for now, it’s fun. HHHII

games@seren.bangor.ac.uk

with Dan Hartley

themselves. Struggling artists such as Eminem and Metallica have been in every magazine Stateside bleating about their ‘intellectual property’ being stolen so they lose money. Lars Ulrich from Metallica is now the ugly face of corporate evil, and he and the rest of those money-greedy corporate whores should, in a perfect world, be banned from releasing music forever. Anyway, these morons have no need to be worried. People still like to own albums as artifacts (myself included), so Napster is used more as means of listening to a record before actually walking down to the shops and buying it. Eminem’s Marshal Mathers LP has made him millions of dollars despite being on Napster for months. The reason the industry has panicked however, is that they have seen that the Internet has the power to totally change the way people can listen to music. Napster will be shut down, but this battle is by no means over.

COMPETITION Win a copy of Chase the Express!

Vib Ribbon: no, really

e have one exclusive promo copy of the truly abysmal Chase The Express to give away to one unlucky reader (basically we don’t want it cluttering up our flat). In order to win this example of how not to rip off Metal Gear Solid, merely tell us what you have done to deserve such a horrible, horrible punishment. The more evil or amusing your crime the better, and the winner will be the one whose bad behavior is most hilarious and/or disturbing. Be warned that, legalities permitting, we will print it next month (anonymously of course). To enter, email games@seren.bangor.ac.uk with the subject ‘I’ve been a bad boy/girl’ or drop off a piece of paper at the Seren office.

Chase the dragon

Chase the Express out now for the Playstation

Mere pictures cannot convey the sheer awfulness of Chase the Express

ithout resorting to using bad language, I can’t really describe how much I hate this game. It’s bad. Very bad. Still, the editor probably wants me to actually describe the game or something, so here goes. Some Russian terrorists have taken over a train, which has the French ambassador and his family on it. They also, for reasons never really explained, have a nuclear bomb with them. You play some sort of special agent dude who has to take out the bad guys in the old skool style, which is to say blow the shit out of them. So where does Chase The Express go wrong? Well, the plot is cliched, the graphics are substandard, the voice acting is wholly laughable, and, most unforgivably, the control system is dire. Add to this the fact that there’s a cut scene every time a terrorist is shot or every time you walk through a door, and you have an horrible, unplayable pig of a game. There’s really no excuse for releasing (or playing) Chase the Express; if you like this sort of game, then check out the full blown zombie mayhem of Resident Evil, the sweaty, disturbing claustrophobia of Silent Hill or the cinematic flair of Syphon Filter instead. Avoid Chase the Express like you would any train full of terrorists. HIIII

GAMES

games@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 15

Buddy movin’ F1 flop Team Buddies out now for the Playstation

Formula 1 2000 out now for the Playstation

ypical, innit? One day, the Buddies are happily dancing away to nosebleed hardcore music in a marquee; the next, someone drops crates full of bazookas and automatic weaponry in their midst, turning them instantly into Satan’s own Weebles as they begin blowing each other to pieces. Despite the game’s cartoony graphics, this is full-on evil. The violence is bad enough, but add to that the fact that the Buddies often refer to each other as ‘twat’ and ‘fuck face’ and it doesn’t really add up to wholesome family entertainment. The game is split into missions. These missions, without fail, involve killing every member of the other team, while, for example, picking up litter. In order to achieve this, you need to stack the weapon crates scattered around each level to build up your armoury and, more importantly, you need other buddies to help you out, with a maximum of four per team. Seren’s advice is to build your team up as quickly as possible then equip them with tanks. Heh heh heh. Team Buddies is a good laugh, especially in two player

Some mayhem, yesterday mode. The amount of weapons available is rather limited, but I’ve only seen the game’s early stages, so things may improve later on. It’s also hideously addictive, and has swearing, damn it. Buy it now! HHHII

hrills! Spills! All your racing heroes! Experience them all in this unique and exciting game... if only. I don’t have a problem with the graphics. They may be a bit basic for the era that beckons in the PS2, but as bog-standard racing game graphics go, they’re fine. What I do have a problem with, though, is the annoying twiddly rock soundtrack that begins to really grate after the first minute or so. And don’t even get me started on Murray Walker’s commentary on the races. Also, don’t expect to be able to win the races or even contend with the other cars, because the controls are rubbish. You either can’t steer the damn car or you turn it full circle by accident. If you get really annoyed with the race, you can always try and ram the other cars off the track, but unfortunately there are no explosions or carnage. Just skid marks. There is a limit to how much you can actually do, since you need to actually score points to open up the bonus screens; and arcade, two player and Grand Prix soon loose their limited charm. I suppose if you have the patience, you could make this game last FOREVER because it’s so very hard — but if you want a better game them it won’t be exactly hard to find one. HHIII Lola Kidney

Who does? Eidos!

Darien Graham-Smith explains all things Eidos

idos have been bombarding us with bits of paper over the summer. At first they wanted to let us know about Daikatana, which came out for the PC way back in June, but they didn’t really have anything very interesting to say about it. Then they tried to interest us in Sydney 2000, ‘the official video game of the Olympic Summer Games,’ which should be available for PC, Playstation and Dreamcast by the time you read this. It simulates at least eleven events (the press release is a bit cagey as to whether there might be more) and allows up to eight players to compete simultaneously (people who bought Dreamcasts are limited to four players by way of punishment). It’s described by Eidos not as a game at all but as a ‘graphical showcase,’ and they assure us that ‘no detail has been spared,’ and that ‘the game features high-resolution graphics incorporating the latest motion capture technology, provided by Olympic athletes.’ Amusingly, the development team is called ‘Attention to Detail.’ Their next letter was all about the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? computer game, released for the PC, Playstation and Dreamcast on September 29th. ‘Now people will be able to play the game at home just as if they were in the studio,’ Chris Tarrant supposedly enthuses, ‘and like the TV programme this game is just as addictive.’ If you still harbour any doubts as to the calibre of the product, Eidos is keen to let you know that ‘all rounds are accompanied by music from the show and the legendary voice of the one and only Chris Tarrant ... you can even experience the authenticity of ‘Phone a Friend’ with prerecorded answers including male, female and regional accents.’ Then came the stirring news that five old Eidos games have been reduced from whatever they used to cost to just £12.99. They are Championship Manager 3 (‘takes management realism to a new level’); Revenant (‘Locke embarks on quest that will take him through a myriad of sinister locations, collecting magic

