Venue - Issue 293 - 11 February 2014

VENUE

SEX ISSUE Will Cockram

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11.02.14

VENUE

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contents

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bombay bicycle club Welcome to Venue’s sex issue!

We’re particularly excited about our content this fortnight, and we’re sure you will be too.

There’s something for everyone: Music have aimed for the softer side of sex with a romantic playlist, while Television has examined LGBT representation. Creative Writing is a grab-bag of everything from failed relationships to cunnilingus and, for those not-so faint of heart, Arts has pushed the boat out with an overview of Shunga, a Japanese form of erotic art.

We’d also like to thank Sophie Pischedda and George Smith for being such great sports during our cover shoot. Getting the silhouette shot right from a technical standpoint was a task in itself, so thank you both for your patience.

FASHION

lingerie shoot

Calling all photographers: Venue would love to have some new and original photography for the front and back covers of our publication. In collaboration with UEA Photo Soc, we will be running fortnightly competitions to showcase talent. Whether you make the cover or not, all entries will be featured in our website’s brand new online gallery. To enter, contact Jonathan Alomoto at ueaphotosoc@gmail.com for more details.

Stay cute, Ciara and Hayden

16 TELEVISION nudity on t.v.

Editor-in-Chief | Sidonie Chaffer-Melley Venue Editors | Hayden East and Ciara Jack Music | Editors | Jack Enright and Alex Flood Music Contributors: Dean Cassady, Lydia Clifton, Hayden East, Jack Enright, Alex Flood, Callum Graham, Jennifer Johnson, Zoe Jones, Charlie Methven, Bridie Wilkinson Fashion | Editors | Madz Abbasi and Ella Sharp Fashion Contributors: Madz Abbasi, Gemma Carter, Rachel Hayllor Arts | Editor | Callum Graham Arts Contributors: Callum Graham, Beth Ryan Creative Writing | Editor | Holly McDede Creative Writing Contributors: Eve Aimee, Joanna Hollins, Oliver Hughes, Alex Munro, Peter Thorn Gaming | Editor | Sam Emsley Gaming Contributors: Kristan Emery, Sam Emsley Television | Editor | Robert Drury Television Contributors: Adam Dawson, Melissa Haggar, James Szumowski Film | Editors | Holly Wade and Adam White Film Contributors: Madz Abbasi, Matthew Atwood, Neven Devies, Joseph Holness, Rachel Keeley, Silvia Rose, Freddie Van De Velde Competitions & Listings | Editor | Saul Holmes

The Sex Issue

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MUSIC

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INTERVIEW: THE FAMILY RAIN

music editor Alex Flood gets personal with the West Country three-piece

dailyrecord.co.uk musicfromtheeastzone.co.uk

It’s late afternoon when lead vocalist Will Walter’s dulcet Somerset tones crackle into life on the other end of the telephone. He’s calling from his old bedroom at his parent’s house on the outskirts of leafy Bath. Will and his two brothers, Ollie (guitar) and Tim (drums), still live in their childhood home, when they’re not out on tour or in the studio that is, which hasn’t been often over the last few years.

In fact, the band has just returned from recording their debut album in Berlin.

Entitled Under the Volcano, they “had a really good first album experience,” and when asked about the choice of Berlin’s Hansa studios as the recording location Will replies, “it was a joint decision with the producer (Jim Abiss), it was based around the fact that we wanted to go somewhere exciting and hopefully that would reflect in the album.” Pressed further about the fantastic coup of acquiring Jim Abiss (of Arctic Monkeys and Adele fame) to produce the record, Will expounds: “It was amazing, that was the first point after getting signed we were like, shit’s getting real. It felt like a massive step up when he agreed to do the record.” Will’s overawed disposition is typical of the humble

personality he projects throughout the interview. He’s really just a small-town, down-to-earth lad from Bath, it seems, and that’s the essence of the band’s music too.

Asked about the record, (released 3 February on Virgin EMI Records), Will says, “we were hopefully sounding like our take on rock ‘n’ roll music at present, and trying to inject a slight bit of modernity into it, bring it into 2014.” Under the Volcano contains some more unexpected influences too: beneath the ‘neo- Led Zeppelin’ vibe can be discerned a more urban sound, including a guitar line on ‘Trust Me… I’m a Genius’ which was inspired by Dr. Dre’s hip-hop stomper ‘Still D.R.E’. “We were listening to a lot of hip hop when we wrote the record. We were getting back into De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest and stuff like that,” Will explains. “We took influence from whatever the hell we wanted, that’s the way to do it.”

Will waxes lyrical about happy memories of his time in various bands with his brothers when they were teenagers, trying to graft a living and get noticed by big labels. The brothers played “local pubs and local battle of the bands and mates

mums’ parties and aunties’ parties. We started the proper way, we played to no one for about six years, it was the proper grass roots way of earning your crust.”

The Family Rain were also, rather surprisingly, into some rather macho hobbies. “In our early teens we were really into wrestling and skateboarding. We weren’t any good at wrestling because we were all about four foot two, and we were shit at skateboarding. As soon as we started playing instruments we were half decent at it, so we stuck with it.”

The Bath music scene, however, left much to be desired according to Will.

“Miniscule would be the word, it was tiny.

It’s full of good people but there aren’t enough of us, and there aren’t the venues to support anything major.”

Will’s passion for what he does is undeniable, and when asked to weigh in on the current state of rock ‘n’ roll and guitar music, he makes an interesting point. “I think a lot of music and in part guitar music currently is based around looking cool, and people listen to stuff on the basis of looking cool. Because it then goes out of trend, that form of guitar music is suddenly discarded; it’s a very throwaway scene at

present.” This is what he is passionately fighting against, and an ideal the band seek to incorporate into their music. “We’re very conscious of coming from our own place, and not worrying what other people think about it.”

The interview then moves onto the subject of the band’s genesis, and Will expounds a very interesting fact about the band’s name. “I found a video of Sister Rosetta Tharpe, she did a song called ‘Didn’t It Rain’, and when we were forming this band one of the main things I felt was that the band needed to come from a place similar to where this girl was, because she is absolutely slamming it. The ‘Rain’ part came from that song, and of course we’re all family.”

It seems the band are certainly on the up at the moment, with the debut album doing well with both critics and fans. A tour beckons next month, including a headline spot on the coveted NME Awards tour. Will is staying grounded however, and responds to the question of where he sees the band in a year thus: “just another step up the ladder, the main thing we want to achieve is longevity, we don’t want to be a flash in the pan.”

MUSIC concrete.music@uea.ac.uk

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ALBUM REVIEWS WARPAINT WARPAINT Alex Flood

January 17 saw the release of the eagerly awaited sophomore effort from LA psychedelic rock band Warpaint. The eponymous record was a lengthy four years in the making, and sees this band of long-legged Marianne Faithful lookalikes

MOGWAI RAVE TAPES Jennifer Johnson

Rave Tapes marks Scottish, Indie postrockers Mogwai’s eighth full length effort, and their most electronically orientated record so far.

Produced by Paul Savage (The Delgados), and recorded at Castle of Doom studios in Glasgow, it seems like business as usual for the John Peel favourites, but Mogwai’s Rave Tapes is anything but fodder for the dance floor.

The Scottish alternative rock group has made a career out of instrumental doom and gloom, and by this stage their

departing in a markedly different direction. Produced by Grammy-winning, alternative rock guru Flood of U2, Nine Inch Nails and New Order fame (aka Mark Ellis), Warpaint was a complete change in recording process for the band. Instead of writing self-contained songs separately, the girls started by just “jamming and freeflowing on stage,” marking the first time they had collectively written tracks “from the ground up.” The process can be felt keenly throughout the album, producing an altogether more spontaneous and unpredictable sound. Tracks flow far more easily into one another than on previous effort The Fool, and the album as a concept benefits greatly as a result.

The first track, imaginatively titled ‘Intro’, immediately sets the darker and more sinister tone present on Warpaint, with Jenny Lee Lindberg’s bass providing the footsteps of doom to this satanic anthem.

The intricate, melancholic guitar lines and rumbling rhythm section of follower ‘Keep It Healthy’ prove the perfect backdrop for Emily Kolkal and Theresa Wayman’s lilting, mysterious harmonies sonic niche is firmly established. This is not to say that Rave Tapes, the band’s eighth studio release, is a complacent record, just that it is stamped with all the hallmarks of a Mogwai album, and punctuated by a few subtle innovations.

As usual, the band methodically craft soundscapes, evoking moods and textures rather than relying on accessible elements of song structure. Distorted, chugging guitars still characterise the spacious compositions that the band so aptly create, but the addition of electronic elements proves that Mogwai’s sound hasn’t stagnated.

The haunting opener ‘Heard About You Last Night’ is arguably the album’s most compelling offering. A gentle, resonant xylophone introduction – so austere it could have been plucked right from Radiohead’s Kid A – soon gives way to five minutes of sombre, arpeggiated guitar chords. The track never swells to a predictable climax, but meanders in a way that Mogwai has never quite mastered before.

Synthesisers feature prominently, and almost humorously, on ‘Simon Ferocious’ and ‘Remurdered’. The introductions to both tracks sound like something right out of some horribly pixelated 80’s videogame. Thankfully, Mogwai put their spin on the sound effects, with pitch-bending guitar leads saving ‘Simon’ from industrial monotony. It is almost shocking how well the band incorporate

to float weightlessly towards the intense climax of taut kick drum and vibrant crescendo.

Next up is single ‘Love is to Die’, with its continued swirling haze of mystical guitar effects shrouding Kolkal and Wayman’s elfin voices like fog round a tree-trunk, occasionally allowing a vocal breakthrough to proclaim prophetically that “Love is to die, love is not to die, love is to live,” revealing the emotionally introverted disposition the band has adopted lyrically for this album.

The esoteric chants and hypnotic house-beat of ‘Hi’, followed by the Roxy Music-esque synth riff of ‘Biggy’ effortlessly showcases the minimalist elements that Warpaint embraces at the core of its being, and Mark Ellis’ influence can be keenly felt.

Sixth track ‘Tease’ marks the high point of the album. An utterly sublime mix of acoustic guitars, XX motifs and New Order bass lines combines to produce the best song on the record. The chorus of “nananana” even acts as a kind of unconscious Oasis parody, improving upon the Gallaghers’ favourite refrain

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tenfold.

It is not until the back end of side two that Warpaint lets itself down. ‘Feeling Alright’ is structurally poor and ‘CC’ sounds like the soundtrack to a bad horror film. It is here that the bloated track lengths start to be felt and the less-than committed listener will start to lag; but finale ‘Son’ is the final straw. Combining the worst elements of Coldplay’s mushy piano lines and Kate Bush’s wail at its most irritating, ‘Son’ drifts from cliché to cliché before ending in a damp squib of a fadeout.

Warpaint in essence simply doesn’t have the staying power to achieve perfection from start to finish. The first side-and-ahalf magnificently portray a band at the top of their game creatively, standouts ‘Tease’ and ‘Love is to Die’ better anything done previously by the California rockers, but a few tracks listed in the wrong places create a feeling of tiredness as the record draws to a close.

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electronic sounds into their sonic vocabulary, and this is just a testament to the confidence they have in their style and musicianship. If anything Rave Tapes illustrates that Mogwai are still the best at what they do— and their capabilities extend far beyond the average bit of wordless post-rock dreariness.