Welcome this man into your home with Eidos items and battling a host of fearsome monsters’); Commandos BCOD (‘push your daring and tactical ability to the limit’); Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver (‘Raziel must negotiate puzzles, overcome traps and defy blood-chilling enemies’); and Braveheart (‘a game of epic proportions, combining real-time strategy with 3-D action’). A bargain at just £64.95 for the five. Barely had we managed to assimilate all this information than another missive

appeared, this time proudly boasting that Eidos has acquired the rights to ‘publish Playstation and PC versions of a game based on Chicken Run.’ Reading between the lines it does rather appear that no such game presently exists, but the news was still welcome. Of little more moment was the discovery that Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver 2 was no longer being developed for the Playstation but had ‘shifted’ to the Playstation 2. Still, here at least Eidos was able to tell us something

about the game itself: ‘like its predecessor,’ they revealed, ‘Soul Reaver 2 features real-time environment morphing and continuous data streaming.’ Long weeks then passed before we heard from Eidos again; but at last they came through with full details of Power Stone 2, released last week on Dreamcast. ‘Power Stone 2 is the sequel to the critically-acclaimed Power Stone,’ they explain. ‘Power Stone 2 is set in the 19th century where superstitions and legends are alive and well. A mysterious floating castle emerges from the earth and casts a shadow over the entire world. The master of this castle is the evil Dr. Erode, who has captured all of the Power Stone fighters for reasons unknown. What is Dr. Erode’s diabolical plan?’ It’ll cost you just £39.99 (plus the cost of a Dreamcast) to find out. Seemingly energised by this mystery, Eidos then moved quickly to warn us that ‘there’s terror in store,’ which is to say that Resident Evil 3: Nemesis is released this month for the PC. Gamers will be stunned to learn that ‘Resident Evil 3: Nemesis will allow gamers to take advantage of “live selection,” a feature that enables them to make decisions that affect the story’s outcome.’ Aside from this it seems the major differences between the game and its predecessor are Nemesis’ new ‘Random Item Placement’ feature, which ‘means that items appear in different places each time the game is played, allowing many more outcomes and hours of gameplay’; and its promise of ‘more challenging enemies that come back to life at any time.’ And there they left it, save for a brief epistle just a few weeks ago to spill the beans on Tomb Raider Chronicles, out on PC, Playstation and Dreamcast in November. It seems the game will comprise four episodes from Lara’s past, none much different from any other Tomb Raider game, and the PC version includes a level editor. Anything else? ‘The linear nature of the each adventure enables goals to be easily identified,’ burbles the press release. Thought not.

TRAVEL

16 SEREN October 2000

Travel F

or a long time, I’ve had some very serious doubts about holidays. A general mistrust of the word and scepticism of the concept. This may sound strange to you closed-minded Ibiza loiterers out there, but I have gradually come to the conclusion that holidays are absolutely impossible as the rest of the world simply does not exist. Bangor is there, granted. As is a stretch of railway that takes me from here to Leicester and back again whenever my ‘parents’ need a bit of financial buttering up. Chester is there; London is there; but everything else? I’m not so sure. All those places in the atlas, who’s to say that they aren’t just pretty brown blobs of ink, and nothing else? For instance, I theorise that anyone claiming to be an inhabitant of Worcester is merely working for the PR division of Lea and Perrin, creating a fictional image for that strange tasting sauce. I know people from Worcester; this argument seems fair. You may merely label me a badly-travelled person, but I believe it to be more than this; much, much more. I’ve been trying so hard to avoid that darn white balloon that follows me everywhere that I’ve not been thinking clearly enough about existence. Anglesey? Right on our doorstep, had me convinced for years. But it’s not really there. It’s merely a giant communal mirage brought on by Bangor’s watereddown beer. Accept it, it’s the truth. Do you see? Do you? All you students who claim to have been to other places, what proof is there that you are not merely government plants, sent here to confuse my questioning mind? I’ve seen The Matrix, none of this could be real (actually, I quite hope that’s the case: I’d love a go at that trippy kung fu stuff). However, I have been asked to write a travel feature, so for now I’m gonna have to give you the benefit of the doubt and concede that, say, Trinidad does whatever a Trinidad does. But, thinking about it, this could be helpful to me: you, the Seren reader, could obtain the priceless information I desire, proof, proof of outside existence. You shall be my

liondonkey@seren.bangor.ac.uk

with Lion Donkey

spies, my trusted minions. Once and for all I can settle this matter. So, based on this ingenious premise, here are your instructions. Firstly, pick a country, any country. As far away as you like. I’ll quite happily pay your fare. I give you free rein; just bring me what I need. Now, you could take one of those floating things, bit like a barge, I believe they are called ferries. Use this ‘ferry’ to cross an ocean (like big, big, wide, wide puddles, I’m told) and dismount at the destination it

You shall be my spies, my trusted minions. provides you with. Take a plane if you like. I’ve no problem with that. Whilst you’re at it, you could test another theory of mine. I believe that what you foolish people see out of plane windows when you’re ‘flying’ is merely a back projection onto the wall of the airline hangar. Just like in old cowboy movies when they’re not really riding a horse through a desert, just past a painted image of Snake Valley, or whatever. Try breaking some window-glass next time: nothing will happen. They make all this fuss about you all being sucked out and killed, but in fact, all you’ll get for your troubles is a bewildering stoup of arrant beer fumes given off by the air crew teeheeing at you from the hangar floor. Give it a try. Alternatively, you could use my special method of getting around: teleportation. It happens all the time in Bangor. Haven’t you noticed? Think about it; you get out of Time, completely wrecked, and climb all the way up Glanrafon Hill, but somehow it seems to take two or three minutes less than it usually would. It’s teleportation. On a small scale, I’ll give you that, but it is still the genuine article. Getting all the way to ‘France’ would be trickier, but I’ve had a stab at working it out. It usually takes me five minutes to get up the hill, with eight pints reducing this to three minutes.

Thus, a quick jump to Paris would require approximately 720 pints. You could manage that couldn’t you? I am at present conducting experiments to ascertain if this works with marijuana as well. My work so far has been inconclusive: I shall doggedly persevere. However, I digress. Yes, teleportation is an option in your mission, but it’s really up to you. Go somewhere famous, somewhere exotic; have a look at that Eiffel Tower. I’m pretty damn sure it’s just a three foot model. After all, how do you think they got their millennium fireworks to look so good? It’s far cheaper on a smaller scale. Once you reach your ‘destination,’ take as many photos as you can: all evidence is vital, I want bone fide proof that Calais does exist. As soon as I have these photos my ultra-perception ray will give me the answers to my questions, asssisted of course by my secret ‘scissors-paper-stone’ method of deduction. When you have your photos, get me some biological specimens: natives; ‘citizens’ of your holiday destination. Putting a big black sack over their heads seems to be the most effective means of capture. Bundle them into something discreet and bring them to me. In the past, any locals my spies have returned have crumbled to dust upon crossing the border: I am hoping these were freak occurrences. Once I have them I can carry out all manner of weird shit, lobotomies, enemas, just general surgery stuff. From this I can discover which secret government agency is employing them, and the exact extent of their mind-warping megalomania. Do you understand? You will be paid handsomely for your work, and I may call on you again in the near future. I know you probably just want to go on holiday for a bit of fun or romance, but frankly, that’s just not on. Think of the peace of mind you can instil in the citizens of Bangor in letting them know that the furthest edge of the pier does not tumble into the Great Waterfall of Planets and that Bangor is not flat. Get it sorted. I also have a theory that Richard and Judy are not actually married. Be calm. I require a full investigation. If proven correct, this information could rock society to its core. The existence thing might cause a bit of a stir, I guess. Go to it! Lion Donkey out.