‘Master Card’ is brash and aggressive, driven by rhythmic guitar chords, whereas the sparse ‘Blues Hour’ dabbles in introspection, aided by almost imperceptible vocals. However, Rave Tapes would not truly be a Mogwai album without a couple of rumbling, climactic moments. ‘Blues Hour’ builds to a distorted peak, while the churning

synth and guitar pulses of ‘Deesh’ don’t ever wholly erupt, but grow steadily more intense.

Ultimately, Rave Tapes is not a groundbreaking record, but it is inventive within its own boundaries. Surely it isn’t easy to stay relevant after eight albums, especially when a band occupies a musical niche as specific and nuanced as Mogwai’s is. Still, Rave Tapes shows that the band is still progressing—a quality that sets them apart from so many peers in their genre.

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BOMBAY BICYCLE CLUB SO LONG, SEE YOU TOMORROW Charlie Methven

MUSIC

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out, traditionalists needn’t have worried.

‘Carry Me’ is basically a one-off on the album. In fact, the song that immediately follows it, ‘Home By Now’, almost seems designed to reassure any listeners that ‘Carry Me’ let down; it’s a duet between Jack Steadman and Lucy Rose backed by simple guitar and a pair of only slightly electro-manipulated piano chords. So, if ‘Carry Me’ didn’t grab you, don’t despair.

concrete.music@uea.ac.uk

And then there’s ‘Come To’, which calls you back for repeated listens with an addictively joyous loop which pops up in the chorus - it’s a pitch-altered jumble of oohs and aahs from Lucy Rose. Rose, who’s sung on three out of four BBC albums now and really should be considered an honorary member, gets the mike to herself for a bit of ‘Home

By Now’, a beautiful duet between her

on this record mention light or sunlight in some way. That’s not a complaint, of course – the repetition of Steadman’s favourite words is the proof of his unpretentious sincerity as a lyricist. His lyrics are predictable the way your best friend’s facial expressions are, but they’re never annoying.

So Long, See You Tomorrow is the fourth great album in a row for Bombay Bicycle

and Steadman. But there’s a new kid on the block in the form of Rae Morris, a nineteen-year-old newcomer who sings on the opener and closer of the album, as well as the well-chosen new single, ‘Luna’.

Jack Steadman, as ever, is pleasantly calm and understated, affecting without being overwhelming.

Lyrically, Steadman uses his usual style of simple yet poetically suggestive lines. Steadman’s lyrics have always aimed at a kind of poetry, but they’ve never fallen into pretentiousness or irritating obscurity. There’s only so much you can say about sunlight, but Steadman is doing his best to commit it to record. For anyone interested, six out of the ten songs

Club. For this listener, at least, every song was immediately likable and different in its own way, which is a welcome step up from 2011’s sometimes over-homogenous A Different Kind of Fix. At a more experienced and better-resourced period in their career, BBC are willing to shake things up a bit with electronic elements which enhance rather than replace their distinctive sound. A potential contender for album of the year. Oh, and buy a physical copy. You can animate the album artwork by spinning it.

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At the end of last year, when London four-piece Bombay Bicycle Club dropped ‘Carry Me’, some people took the groaning synth and brash, fidgety percussion as a sign – or warning – that the band’s classic guitar-based sound had been ditched. For the record, this reviewer wasn’t completely convinced by ‘Carry Me’ the first time around. Though its looped ferocity and syncopated enunciation of the title improved after a few listens it is understandable why some long-time fans might have jumped on their own bikes. ‘Carry Me’ is catchy, exciting, and downright impressive, but, unlike the band’s best and most beloved songs, it’s not very beautiful. As it turns

Listen to So Long, See You Tomorrow, and you’ll find an album which delivers the beauty and intimacy to be expected from BBC, along with some unexpected but exciting electronic experimentation.

‘Home By Now’ is one of the loveliest tracks BBC have ever done, but really that accolade could be given to almost every track on here. There’s ‘It’s Alright Now’, built around a marching band-like loop which could be imagined playing at a Disney princess’ wedding. There’s more welcome electronic experimentation in what the band have called a Bollywood sample on ‘Feel’, a cheeky souvenir from head cyclist Jack Steadman’s recent trip to India.

“Taking the day off from his busy touring schedule, Drake surprises me with a trip to the Cayman Islands via his jet. After champagne on a yacht, I find he’s hired an entire restaurant for a romantic dinner. Ever the gentleman, he pays for the whole thing, then flashes me a look that says “just hold on, we’re going home.””

PERFECT MATCH

Hayden East

“A star lit serenade from Alex Turner with a picnic of black treacle. When the sky starts crying lightning, we’ll embrace in the rain before he asks r u mine? I’ll tell him to suck it and see, and we’ll head back to room 505. But will I leave before the lights come on?”

Lydia Clifton

“Smoke twirls upwards from the end of Debbie Harry’s newly lit cigarette as she considers me with those bulbous blue eyes.

Lounging lazily against the back of an armchair in a Soho jazz club, John Coltrane strides onto the stage. “This’ll do,” she says, and orders another dry Martini.”

Dean Cassady

We asked our writers to share their musical Valentine’s Day fantasies...

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“The date is in a West Berlin café, with Bowie regaling me with stories of his life while I try not to get lost in his mismatched eyes. We then go to a bar and get ridiculously drunk on cheap German vodka, ending the evening holding hands and leading the room in a loud rendition of ‘Space Oddity’.”

Bridie Wilkinson

“My ideal Valentine’s Day would be spent with Nas. We’d take a moonlight stroll through the Projects, free-styling as we share a bottle of Hennessy and smoke endless blunts. He’d tell me that although I’m a white boy from England, his music was always aimed at me, and I’d reassure him that he’s more than just Illmatic.”

Callum Graham

“The year is 1938, the mood is thick with a sensual aroma, oozing and suggestive. Across the table looking back at me with intense blue eyes, is a young Sinatra. He picks up a hat left on the next table and places it on my head. “Cock your hat,” he says, “angles are attitudes.””

Zoe Jones

MUSIC concrete.music@uea.ac.uk

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“LISTEN, BABY”

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Music Editor Jack Enright picks out his top five songs featuring love, romance, and everything that comes with it Love and romance have been inspiring musicians ever since there were musicians around to be inspired. They are subjects that have fascinated artists since the very beginnings of the art form - the Greek lyric poet Sappho (arguably the world’s first ever singer-songwriter) wrote about little else, and that same obsession has continued from classical antiquity right into the modern day.

Now they hold a standing not unlike that of salt and pepper - just as those ever reliable seasonings hold mastery over the world of condiments, love and romance still dominate the content of much of our music.

Picking just five tracks from this impossibly rich seam is a task of Herculean proportions - but this is Venue, and we were determined to give it a go.

First up on the list is the glorious ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’. Even if its legacy was nearly wrecked by an atrocious Diana Ross cover (that spoken word section…) the original Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell version is well deserving of its place on any list of great love songs. With

that unmistakeable intro (from legendary Motown session band The Funk Brothers) leading into Gaye and Terrell’s now iconic duet, it’s a track that has endured the passing of nearly 50 years without losing even a touch of its infectious appeal. If you can listen to that chorus without singing along, then you probably aren’t human.

Staying firmly in that soul vein, our next nomination is Ben E. King’s sublime ‘Stand By Me’. Even if this number boasts less of the glitter and glamour of the previous star-studded composition, this is indisputably another masterpiece from the golden age of soul. While it’s not quite the omnipresent musical touchstone that Gaye and Terrell’s offering has now become, the groove and thrum of that double bass intro is still instantly recognisable. King’s vocals, at times elated, at others pained and choked, are the highlight moment of one of the most evocative voices of the 60s.

When Dolly Parton released ‘Jolene’ as the lead single and title track of her 1973 LP it was met with near universal praise - even

making it onto Rolling Stone magazine’s list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time’.

That’s not the version that’s made it onto our list though - we’ve gone with its darker, scarier cousin, the cover penned by The White Stripes. The reason? Because for all its catchy rhythm, Parton’s jaunty version just doesn’t sound pained enough - not considering the lyrical content. When you hear those same lyrics fed through White’s fraught and fragile windpipe, it’s an emotion you can believe in.

Our next nomination takes us across the channel for the first time - to Will Ozanne’s wet and rainy London, specifically.

Released under his Gang Colours moniker, the beautiful ‘Why Didn’t You Call?’ is a much underrated gem. Telling the story of a fruitless exchange of phone numbers, Ozanne paints a heartrending scene with lines full of subtle, evocative suggestion, laid over his trademark scatter of drumbeats and plaintive piano melodies. It’s the lyrics, though - always a touch vague - that showcase Ozanne’s genius – there’s an ambiguity that

allows the listener to involve themselves with the track, filling in the gaps with details of their own invention.

This list has fluctuated wildly from joyous celebration one second, to desperate angst the moment after - and we finally complete this downward trajectory into melancholy dejection with Yeah Yeah Yeahs 2003 track ‘Maps’ . This song (titled as an acronym for ‘My Angus Please Stay’) narrates the breakup of lead singer Karen O with her then boyfriend, and is one of the most touching songs of recent years. Karen O despairingly laments that “they don’t love you like I love you,” but her repeated exhortations are ultimately doomed. Such a track is far removed from Gaye and Terrel’s happy-go-lucky number, but this track is remarkable for the tangible emotion layered upon every word - watch the video online, and you’ll see Karen O shed real, unlplanned tears during filming.

Any list of just five tracks could never dream to make everyone happy - we hope that this one has something for everyone.

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BANGIN’

What’s hotting up this month...

62 is the new 22 62 year old model Jacky O’Shaughnessy is the new face of American Apparel’s underwear Get in bed with Concrete Look out for Concrete condoms on campus this week!

Stephanie Seymour The supermodel will be designing her own lingerie line. Hot stuff.

FASHION

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concrete.fashion@uea.ac.uk

Fuschia: Fashion’s Future?

Gemma Carter talks pink

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner and a colour that seems to dominate the high street and magazines at this time of year is pink. A colour stereotypically associated with all things girly and romantic - thanks to age old gender stereotypes and of course Barbie. Pink is a colour that has impacted massively on the fashion world with some legendary looks over the years - as well as those that are best kept in the past.

One of the most monumental pink ensembles in fashion history is Marilyn Monroe’s hot pink satin gown in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. This vibrant dress was the epitome of glamour and confidence, emphasising Monroe’s striking beauty and sex appeal. Paired with matching gloves it was an outfit made in fashion heaven and one that is truly unforgettable.

Despite this classy composition of pink, Juicy Couture valour tracksuits highlighted how wearing pink doesn’t always go to plan. These valour monstrosities were a favourite amongst “celebrities” such as Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and Coleen Rooney. Usually teamed with a pair of bug-eye glasses, an oversized designer handbag and pout it was all a bit much to take. A true example of how too much pink, combined with rhinestones on your

bottom, can get you a fashion criminal record that will haunt you for as long as you live.

Moji Adegbile The majority of the time the trick to wearing pink is to not overdo it unless you’re doing it right – like Miss Monroe.

Pale pink is just as effective as a striking shade of cerise. Try a cute little baby pink

tea dress for a subtle but sweet feminine look. Pink lace pieces are also a beautiful asset to any wardrobe if you prefer a more vintage style.

Pink isn’t all about being pretty as it can also be edgy and grungy too. Many celebs, like Katy Perry and Fearne Cotton, have made statements by dying their hair different shades of pink. Although maybe stay away from the clown-like candyfloss disaster favoured by Nicki Minaj.