Sit down next to me Cheapo travel doyens Buzz have been surveying again...

icture the scene. You’ve finally overcome your Concorde-death-toll-related fear of flying and have just climbed aboard a 747. You’re a tad short-tempered, and you fear your luggage may have been maliciously mislaid by the airport staff. You’d been hoping to see that camp guy off the docu-soap, but they all turned out to be faceless corpses hungry for brrraaaaiinnns... sorry, tickets. Basically, you’re at the end of your tether. You sit down and gaze out of the window: it’s very small, which annoys you too. Suddenly you hear a commotion from the rear of the plane. You turn to see that two pop star entourages have entered the working class section of the plane. How strange. Moreover, you suddenly realise that these famous people are, in fact, Robbie Williams and Liam Gallagher! They seem to be on the verge of fisticuffs (as always) as they both struggle to find a seat in the nearly full plane, pushing and shoving their way towards you. You look to the seat to your left, where you have earlier placed your bag in the hope of warding off any Harry Hill weirdoes (‘On a plane? Gone insane!’). You have the power to seat either one of these megastars. But wait! Robbie’s a cocky self-fancying arse! Why would you want to sit next to him? But wait! Liam’s a wife-slapping, unwashed, cocked-up, badgerraping zombie! Which of these two evils would you opt to share your personal flightspace with? This exact situation has shaped mankind throughout history. When Hitler let Musso-

lini sit next to him on the Austria-Venice Express, bad stuff happened. When John decided to sit next to Paul on the Sgt. Pepper merry-go-round, good stuff happened. But fear not, brave and confused Seren reader. Those kind, piss-happy people from Buzz (‘the low cost airline!’ it says ‘ere, Mary!) have been twiddling their thumbs and jumping on people outside Virgin Megastores across the country to construct an in-depth survey. You may show your appreciation at this point. And they have discovered exactly who you’d pick if an 18-30 backpacking holiday group of superstars came your way. Just in case. It turns out that you people favour dickshowing ex-Take Thatters over slack-brained Wonderwalls, as Robbie won by a beer-belly sized 83%. I would usually take this opportunity to jump on the ‘Oasis are doooomed’ bandwagon, only I’m not sure if this information HAS ANY VALID MEANING OR PURPOSE. What’s that, editor? Oh, OK... suspend disbelief, suspend disbelief... right, well, sensible now: Robbie would probably insist on ‘meaningfully’ pulling on a jumper from time to time and warbling random lyrics about not wanting to get sea-sick or listen to an antipop DJ. What were you thinking of? Then again, Liam is a twat. If the choice were instead between the two halves of the UK’s Densest Celebrity Couple™, Posh’s sharp wit won out over hubby Becks’ shining charisma by 66% to 34%. I can see that result causing quite a schism in their tightly-knit village idiot comedy double act. The battle of the UK’s

‘Captain... Geri’s hogging the window!’ Most Perfect Couple was tighter, with publicspirited Tony winning out by 16% over forcedgrinner Cherie. 74% favoured Charles over Camilla, though I suspect the result might have been different were voters offered the third option of leaping from the plane at thirty thousand feet. I guess if the so-called Chancellor of our University made the effort to come down to Time once in a while to share a few drinks, then I might be prepared to use my mum’s Royal Wedding crockery; but I’d still secretly harbour a burning middle-class hatred against him and all he represents.

Buzz had many more similarly-angled statistics to share, but frankly they were a bit shit, so we fed them to the Seren newshound. Nevertheless, the lessons are clear. Number one, if you ever see anyone brandishing a clipboard, run. Number two, airline PR departments should be kept well away from cocaine. And number three, don’t waste your valuable student years reading articles that have no interest in or respect for their subject matter. You hear me?! Don’t do it! Turn the page now! Now, goddammit! NOW! Sorry Buzz. Please don’t sue. ‘Mad’ Johnny Morris

liondonkey@seren.bangor.ac.uk

The Secret of Funky Highlands

TRAVEL

SEREN October 2000 17

Places of Our World No. 4: Borneo

There’s more to Scotland than Bagpuss

n a drastic attempt to get down with the Staines posse and strut their country’s funky stuff, the Highlands of Scotland Tourist Board have invested in a hip and trendy new website, aimed at attracting the youth of our fair nation. The website is cunningly and mischievously titled www.wannabethere.com and is aiming its bad self squarely at the 16-35 age range. That means us. Its aim is to give the flowing Highlands a more ‘contemporary feel,’ give them some street cred and increase the peace. All credit to them. The package (developed from the European Regional Development Fund) is the first, the premier, the leader, the king of a

series of ‘forward thinking and focused nichemarketing programmes.’ Whoah. Quote time: ‘We already compete successfully with international competitors for this market.’ Yeah, right. David Noble, Chief Executive of HOST said that. ‘Over 660,000 visitors between 16 and 35 are excited each year by the idea of discovering more about what is, perhaps, Europe’s greatest landscape.’ Ah, Mr Noble, methinks thou protestest too much. Anyway, the site offers experiences that us youngens might quite like — extreme climbing! Mountain scrambling (is that like cookery, man?)! Surfing and... rafting! How can you possibly resist? No, wait! Read Seren first!

Borneo is a small, robust nation just east of Java. It is home to seven million Canadian Turks, who spend their days dancing among the warm sands of their native land, dangling scorpions and practising the art of mime. The country’s vast mountain range dwarfs even the Sahara Desert, and its volcanic stuff is second to none. Airline tickets to Borneo are available from the Union Shop. 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DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX• DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•DOGBOX•

The Littlest Hobo says:

Three Scottish women try to fly

‘Woof. Hi, everyone. Just travelling through. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wanna settle down; until tomorrow, I’ll just keep moving on. My advice for this month is simple: do not let others control the mind that you hide even from yourself. Woof.’

STA me kitten Other cheapo travel doyens STA Travel haven’t been forgotten

TA Travel wants you! — to know that it’s a worldwide organisation specialising in student and young independent travel. In fact, they’ll go further. STA Travel is the only worldwide organisation specialising in student and young independent travel. Straight up. It says here. Every visitor to www.statravel.co.uk is promised ‘flexible, discounted student and under-26 worldwide flights, three levels of insurance designed for the independent traveller, plus discount cards for students and those under 26.’ STA also offers such foibles as a help desk for lost passports and other mishaps that accepts reverse-charge calls. So if you’re a student or under 26 and you fancy a plane ticket, you know where to go. But before you do, be warned: according to this press release, ‘STA Travel is sticky!’ In odious ‘new media’

jargon this means people keep using it once they’ve found what they were originally after. STA Travel reckons visitors will become adhered to its site on the strength of such dubious attractions as ‘celebrity travel tales from Jamie Oliver to Paul Oakenfold’ and ‘the latest travel tips from online travel correspondent Anna, reporting back on her adventures around the world.’ I guess it’s a case of sticky is as sticky does; but should you find yourself missing lectures/meals/ illicit trysts through inability to drag yourself away from selected extracts from the Lonely Planet guide to Dubai, don’t say you weren’t warned. As a parting shot, STA Travel takes a moment to rationalise its business model with the encouraging statistic that ‘60% of students surveyed would consider buying travel online.’ Will this translate into tangible sales? Bangor, it’s up to you.

Where an image is not available, Seren’s editorial policy is to publish a picture of a Zoid

EDITORIAL & LETTERS

18 SEREN October 2000

letters@seren.bangor.ac.uk

was woken by a woman’s voice. ‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ she said. The tone was friendly, but there was a steely edge to her voice that strongly implied that a less friendly tone was available should I plan on sleeping further. I opened my eyes and looked around me to discover myself in a small room filled with bulging suitcases, packed banana boxes and piles of books and records. Standing over me was my mother; yes, that made sense. Now I recognised where I was: I was back in London. How could that be? Why was I here? Suddenly I realised that the luggage surrounding me was my own, and by the look of it I’d packed to be away from University for a long time. I cursed my inability to think straight. Why was I here? What the hell had I been drinking all that sparkling wine for last night anyway? And then I remembered. Yesterday I had graduated. I wasn’t in ‘my’ room because that room was no longer mine. It was empty. And next year someone else would be living there. Someone else would fill it with their things, decorate it in their style and stamp their own identity on it. All the laughter and tears I had known in that room were

time in our lives, we could be the people who, deep down, we’d always hoped we were. A home where we always knew we were good enough. A home where we always knew we had each other. We thought nothing could break up the old gang. We were wrong.

I over and finished forever. And then I thought of the friends who had made those times, waking up in beds across the country, each one facing the blank future alone. We had come from so many different places, looking for so many different things, yet over our three years together we had built our lives around each other. We had found together a home where, for the first

letters to the editor Down down, you bring me down Sir — I feel bad. Real bad, you know, like a bad that can only be represented by a black force field taking over your life, bad like the feeling you get when you stub your toe in the morning, black like a pitch black, moulding dog in space without stars. At night. God man, so bad, so fucking bad. I’ve started using your magazine for toilet paper and sometimes I bind them all together to make a hammock. Hope you still love me, just as I love you. I’m going to kill you all. All the best. The Dean Seren replies: Perhaps, just perhaps, some day someone will send us a decent letter.

I have to praise you like I should Sir — I am writing to congratulate you on your great success. I have followed your progress for many years, the consistent charm and vigour of your work continues to astound me, and I shall continue to support you until I reach my deathbed. You were also very good in Silence of the Lambs, and even The Edge was ok. Sorry you hate us Welsh people. Love you! A fan Seren replies: Perhaps, just perhaps, some day someone will send us a decent letter.

For all the things you’ve said Man — Thought I’d drop you guys a line to pass on a real good tip for the smokers out there. If you think you’re coming down with a cold or summat that’ll leave you with a cough – not one of them coughs that we smokers have anyway but those nasty fuckers that you can’t get rid of for months, even

if you cut down of the fags – anyway yeah, if you think you’re getting one of those, then steer clear of stuff like sweet and sour chicken. I’m telling you. I had sweet ‘n’ sour the other night then I had this coughing fit, hacked up some phlegm that was fucking red, dude! I thought it was blood! Scared the shit outta me, I can tell you. Still, it did me some good — I’ve cut right down to two packs a day. N. O’Teene Seren replies: Perhaps, just perhaps, some day someone will send us a decent letter.

Please, please, tell me now Sir — You suck! Hurhurhurhurhur! Anonymous Seren replies: Perhaps, just perhaps, some day someone will send us a decent letter.

I thought I heard you calling my name now

An open letter to Huw Harries (Bars Director), the SU Executive and Seren:

Dear Huw — I have recently begun attending the Yoga sessions in Jock’s Bar. I must compliment your group on using this space in such an effective way, and I look forward to continuing in these sessions. However, the session on Wednesday 4th October from 12pm-1.30pm was badly interrupted by bar staff. It is not conducive to a Yoga session to have people chatting loudly behind the bar and noisily running the pipes. Would it not be possible to have bar activities at other times? It’s particularly bad when the sessions are just starting up and people are easily swayed by a single bad session. Also, would it be possible for the floors to be cleaned before sessions? Much of

t will happen to you too. One morning you’ll wake up and your whole world will be gone. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Just enjoy your student days while you can. Gaudeatis, igitur. Make the most of your new life. Sure, Bangor is small, remote and (it can often seem) stagnant with cliques and clichés. But nobody leaves without a pang of regret. Here unbreakable bonds are made, hearts are won and lost, whole lives are mapped out; because here, probably for the first time, you are free. So jump in feet first. The later you leave it the less time you’ll have. In T2 Burrell’s Field that same window-seat still looks out over the same bridge into those same gardens. But I can never sit and gaze into the gardens again. Carpe diem.

Yoga involves lying on the ground, which is obviously not pleasant on a filthy floor covered with miscellaneous bits. Once these difficulties are resolved, the class will be absolutely wonderful, and I look forward to further sessions in the SU. Ieuan Hopper

Huw Harries replies:

Dear Ieuan — Further to your letter regarding the Yoga sessions in Jock’s Bar on 4th October, I was sorry to hear your session was less enjoyable due to the unexpected disturbances from behind the bar. However, the Entertainments Department who had booked the room had informed me that sessions started at 2pm on Mondays and Wednesdays. The pipe cleaning was scheduled to avoid your Yoga session, but unfortunately, due to the mix-up in times, the bar staff had no choice but to continue the process without risking damage to the equipment. Now that your timetable has been clarified the pipe cleaning shall be carried out at a different time so that no further interruptions will occur. I am sorry I cannot explain why the floor was dirty, as the cleaners finish at 12pm and the floors are cleaned every day. Electrical contractors have been carrying out work in Jock’s Bar. Maybe on that particular day the cleaners found that they could not clean the floor thoroughly. I hope this letter goes some way towards satisfying your queries. Huw Harries, Bars Director

Cute little heartbreaker Sir — I am writing with regard to the article on the Surf Team poster carried in the last issue of Seren. You don’t know if Frankie O‘Dowd is single do you? She’s foxy. Peace out, dudes! ‘President of the Surf Club’

Yaa, yaa, yaaa... Sir — Which mothafucker stole my flow? Eeney, meeney, miney mo? Busta R. Seren replies: Perhaps, just perhaps, some day someone will send us a decent letter.

Let’s hear it for the boy Sir — Another term, another incompetent Union team to cope with... but what’s this? Is it possible I saw the SU President giving out NUS cards? Can it be that one of the almighty Sabbatical members is actually willing to muck in with the volunteers? Well done to this year’s president for starting on a great foot — I’m most impressed. And I noted it was his idea to put porn-star-names in the ‘other’ box of the cards. Nice one! Myfanwi Raybone

Watch me now

An open letter to Malcolm Swan (Estates Manager) and Seren:

Sir — I am a resident of Glanrafon Hill and was alarmed to read in Saturday’s Daily Post that last week women were assaulted in two separate incidents on the hill. One assault took place at 8.15am. Neither woman was seriously injured, but either could have been: I was assaulted and injured on the hill a few months ago. A number of women I know have been threatened on the hill which, despite improvements in lighting, is still dark, overgrown, and often deserted. Two years ago I sat with you in a meeting of the Bangor Liaison Group and heard you say that the University would install a camera on Glanrafon Hill. The hill has since undergone massive improvements costing hundreds of thousands of pounds, but there is still no camera. Our local councillor tells me that the University has agreed to place one camera at the junction of Holyhead Road and College Road. I can see a reason for locating a camera here - to keep an eye on the cashpoint and people outside Albins - but College Road is a better-lit and much more public place than Glanrafon Hill. The camera will simply force the undesirables beyond its scrutiny, and will if anything make the hill more dangerous. Glanrafon Hill is the main pedestrian thoroughfare between Upper and Lower Bangor. It is extremely busy much of the time but there are also periods when it is empty. Many female students are obliged to walk up the hill, often alone. A camera at the junction of the footpath know as ‘the chimney’ would monitor both Brynteg and the lower part of Glanrafon Hill, as well as deterring the constant littering and vandalism. It is only a matter of time before someone is seriously injured here, and it is likely to be a student. Will you wait for that to happen before some reasonable safeguards are put into place? A concerned local resident

Don’t go wasting your emotion: send it all to letters@seren.bangor.ac.uk!