Thanks to the attached gender stereotypes many men shy away from the shade. All men can wear pink! Brad Pitt showed his love of pink when he wore a baby pink festival to Cannes Film Festival back in 2009. As well as Elvis and Michael Jackson who were also fans of a bit of pink now and again.

Such stereotypes have created a social taboo surrounding men wearing pink, with this idea that it puts their masculinity in to jeopardy. Saying that only “real men” are able to wear pink is as ridiculous as saying that real women don’t wear trousers. It’s about time we forgot about these prehistoric prejudices and established some fashion equality. So, hopefully Cupid’s arrow strikes and you fall head over heels in love with the colour pink this Valentine’s.

The Battle of the Sexes

Madz Abbasi discusses gender in the fashion industry

Gay marriage legal in Scotland!

February 4th marks another step forward for equality.

We are living in a decade that is gradually coming to terms with the idea of equality for the sexes, as is recently demonstrated via increased awareness of feminism and LGBTQ rights. Fashion is for the sexes – an obvious statement to make, but is it true?

For women, the fashion world is diverse. Androgyny and femininity are popular trends that resurrect on the catwalk year in and year out, to the point that they have even transcended into men’s fashion. Burberry’s latest collection at London Collections: Men, for instance, involved floral prints as well oversized tote bags.

An array of fashion magazines debut the latest trends and offer their advice for their style-keen readers, the majority of which are targeted at women. Yes, there’s GQ, Esquire and even some fashion in FHM, but the shelves, in regards to fashion, are ultimately dominated by magazines aimed at and edited by women.

Moreover, if you were to name up to five fashion models, how many of them would

be women? Would you know the likes of Andrej Pejic or Jon Kortajarena? If you do, we salute you!

All this is not to say that you must know as many LGBTQ and male models as female models, or that women have no right to edit magazines with women as their prime readership or vice versa for men – that is far from the point. We love Lorraine Candy and Dylan Jones. What is being pointed out here is that, although fashion is about “style” (a sexless word), it appears to be tailored to women more than anyone else.

We all know style, if anything, is not limited to one gender. Many of the world’s top fashion houses were founded and run by men such as Karl Largerfield and Alexander McQueen. Furthermore, it is surprising that only this year such strong feminine influences and design have descended into menswear. These designs have been doted brave and bold, yet surely if women, who for some years now, have experimented with androgynous looks, feminine menswear in today’s society

should not be regarded as avant-garde?

And yet seemingly it is.

A similar situation occurs with the 17 transgender models, including Arin Andrews and Katie Hill, who were photographed for Barneys New York’s Spring/Summer ‘14 Brothers, Sisters, Sons & Daughters campaign. It is an incredible and ground-breaking moment in the fashion world, raising awareness for LGBTQ rights. But one can’t help but wonder will there be a time when such models will be admired for their modelling and not because of their gender identity?

Change is likely to occur depending on how aware, accepting and open minded we allow ourselves to be. By “we”, Venue means the important individuals of fashion: designers, editors, models, stylists, photographers, and even you – the reader, the consumer, the trend-setter.

So is the fashion world ready for increased equality for sexes? You tell us, or better yet, tell everyone.

FASHION concrete.fashion@uea.ac.uk

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11.02.2014

Photographer: Moji Adegbile. Stylists: Moji Adegbile and Stephenie Naulls. Model: Sophie Pischedda With special thanks to Patience Please lingerie for their involvment.

Sensual Heating!

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Rachel Hayllor Picture your underwear drawer: the mismatched socks, the comfortable go-to bra, the baggy laundry-day pants and, of course, hidden under all these, pushed to the back, the matching set.

Of the few facts of existence that bind women inexplicably and universally together, the presence of that one set of lingerie is an assured reality of the female experience. That one matching pair not only have the unparalleled power to set pulses racing in the bedroom but can act as a panacea for a number of other predicaments.

A good bra and well-fitting pair of underwear are the foundations of any outfit. They can change the way your clothes hang on your body, smooth out the inevitable lumps and bumps, give your bust a boost and make you feel ready to take on the world. Fitted correctly this pair of super underwear holds you in and fills you out in

all the right places and can even help to improve your posture.

That’s not to say that your ‘hot date’ underwear is only beneficial on a technical level. Walking around all day in your sauciest scanties with no one but yourself to know about it is like keeping a naughty little secret - it just makes you feel sexier.

A woman’s sexuality is personal, private and unique to each person, and lingerie is a great way to express and nurture that sexuality in a way that doesn’t seek approval from anyone else. Whether you favour frivolous frilly numbers, sultry black silk, lascivious red lace or even a kinky corset, there’s a style out there for everyone. Since no one has to know but yourself, it’s a great way to take fashion risks and try out a more provocative alter-ego.

Of all the industries to take a hit in the recession in the last six years, the international lingerie market is still going strong. One reason for this is that the market is

built on necessity – every woman needs underwear so demand never ebbs. Another explanation, and perhaps the most compelling one, is that lingerie is a fun way for a woman to treat herself and to feel special without breaking the bank. For students on a tight budget, buying new smallclothes has a similar pick-me-up effect to a pampering session. Even in the male fashion market you find men shelling out a little extra to get designer underwear from the likes of Armani, Calvin Klein and Jack Wills. This works as both a status symbol which inspires confidence and ideally gets the attention of the ladies and also as a satisfying indulgence.

So whatever your plans may be this Valentine’s Day whether you’re single or in a relationship, male or female - your first port of call should be investing in a pair of irresistible intimates that will add some sultry sex appeal and make sure that, even in the cold of winter, you’ll be feeling hot, hot, hot.