editor@seren.bangor.ac.uk

Give me excess

WHATEVER

SEREN October 2000 19

Maximum Overdraft performed by Rostra on 3rd October

he sketch show is a dodgy business. On TV we’re bombarded with the supposedly hilarious comedy stylings of Smack the Pony, Goodness Gracious Me and the infinitely more amusing The Fast Show and Armstrong & Miller. Still, as UWB’s firmestestablished drama society, Rostra can afford to take the gamble. Their first sketch night, Extreme Bungee Croquet, was very popular — enough to warrant a sequel, in fact. Maximum Overdraft was staged in the humble surroundings of Jock’s Bar on 3rd October to anyone who had a spare two pounds. True to the nature of sketch comedy, the show was extremely hit and miss. James Dawson wowed the crowd with his bizarrely hilarious performance as a raving vicar, and you’ve probably heard the one about the student Jesus. The idea of a hapless, ‘fashionably-late’ Jesus arriving in Bangor (having missed Chester) complete with a Thomas – ‘I seriously doubt that’ – and a pint-swilling Judas is deliriously wicked and was played with tongue firmly in cheek. Another real treat was a Pythonesque sketch wherein a young couple is scared away from a flat by another prospective buyer masquerading as the estate agent. The part could have been written for John Cleese, with its eccentricity and very subtle touches. However, Ian Fallon was perfectly adequate, and from the audience’s reaction it was clear that this was a favourite. Unfortunately, this fresh, energetic style of comedy did not carry through to all of the sketches. The cast struggled to make the most of the overlong and tedious ‘Chairman of the Board’ sketch, which had a certain charm that was sadly lost in the heavy dialogue. The ‘Vampire’ sketch also limped along,

saved only by the clever film parodies and Paul Carlon’s excellent Romanian accent. The potential, and some of the dialogue, was there, but sadly it ended poorly and without ever really making me laugh. By and large, the cast was all top-hole, old chap, as the ‘Public School Boyz’ from one sketch would say, but there was an annoying tendency for some actors to play each role with the same traits. Chris Chapman could give Jim Carrey a run for his money, but it would have been nice to see him in a different kind of role. Maximum Overdraft was definitely head and shoulders above its predecessor, and, unlike Extreme Bungee Croquet, had a clear beginning, middle and end. The ‘Porn Star’ sketch was clever, but I’m not sure if we really needed to see Frankie O’Dowd in her underwear — the world isn’t ready for that... yet. The final Riverdance was a nice idea, but after about thirty seconds the novelty faded. What is so funny about people jiggling around? Overall the night was a resounding success and even the weaker sketches were amusing after a couple of pints. Bangor needs more of these shows, and Maximum Overdraft was a breath of fresh air to all of us comedy-starved students. It might not be everybody’s bag, baby, but with this show Rostra have proved that they can be both original and funny without the aid of a Terry Pratchett play. Lola Kidney

Frankie Endowed; Christopher Woodward

Seren and UWB Photographic Society present

Picture this

This picture was voted the most popular photograph at the Photographic Society’s Easter exhibition. The society holds a monthly contest for best picture, with the winner being reproduced in these pages. If you’d like to enter, email bangor_photo_soc@hotmail.com or phone Mike the Chairman on 01248 372340 / 07989 550793.

seren

Students’ Union, Deiniol Road LL57 2TH Tel: 01248 388017 Fax: 01248 388020 Editor Assoc. Editor Production EMB Analysis AOB Games Lifestyle Music News

Darien Graham-Smith Chris Chapman Julie Neild Ian Fallon Karl Sadil Lola Kidney Dan Hartley Anthea Kessler Clare Lewis Kevin Shoesmith Adam Pearson

If you want to get involved, Seren meets in the SU Media Room at 1pm every Sunday. Everyone welcome: no experience required, just enthusiasm.

Shadows by Steve Disney

20 SEREN October 2000

ANY OTHER BUSINESS

aob@seren.bangor.ac.uk

Sunday, bloody Sunday EMB sounds off about a wasted 14.28% of his life

The virtues of smoking S The highlight of a Sunday evening at home

ell me why! I don’t like Sundays. Tell me why! I don’t like Sundays… it’s not a typo. Relax. I genuinely think Sundays are the Devil’s work. I know that’s fairly controversial, what with it being ‘God’s day’ and all that, but if you leave that Christian mythology aside for your bible-bashing meetings you’ll see, as I have, that Sundays are evil. You see, Mondays are good. Contrary to popular belief, Monday is not the worst day of the week. Give it some thought before you side with the masses on this. I’m a student, like the vast majority of you out there who are reading this, so I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work at a job that I hate, that doesn’t inspire me in any way, shape or form. Even if you are ‘unfortunate’ enough to have lectures on a Monday then you can still arrive late (or not at all), hungover or just dog tired, and be at more or less peak efficiency. Take a fucking nap if you’re really that bad on a Monday morning. The lecturers have seen it all before and they still get paid regardless of how many people are compost mentis [note to editor dude: help me out on the spelling of this Latin shite, wouldya?] at their lectures. I’m not condoning sleeping in lectures; I’m just pointing out that as students we are not expected to operate heavy machinery. We are not expected to manage vast multinational companies. We are definitely not air-traffic controllers. Anyone who says they like going to lectures is a fucking liar but what I’m trying to say is that at least it’s something to do with your day. I think there’s maybe twenty people in the university who have such huge responsibilities that it’ll take up their entire day: the rest of us just have studying and socialising to cram into each twenty-four hour slot. We have nothing to bitch about when it comes to Mondays! We have it easy and that’s why the great unwashed hate us. That’s why there are so many student jokes. Now Sundays… Sundays have nothing going for them. You can’t socialise properly ‘cos you’re painfully aware that the pubs close early. I know it’s only a half hour, but it’s one forty-eighth of the day that you’ll have to think of something else to do with. And when you’ve been trying to fill the rest of the week with things to do, by the time you get to Sunday, you’ll be starting to run out of ideas. Do the maths: eight hours of sleep, maybe two and a half hours in the pub that night — you’ve still got thirteen and a half hours left of the day to fill! Okay, you could do some work. Maybe do a bit of research for that essay due in

a month. But almost everyone I have ever known has been a last minute person, assuming they do the work at all. So it’s not what most people think of doing on a Sunday. Saturday night, I think, is the only chance to avoid true Sunday hell. If you can stay out drinking till one, you can squeeze an extra half hour out of waiting for friends. You can take your time getting home. You can watch a film before going to bed. You should be able to push it till three or four in the morning without too much trouble. Sleep for, let’s say… nine hours in a drunken haze. It’s got to be at least midday before you emerge from your pit. Woo-hoo! Half the day dealt with already. It’s not the best time management scheme in the world. Your liver won’t like it in the long run and your entire body will hate it on a weekly basis, but it does work. Now for the next eight hours before you go to the pub again. You can shave a few minutes off for moaning, groaning and bitching about how you feel like you’re dying, but that’s not gonna do it for the whole day. And this is what I’m getting at. There’s nothing to do on a Sunday. Not unless you’re an energetic, outdoorsy type that joined just about every single sporting club at Serendipity. If you did, then I have a whole different bitch for you people. Watch that film again? Could do. Probably won’t be able to remember half of it anyway. Still, that takes another two hours off the total. Only six hours of boredom to get through. Two o’clock. Probably ought to get washed. Two thirty (it’s a nice long shower, okay?). Too hungover to go shopping. Shops close in less than two hours so it’s probably not worth it. Chances are that you did shopping during the week anyway so that’s not an option. There’s nothing to do! I swear to all the gods I don’t believe in, Sundays are so dull. It’s almost enough to make me want to start believing in God just so I have something to do on the Sabbath. So here’s the challenge for all you beautiful people out there: tell me what there is for a tired, unfit, hungover, broke, agnostic, single guy (yeah, appealing, isn’t it?) with a great sense of humour, sensitivity and ‘nice eyes’ (this is just to make me feel better here) to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. What do you win? Well, how about I come along, you show me what’s what, and you get to see your face in these hallowed pages. We can call it the ‘Sunday Review’. Can you beat the current score of 1/5? Or are you just as bored as me? Come on Bangor, challenge me to make the most of my life. Drop me a line on emb@seren.bangor.ac.uk.