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ARTS

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Shunga: Erotica for the People Callum Graham explores the explicit Japanese art

In early modern Japan, thousands of sexually explicit paintings, prints, and illustrated books with texts were produced, known as ‘spring pictures’ (shunga). Official life in this period was governed by strict Confucian laws, but private life was less controlled in practice.

Shunga is in some ways a unique phenomenon in pre-modern world culture, in terms of the quantity, the quality and the nature of the art that was produced. Its production was widespread between 1600-1900. For such a popular and prolonged school of art it remains relatively unknown and unexplored.

The British Musuem recently held an exhibition of shunga; in his introduction Tim Clark, the curator of the exhibition, says that experts are “pretty sure that everybody in Japanese society from the ruling class down to the ordinary townsperson in the street used and enjoyed Shunga. This is a situation that would have been inconceivable in Europe at the same time.” It’s a shame then that little seems to be happening in Japan to further our understanding of this openly joyful art.

As the subtitle to the exhibition suggests - ‘Sex and Pleasure in Japanese Art’ - there is much sensuality and, indeed, great humour, in the varied and beautifully detailed works. During the twentieth century, shunga was all but removed

from popular and scholarly memory and became taboo. It’s hard to see how these pictures can be considered offensive or profane; although explicit, there is always a light-heartedness to undercut any risk of overly seedy appearances.

Frequently tender, funny and beautiful, shunga were mostly done within the popular school known as ‘pictures of the floating world’ (ukiyo-e), by celebrated artists such as Utamaro and Hokusai.

Early modern Japan wasn’t exactly a place of sexual liberation, especially for women; however, the values promoted in shunga are generally positive towards sexual pleasure for all participants. With their focus on lovemaking, whether it is heterosexual or homosexual, in pairs or groups, there is such tenderness, humour and honesty in these works of art. Shunga is also known for its mutuality - pleasure for women as well as the men - and the shared pleasure is obvious in many of the pieces.

By far the majority of shunga depict the sexual relations of the ordinary people, the chonin, the townsmen, women, merchant class, artisans and farmers.

Courtesans also form the subject of many shunga. Utamaro was particularly revered for his depictions of courtesans, which offered an unmatched level of sensitivity and psychological poise. Tokugawa courtesans could be described as the

celebrities of their day, and Edo’s pleasure district, Yoshiwara, is often compared to Hollywood. Men saw them as highly eroticised due to their profession, but at the same time unattainable, since only the wealthiest, most cultured men would have any chance of sexual relations with one.

Women saw them as distant, glamorous idols, and the fashions for the whole of Japan were inspired by the fashions of the courtesan.

This fetishisation of the courtesan lifestyle is often reflected in shunga, though an overemphasis on glamour tends to ignore the realities of virtual sex slavery. It seems that Utamaro came closest to representing reality for these women, as they are often tragically depicted dreaming of escape and a better existence.

Shunga was probably enjoyed by both men and women of all classes.

Superstitions and customs surrounding shunga suggest as much; in the same way that it was considered a lucky charm against death for a samurai to carry shunga, it was considered a protection against fire in merchant warehouses and the home.

Although explained away as superstition, the common reason to own shunga was far more libidinous. Separation from the opposite sex for prolonged periods was common; the samurai lived in barracks for months at a time, and conjugal

separation resulted from the sankin-kōtai system, and the merchants’ need to travel to obtain and sell goods meant they could be at sea for months at a time. Much of the evidence suggests that superstition surrounding shunga was maintained simply to keep up appearances, when really the men and women who enjoyed the work were probably looking to just have a crafty wank.

Perhaps the most famous shunga ever produced is Hokusai’s The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife (pictured above) which is taken from the book Kinoe no Komatsu (English: Young Pines), a three-volume collection of shunga published in 1814.

The zoophilic picture shows a woman, probably an ama (shell diver) receiving oral sex from two octopi. The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife is not the only shunga to show the possibilities of love between woman and octopus, and in fact there are several examples of sultry cephalopod action from Hokusai’s contemporary Yanagawa Shigenobu.

No matter your opinion on the value and importance of shunga, it’s undeniable that they offer a view back into the private desires and motivations of a past Japanese culture. It’s easy to forget that figures from the past were real people too, and what better way to bring into focus a distant culture, than to have a brush with its kinky side.

ARTS

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11.02.2014

Form, Colour, and a Bit of the Old in an Beth Ryan looks at the implicit sexuality of Anish Kapoor’s work

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CargoCollective

JMAC

Anish Kapoor: My Red Homeland

Sex equals controversy ‐ probably the most well established equation in the art world. Think of Manet’s naked Olympia, confronting us with her knowing glare, or Allen Jones’ various X rated sculptures of PVC clad women. But what happens when sexuality is used in a less obvious, confrontational way? Well, a cannon spewing out bloody red wax, a few phallic relics and vaginas carved into just about every surface imaginable is what happens, at least if you’re Anish Kapoor.

Kapoor is the artist‐come‐architect who rose with the New British Sculptors in the eighties and came to the wider public eye after winning the Turner Prize in 1991.

As seems the prerequisite with any Turner Prize artist, Kapoor’s work is somewhat difficult; whopping great warped mirrors and odd protruding blimp sized blobs of metal pierced with gynaecological holes.

Spectacular, yes. But what is it about?

Nothing. It is about nothing, about voids and sublime emptiness. And this is where sexuality comes in. Let’s take, for instance, his 1990 series Void Field ‐ essentially, this was a collection of large flat rocks which Kapoor took his drill to, creating (or un‐creating?) mysterious

black holes in the surface of each. Simple, theoretically. In actuality, though, the result is uncanny and disconcerting. His most recent public work, Ark Nova, has a similar effect. Ark Nova is the world’s first inflatable concert hall, a huge purple rubberised creation currently in Japan.

Though in many ways it is wildly different to Void Field (and, indeed, to most other things on Earth), it is also characterised by a single hole.