moking: it gives you cancer. Most would see this as a bad thing — a hugely bad thing. But with rising life expectancies (old people not dying for ages), the government is having to shell out tons in pensions and dribbling allowances. While the population is getting older there are fewer younger, working, tax-paying people to support them; we are going to run out of money to give to old people. This is where smoking plays its trump card: it kills you at about 65 or less. So well done to all the self-sacrificing smokers! Not only do you die (natural selection at its best, especially since smoking also lowers your sperm count so you can’t reproduce) but you don’t burden the rest of the country with having to support you in your drug- and medical-science-enhanced old age. Smokers not only sacrifice themselves, they also give us tons of money during their short lives. A 20-a-day smoker spends an average of £1,500+ a year, 80% of which is tax, so, um, well, maths isn’t my strong point, but that’s a lot of tax from one smoker. There are thirteen million cigarette smokers in the UK, and two million pipe and cigar smokers, generating a whopping £10.5 billion in tax. The NHS spends £1.7 billion on people who have been made ill by smoking or smoking related causes; so you’ve paid several times over. Well done too you parental smokers for hospitalising 17,000 children under five every year because of your smoke. They don’t need to breathe anyway. Stops them from screaming. Kudos has to go to smokers, ‘cos without you Formula One racing wouldn’t get the £200-300 million in sponsorship that tobacco companies spend on it out of the profits you generate. I rather like fast cars and big crashes, so thanks for keeping it going. Smoking makes men look like James Dean and women look like super models. In their own heads, anyway. So light up a fag, give the government your cash, give your friends passive smoking lung cancer, be an individual — you’re one of 1.1 billion smokers around the world. Help your friends to pull as you become uglier from the 4,000 noxious chemicals you suck in dimming your complexion and messing up your general appearance. Find out your true friends as you reek of stale fag smoke and have permanently bad breath. Come on, you 28% of men and 26% of women who smoke, stand up and shout (if you have the lung capacity) about how proud you are to be a smoker. Frankie O’Dowd

Even Ann Widdecombe used to smoke in her youth

aob@seren.bangor.ac.uk

STALIN SAYS...

ANY OTHER BUSINESS by Rick Dickerson

SEREN October 2000 21

MOLOTOV

LITERATURE David O. MacGowan puts the world to rights

am changing the title of this column. ‘Molotov’. Pathetic. How webellious. A half-hearted cry to my militant past that never actually existed; just paranoia that I turned conveniently round to make out the world was out, really, just to get me, and me alone. ‘Molotov!’ Like I’d ever even slap anyone let alone throw a bottle in a riot. Bollocks. And ‘Literature’. Jesus, I hate that word. An obsession with words and letters, this long in, and I’ve only just realised that caring more about books than about people is about the saddest, most misanthropically fucked-up, weak and hateful thing you can suffer from. That, and voting Conservative (hey, I still got a lil’ bit of the old magic!). Yeah, by all means be political if it’s the politics of the everyday. Because that’s what you can see, that’s what you can talk about any authority, because you have experienced it first-hand, it is real. It’s find-

But Potter represents the fight back! Oh yeah baby! Get out of the way, Abacus! Piss off, Penguin! Bloomsbury’s got childish on yo’ ass, and it’s fab, so up your butt with a coconut and stick YOU! I really want a Firebolt broomstick, and Quidditch is already a million miles better than poxy football ever could be, and it doesn’t even exist. The film’s gonna be great. Hate those kid actors though.

lan McGee, meanwhile, is getting decidedly homophobic on Coldplay’s ass, as it were. Something to do with their soft-spoken, folky indie translating as ‘practically bending over and begging for it up the arse’. Now there’s a sad, bitter wreck of a man. I’m no Coldplay fan, but the assumption that sensitivity instantly means gayness, and that that’s bad, is just astonishing... but, like Eminem’s sad worldview, maybe the best way of dealing with

Isn’t it weird how totally unshocking modern attempts at shock-rock are? ing racist graffiti, or seeing sexism in a pop song or a TV ad, or just recognising a DIVIDE when you see one. But I don’t want to pretend any more that I’m some quasiChuck D figure storming the barricades, when if I were confronted by said barricades I’d probably much rather doodle a band logo on them and shuffle off quietly. So, the Beatles have split, Labour are in, life goes on, everything’s connected, and there’s good and bad in everything etc etc. Right. Now I’ve got it. Okay. I can breathe now. Enter: ‘Uncreate’. Hey, one likes the sound of it. Bare bones, and all that.

succumbed over the summer to the Harry Potter ‘phenomenon’. Like Star Wars, Slipknot and MSN Hotmail, this is one bandwagon I’m only too happy to jump on. If you’re not yet acquainted with the young wizard, ignore the ‘we’re still with it’ back-cover quotes from the likes of the Independent On Sunday. All that ‘quality fiction all ages can enjoy’ guff is just a smokescreen, from the kind of people who made necessary ‘adult’ reprints of the books with ‘mature’ new jackets to hide the horror of what ‘childishness’ lies within, or whose only admiration of J.K. Rowling comes from the size of her bank balance. The fact is, they’re bloody good books! Harry isn’t ‘a creation of genius,’ but that’s the point. You more or less know these stories already. The starting-school nerviness, the making friends, the finding of good versus evil, the magic, the being drawn to the temptations of the ‘dark side’... you’ve been here before, ever since you were born. Joanne Rowling’s tales are as simple and as old as they come and she deserves your LOVE because in this horrid grown-up world too many people just want to churn out modern ‘romances’ (Come Together, It Could Be You, Bridget Yawns) that are just Mills & Boon for the irony generation. Simple stories get shoved on the kids’ shelf or funnelled into quaint sub-genres (‘you don’t like science fiction do you!?’).

media big-gobs like this really is just to laugh at them. And not buying their records might help just a tad too. So much for McGee’s Poptones label spearheading some 21st Century alt.culture revolution. How I cringe at my predictions now. Talking of Eminem, isn’t it weird how totally unshocking modern attempts at shock-rock are? An obvious observation, but it makes me feel better repeating it. It’s probably the one reason to feel lucky at being so British and ironic and knowing and postmodern. In America, Marilyn Manson was proclaimed a virtual walking Antichrist, while here most people find him a harmless clown with Alice Cooper stage antics turned up to eleven and a goth makeover. It almost makes one yearn for the mind of a redneck, if only to remember what it was liked to be shocked and gripped and excited in whatever way by something as silly as pop music. Why do we actually need shock bands? The best reasons are the genuine ones, the ignition of some kind of cultural movement, however vague, not some perceived and media-influenced ‘generation gap.’ Look at the non-revolution of Britpop circa ‘95 — a generation’s attempt at self-definition that depended on a generation bridge! Punk and acid house were the UK’s last shock music movements, and we know how time has weakened their impact. Slipknot, despite gig cancellations, clearly aren’t in the Sex Pistols league of things, as HMV and the like are only too happy to openly sell their singles. But musical movements are important springboards for a whole generation of people. Maybe that’s the trouble with the digital age, of having so much choice that everyone’s looking in a different place. Have we seen the last of any ‘this is us’ explosion? I’d be sad if Big Brother is our only heirloom to future historians. Being able to say you were part of something that was really happening, that changed you, means a hell of a lot. Find something, find shock, and catch it in a bottle.

FOOD & DRINK

22 SEREN October 2000

lifestyle@seren.bangor.ac.uk

Food & Drink with Anthea Kessler

ith the start of the new (academic) year we get our second annual chance at making and breaking our New Year’s resolutions… again. Work harder, sleep more, spend less and hey — eat healthier. For the majority of first year students, arriving in Bangor is also the beginning of a new life chapter into adulthood; away from home, more independence and with that more responsibility (yada yada yada). Unfortunately that also includes feeding ourselves.

So say goodbye to the era in which dirty laundry magically reappeared clean and ironed in your cupboard and where a fridge stuffed with all-you-can-eat comestibles came with a content-replacement policy. It’s little wonder that, under the onslaught of new things to do, cooking inevitably falls short because an hour (optimistic estimation) spend slaving over the stove just doesn’t compare well to the fifteen minutes it may take to gulp down the product of your culinary skills. Eventually we all run out of steam when the novelty factor of cooking for ourselves wears off, and then it’s back to fast food and readymade frozen meals. Don’t get me wrong; fast food can occasionally be great and it certainly forms an essential part of the student experience. It’s not, however, something you should exclusively

exist on. Junkfood contains substances such as conservatives, synthetic aroma and white bread that our metabolism cannot handle on a daily basis because fundamentally our bodies only ‘know’ things such as vegetables, fruits and animal produce. Living off fast food is like giving your body the wrong type of fuel in the long run. Like any engine your body will react to this sort of treatment by not functioning efficiently. Try cooking a few times a week when you know you can spare the time. By following a general recipe you should have enough left over to freeze into portions. During the week you could for instance eat whatever you cooked over the weekend. Special cookbooks are available with dishes that take less than an hour to make. This month we present two recipes for quick and easy dishes (and if you don’t like chicken you can use pork or beef mince).

Scrumptiousness Chicken Fricassee with Peas and Mushrooms

A creamy chicken dish that serves four. Cooking & preparation time: approx. 30 minutes. You will need: • 200g onions • 300g mushrooms • 600g chicken (or turkey) • 250ml chicken stock (Oxo chicken cubes are fine) • 200 ml cream • 300g peas (canned or fresh) • 1tsp corn starch • 1tbsp lemon juice • 1tbsp Worcester sauce • Oil, salt and pepper 1 Peel and chop the onions. Slice the mushrooms. Fry the onions until they are transparent then add the mushrooms and cook them at low heat for 5 minutes. 2 Slice the meat into strips, fry until cooked and season with salt and pepper. Add stock, cream and meat to onions and mushrooms and simmer for 8-10 minutes over medium heat. 3 Cook the peas if they are fresh. Mix the starch with a little bit of cold water and stir well until there are no lumps before adding it to the rest of the dish. 4 Let everything boil and then mix in peas. Season with salt, pepper, Worcester sauce and lemon juice, and serve with rice or pasta.

Chicken & Peach

A fruity, easy-to-make dish that goes excellently with rice or pasta. Serves four. Cooking & preparation time: approx. 35 minutes. You will need: • 200g spring onions or normal onions • 800g chicken • Curry powder • White pepper • 2 tbsp oil • 125ml Chicken stock (Oxo chicken cubes are fine) • 280g bean sprouts (canned or fresh) • 250g canned peaches (or apricots) • 1 tbsp corn starch • 4 tbsp mango chutney 1 Cut the onions into fine rings. Slice the meat into small chunks and season it with curry powder, salt and pepper. 2 Heat oil and fry onions at medium heat until almost transparent. Add the meat to the onions and fry it, making sure it is cooked. 3 Add the stock to the meat and onions and let it simmer for 8-10 minutes at medium heat, stirring occasionally. 4 Drain bean sprouts if necessesary and cut up fruit into small pieces. Mix the corn starch with a little bit of the canned juice. Make sure there are no lumps before you stir it into the broth. If you have used fresh bean sprouts you need to cook them first. Add the sprouts and fruits to the ragout and season with mango chutney and salt and pepper.

Golden Syrup Flapjacks

If you think only health freaks eat flapjacks, prepare to be won over. These flapjacks will leave you begging for more. You will need: • 150g butter • 75g brown sugar • 75g golden syrup • 225g porridge oats • Salt

1 Melt the butter, sugar and syrup in a pan. Be careful not to let the mixture boil. 2 Add in the oats and a pinch of salt and stir thoroughly. 3 Press the oat mixture into a 20cm square tin and smooth over the surface with a knife 4 Place tin in the centre of the oven and bake for 25-30 minutes at 190°C (Gas Mark 5) until the mixture is set and golden brown. 5 Mark into portions while still warm and then leave to cool down. 6 Store in an airtight tin (should you have any left after your friends and flatmates are done with them).

A South Park drinking game Simply watch an episode of South Park and take a drink whenever any of the events on the list to the right happens. You can of course make up lists for other shows or add to this one. For variation, you could specify different sorts or amounts of drink for different events.

• The show isn’t a repeat. • Kenny dies. • Rats carry off Kenny’s head (drink twice). • Cartman says ‘son of a bitch!’ • An animal is used or referred to in a sexual manner (e.g. ‘I know a certain kitty, kitty...’). Down your drink if the animal is a pig. • Someone farts (drink twice if it’s lit). • Chef sings. • Chef makes up a word (e.g. ‘metal hoobajoo’). • Mr. Hat swears. • Someone eats or mentions Cheesy Poofs. • Kyle kicks the baby. • Ike says ‘don’t kick the baby.’ • Someone says ‘sweet!’ • Cartman says he’s not fat, just big-boned. • Kenny speaks. • Kyle’s mom is called a bitch (drink twice if Kyle is the culprit). • Anything explodes (down your drink). • Someone calls Cartman a ‘fatass.’ • Cartman says ‘kick ass!’

• Stan pukes on Wendy. • Wendy says ‘ew!’ • Stan gets the crap beaten out of him by his sister. • Chef mentions love. • Cartman says ‘beefcake!’ • Pip makes an appearance. • Special guests appear (e.g. Brian Boitano, Elton John), even during the opening credits. Drink again if the special guest never speaks. • Chef curses. • Chef refers to the boys as ‘crackers.’ • South Park residents pass or gather in front of Tom’s Rhinoplasty. • A visitor appears (credits included). • Officer Barbrady tries to cover up an incident. • Stan knows the moral of the story. • Cartman mentions pie. • Terrance or Phillip farts. • The genetic engineer wants to reform his mad scientist ways. • The genetic engineer uses the word ‘lusciously’. • Someone other than Kenny dies.