And these strange vagina‐esque holes crop up throughout Kapoor’s oeuvre, to variously explicit extents (it requires little imagination to see that Hive, installed at the Royal Academy in 2009, places the viewer firmly in between two female legs).

Is Kapoor, then, just a little… sexually frustrated?

It wouldn’t be too far‐fetched to suggest so. But there is a reason that these pieces are so disturbingly powerful.

They are Kapoor’s means of accessing an otherness beyond our material world.

They are internally conflicting, at once symbolising the origins of existence but embodying utter nothingness. To say that they are just sexual seems inadequate; rather, they are representational of an

ultimate unity of internal and external, negative and positive space, and being and non-being. Because sexuality is as close as we get to this unity, this is how we view the empty space.

It’s not all ins-and-outs, though. Colour is also integral to what he does. This was most blindingly apparent at his 2009 solo Royal Academy exhibition, which featured a piece called Shooting Into the Corner ‐ a cannon which would intermittently fire globs of crimson wax into (you guessed it) the corner. Complementing this was Svayambh, a train of crimson wax which moved slowly through the rooms of the Academy, painting the place red as it heaved itself along.

These pieces were, well, a lot of things. Difficult, again. How do you respond to a huge sculpted mound of bloody red wax, pushing itself around an interminable track like something out of a post-apocalyptic film? These pieces were terrible and stunning at the same time. Partly this is because of Kapoor’s incredible inventiveness, but it is also because of the inescapable intensity of the deeply evocative red. Would the pieces have worked if they were a mixture of

wax with a deep blue pigment? Probably not. And this is why crimson dominates Kapoor’s work. It is the colour of blood, lust, anger, menstruation and flesh. It is the colour of femininity and sexuality, but moreover it is the colour of vitality, and therefore one which we instinctively respond to.

But if it all seems a little too gynaecology‐central, there are a few phallic creations lurking in his wake.

The Orbit tower comes to mind, the 115 metre high sculpture that Kapoor was commissioned to design for the Olympic park. It is a tower, so its form is phallic.

Yet for Kapoor, this would be too simple; it may stand straight and upright, but it is teased by the helix tubes which curve and tangle around it, mocking masculinity.

The Orbit, though, is not really where Kapoor’s interests reside. He does not work with outwards, concrete space, but with inwards non‐space. Superficially, this is why his works are preoccupied with the hollow feminine form, through which he can achieve a unity of being and nonbeing. Sexuality, here, is not served up as controversial subject matter, but is integral to creativity.

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CREATIVE WRITING www.concrete-online.co.uk

The

Relationship Haiku Peter Thorn

Flickr: Matthew Hurst

Alex Munro

A Naked Egg Man

We’ve had sex last night and the world feels like a different place to what it was, not really and only slightly but it is. The air in the bedroom is a bit dirtier than before. I’ve tried to cover it up with cigarette smoke like I used to cover my spots in my mums concealer, the really bulging red ones. You can’t really hide how disgusting you are and how disgusting you’ve been. Unless you have Oust: Oust would do the job. That would offend her though. We’ve just had sex and now I’m going to oust the room like you’re some kind of wet shaggy dog. I would prefer her to be a wet shaggy dog right now, I could just put her outside or call up the RSPCA. Then I might feel bad about giving her away though so I’d probably end up keeping her. There’s no escape really is there? She’s been in the toilet for ages, and she locked the door which offended me slightly considering last night I was inside her vagina. The moments gone, normality has come for it, substituted passion with politeness and ‘how the fuck do I get out without looking like l want out’. It’s fine she will go, once she has finished putting on enough make up to make it look like she isn’t wearing any.

Eggs are all I have to offer. That says a lot about someone. The man who makes the full fry up is the man she wants to marry and the man with just eggs is the one she’ll end up with because she’s not particularly pretty or even interesting. At least I’m not the guy with ‘just toast’, everyone knows those ‘just toast’ people, even before they take the long pause and then say ‘erm no it’s just toast’.

The same rule does not apply to girls. Girls who say ‘just toast’ are usually insanely cool because they’re lives are too fast and exciting for condiments. She probably has a whole cupboard of condiments. I guess I should make it look as if I have been doing something interesting whilst she has been in the toilet. Otherwise she will assume that I assumed she has taken a shit and she has been ages so I should assume that she has taken a shit however I know she is the type of girl who would rather eat shit then shit in someone else’s toilet.

Last night she was talking so much about things I didn’t care about, she kept telling me that her sister just had a baby which is good news and great news if you’re the mother or the baby I guess but why would anybody think that I would care. Why would I care? It seems surreal to me that people recycle stories because they were exciting at one point but now there just second hand instruments of torture to fill empty space with. She is silent now and she looks prettier without the word barrier between us. Her face seemed to spill sounds last night, laughing so loud I wanted to close her like you do with those noisy greeting card that sing happy birthday.

‘I have eggs’ I say.

‘Nothing else?’ she says.

‘Maybe’ I lie.

‘Eggs are fine’ she lies.

‘If you have nothing else then I’ll take it’ she continues, using the same logic as a fat middle aged man in a brothel. She will defiantly tell her friends that I offered her eggs. It’s the sort of thing girls tend to say. ‘He offered me eggs’ she’ll say and they will all go ‘oh no’ and nod contemplating the eggs because suddenly they understand the exact kind of man I am. The egg man.

‘Do you have toast’?

‘Yes’ I say, wondering why she is asking about toast when I have the clear upgrade of eggs.

‘Anything to go on the toast?’ she is asking as if she already knows the answer, she thinks I’m just the ‘just toast’ man, the lowest of the low, the sit around in skid mark underwear playing play station man. I panic, what the hell do I have to go on toast?

‘I have eggs.’