SPORT

sport@seren.bangor.ac.uk

SEREN October 2000 23

Sport with Ben Caile G

ood day to you. It would appear there is not a great deal of sport this month; for, my promise to the editor that I still wished to run this section notwithstanding, I have singularly failed to present a single article for publication this issue. Even my editorial has been carefully ghostwritten by the late Rt. Hon. Sir Winston Churchill MP. Thankfully, the accredited Basketball, Badminton and Women’s Rugby teams of the Univer-

sity of Wales in Bangor have seen fit to submit their own reports, copies of which are reproduced below for the express benefit of the general public. Theirs is a fine example, and one which other Union sporting associations would do well to note. The Seren will be proud to carry any report of news both on and off the playing-field received from a bona fide athletic club or society. All that is required is for a gentleman or lady of

Girls with balls Glenys Jones reports from Women’s Rugby

he summer holidays saw nine players and the team’s water-wench descend upon Switzerland. After an entertaining journey across the country with the whole team packed into Patrick the Camper Van we arrived in St. Gallen for the Bishop’s Cup 10’s tournament. Once tents were pitched we met up with our ‘friends’ – the Cardiff Saracens men’s team – and spent the night drinking free beer at the sponsor pub. By Saturday morning we were all fired up to play and, adopting a Hungarian player to make up numbers, we hit the pitch. Having made a name for ourselves the night before, we boosted our reputation by winning our first two matches. By early evening with one match left minds were slowly losing the focus from rugby and turning to restoring our alcohol levels. This led to an unfortunate loss to the Swiss Basel Birds. To reconcile ourselves we quickly hit the beer tent for another night. Sunday morning was more of a struggle to drag players out of their tents for our first match, which also saw us two players short – due to off-pitch injuries caused off the pitch! – and the rest of the team nursing hangovers and suffering sleep deprivation. However, the Sarries kindly lent us one of their players who had been desperate to play with nine mud-covered women since arrival. After somehow winning our first match we went on to win the second, which meant we were through to the final - only to have to face the Basel

Birds again. Unfortunately, they came back stronger than before and beat us in a well-fought match, leaving us all shattered but feeling successful at having come second. A brilliant time was had by all both on and off the pitch, with some great rugby played, some great drinking done and international friendships further strengthened. All came home with good memories (some still blurred) and an impressive trophy — a cow bell. September saw the team welcome many new players to an already-strong squad. Within two weeks many played their first game which saw a good start to the North Wales League, beating Wrexham 47-5. A home match against Bethesda followed and saw another impressive win of 60-0. The team also saw five players represent North Wales on Sunday and score 55 points in a 95-0 win over Liverpool Uni. This gives us confidence, as we are to play them later in the BUSA league, which starts for us with an away match against Edge Hill in three weeks. This year we are looking for a highly successful season, hoping to do even better than last year both on and off the pitch. If you’d like to try rugby or find out more, email Kylie Wilson (team captain) on pep406 or call her on extension 8147 or on 01248 364998 — or just come along on Mondays and Thursdays at 7.30pm on the Ffriddoedd pitch. For more information, email wrugby@undeb.bangor.ac.uk.

good character to take the first step and compose such a report. The second step of dispatching it to yours truly will also be of assistance. Submissions will be received via the electronic mail at sport@seren.bangor.ac.uk. The editor is also pleased to receive handwritten, typed or electromagnetically-inscribed submissions to his office on the second floor of the Students’ Union facility. Harrumph.

Shuttle rocks T

he University Badminton Teams experienced mixed fortunes last week at the start of their Arfon Dwyfor league campaign. The A-team began with a home win over Portdinorwic B by a margin of 9-0. Their second game was against Portdinorwic A. This match was a lot closer, and the final result was not certain until the last few matches. Mark Davies, Mike O’Brien, Colette May and Sue Lee Moss won the last two games to give a scoreline of 6-3. Rob Ogden too had a fantastic match. The B team also played Portdinorwic B and, despite never having played together before, wish some plaing their first ever competitive matches, they won two excellent games. Unfortunately, the final result was 7-2 in Portdinowic’s favour. The B team plays its next match against Portdinorwic A on Tuesday. The Badminton Club have organised a tournament which is open to members of the University on Saturday, 9th December 2000. Entry is £2.50 an event, and entry forms will be available to clubs soon. Nicola Ridgers

BBC does BUSA

Bangor Basketball Club gives details of how to join and details of up and coming matches

he UWB Basketball Club holds regular practice sessions for its members; all levels of skill and ability are catered for. These are on Monday nights 8-10pm at Maes Glas, Tuesday evenings 6-8pm at Normal Site and Saturday afternoons 12-2pm at Maes Glas. During the first few weeks of term all practices are open to both Men and Women. Individual sessions will be arranged once the number of members has been established. Within a few weeks we will be resuming our six days a week fitness regime which, although compulsory for players on the first team, is optional for all other club members. The fitness aspect of the club is also open to non-members for a nominal fee. BUSA (the British Universities Sports Association) matches comprise the majority of the competitive calendar until March 2001. Games are played weekly both at home and away. Visit www.undeb.bangor.ac.uk/basketball or see posters in Maes Glas for more details.

Bradford Tournament

The Bradford Tournament (hosted by Bradford University) is a large basketball competition during the May Bank Holiday Weekend, which this year runs from Friday 4th May to Monday 7th May 2001. The weekend is as much a social occasion, if not more so, as a basketball exhibition. Full details of the tournament will be made available nearer the date.

International 3v3

The International 3v3 Tournament is held annually in Krakow, Poland. We intend to send at least three mixed teams to represent the University against a number of strong sides from all over Europe. Exchanges also provide the opportunity for club members to take the University to their home towns to play against their local teams. Already we have fixtures in Winchester, Grimsby and Dublin. This year we are also looking forward to some extremely tough competition against some of the stars of the Budweiser league.

Club vacation

In gratitude for everyone’s hard work throughout the year we intend to organise a subsidised club vacation in the sun. Ooooh! Sounds like hard work, doesn’t it? The Basketball Club is hoping to host a number of fundraising events, including a club night in the Main Bar. These nights will be hosted by Basketball Club DJ’s, so get your requests in early, and everyone is welcome to attend. Any further ideas for fund-raising would be gratefully received, and can be put to our Social Secretary, Ted Theaker, on 07980 626349.

Membership

Everyone can attend on three occasions prior to joining the club, for which AU membership is

UWB Basketball Club practising in Maes Glas a prerequisite. After these three trial sessions you can continue to participate on joining the club. Membership fees are: Training Member £12; Social Member £8; Fitness Member £5. Fitness Non-Members pay per session. Full details are available on request. Remember, anyone can be a part of Bangor Basketball Club — you don’t even need to play, and you can come down just to lend a hand.

Grab your mates, or just turn up on your own (we’re a friendly bunch, honest), and join in a practice session. If you have any questions about any part of the club, don’t hesitate to contact one of our officials: Club Captain Dan Fowler on 07733 114998; Club Secretary Adam Taylor on 07947 015306; or Club Treasurer Simon Rees on 07968 236634. Alternatively, email us on basketball@undeb.bangor.ac.uk.

george Normal Site

BAR

The Brightest Bar for the Brightest People! Discos, Karaoke, Quizzes and Film Nights

Big-Screen Sky TV, Pool, Darts and PlayStation

Booze at SU prices plus snacks and hot drinks

NEW for Autumn 2000: Good value hot food 11.30am-2pm Evening meals coming soon!

PLUS GUEST NIGHTS:

Eruption (Techno Explosion) Dropzone (Breakbeat, D ‘n’ B, Hardstep) OPENING TIMES Mon-Thurs 10.30am-2.30pm, 7pm-11pm Fri 10.30am-11pm Sat 2pm-11pm Sun 7pm-10.30pm Check SU Ents notice board for future events or ring on 383039 for further details. Bring your NUS card or suitable ID.