‘Just toast is fine’ she says thinking she is being low maintenance but really she’s just being the fussiest little bitch monkey that ever lived. Why couldn’t she just take my eggs and then I could fry them for her and stand around listening to the sizzling and feeling like I was doing something with my day. Now I just have to put a piece of white bread into her hand, a granary canvas denied all rights of creative expression. Maybe I should give her the crust and then I can stand next to her frying eggs in those circular jelly moulds my mum brought me and she will be stood next to me with nothing but crusty regret to munch on.

Last night she spun on my penis. She literally did some spiny thing that she said she learnt through yoga. She looked like a deranged crab and it was great. That was normal then. In the context of the night, spinning round on my penis was normal (and when I say spinning, I mean dragging her body in circles occasionally establishing some sense of rhythmic and stability). Now nothing is normal, we just accidently touched hips and suddenly felt like a hobo ran up to me in the street and jabbed a dirty needle in my side. I give her the bread. I scan the fridge. We both find places to put our eyes that aren’t each other. The sun has stopped frolicking around and is now gutting away darkness with its sharp rays. It’s strangely reassuring. I have milk and bananas. I could make a milkshake for her. If I put a random herb in it, for no reason, she might even think I do yoga too. Sure I don’t actually have bananas but I can put Nesquick; banana-rama in. She won’t know. Lies are easy after sex.

The following pieces were published on

@UEA140 Story

concrete.creativewriting@uea.ac.uk

On her thirty-ninth birthday Ava woke to a cold bed and an empty house. “On dating sites, men and women are looking for different things.” *** That weekend they made love in the hotel and ate good food and drank good wine and when they came home they were happy again, for a time. *** Lad at my stop, smoking. Inhale. Takes me back to you, Jim Mardell. Your bitter tongue, your hand up my leg, outside the Ritz, 73 years ago.

I.

Masturbation sucks, it’s just a poor substitute For warm, happy lovers.

II.

So, um, would you like, A warm, tasty beverage With me on Thursday?

III. God, this is the best.

You are a bright flame in my Dingy, low-rent flat.

IV. Yes, of course I like The collected works of Keane, Bought with good feelings.

V. Lots of love though now, It’s cooled to platonic calm For the best, we hope.

VI. People, I’m single!

Which really means, bugger me, I’m alone again.

***

Tights From Last Night Eve Aimée Remember those times between the sheets beneath the covers and all that heat?

My back would arch so you would know and then we’d fold and fit -but no.

Your head will turn to kiss and mine will turn to miss; It smells of hot, sticky hands that are disappointed.

I get home drunk, alone, strip off my tights, went straight to bed and fell asleep in a drunken snore.

Because sometimes tights from last night are only just tights from last night.

Like Joanna Hollins

stupidest.com

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Poetry, like sex is looked for late at night half-drunk, uncertain of where you are or where you are going. Like sex you’ll never forget your first poem, or the first poet who touched you as if you were there, in the moment of poem with them. For all poems are looking for something else and even sex can blush because, like poetry, sex is just two authors, reader, writer, feeling blindly to something shared and hoping they find it.

Cunnilingus Oliver Hughes Do you know what it is like to have an orgasm? It is like revealing to a man the darkest part of your self, something that has previously never been shown to the outside world. Something that you kept at home, kept in your room in the box under your bed for your eyes only – something that was dark and shameful, something wrong. Taboo.

My legs are open, wrapped around his sweaty, clammy neck. My feet twine around each other over his back, and I can feel his nerves with my toes that scratch him ever so slightly. My bare legs, shaved in the morning as part of the ritual of preparation, are pricked by the hairs on his back which are suddenly sharp, so sharp. It is not a conscious thing, but I am suddenly aware of pure haptic sensation, and every part of my body feels electrified and alive. If I am not doing something with them, they are dead. I tense, pressing his head further into my crotch. I can feel his stubble, scraping against my bare flesh, sensitive pale flesh that has rarely seen the light of day. His tongue is like silk, lashing over me in soft fluid motions, occasionally jittering and halting, creating experiences in my skin that makes me squeal like a horny teenager. Beneath it all I can feel something building deep within my stomach.

I scream. I blaspheme. I say words in sentences I never thought I would have constructed. There was no thought to them, no effort. Just an outlet for all the feeling rippling through my entire body, that has nowhere to escape save for through the screams in my voice box. Everything else builds. Slowly. His breath is hot on me. Every exhalation sends shivers through my entire body and these are amplified. I shake. It is uncontrollable. His confidence builds the more he realises how completely in control of me he is. His lashings become firmer, more direct. I can’t bear it, but I slam my hands into the back of his head, grabbing his hair, twisting it, forcing his head down as I thrust into his face.

It must hurt, but I don’t care. I am an animal. My pleasure is all that matters in the world. He is not even human.

He is a tool. Something to be used. My nerves were made for this. To bring my entire personality crumbling down into some crazed, drooling animal, lusting after a few inches of male tissue. As soon as I have them I try to get these thoughts out of my mind, My brain is in turmoil, locked in a civil war with my heart. I want this so much. I don’t want him. I want his tongue. I want everything he has to offer me. I want him to die for me.

I am despicable, but it feels so good.

He is killing me. I want it to be over, and I don’t. I live to die in pleasure’s throes. I become distinctly aware of birdsong out the window. It becomes all I can hear, over the slurps and gasps he makes and something else, a low droning, something I don’t recognise until I realise it is emanating from my own chest. I am a monster.

At last, there is release. I can no longer hold the knots in my stomach and so I let go, pushing down, gushing onto his face which recoils, repulsed by the fruit of its labours. He is soaked in my juices. They drip down his beard and onto his bare chest, and for a moment I hope he understands why I am so willing to let his sperm cover my face. I shake. My whole anatomy is locked in spasms of outrage and sacrilegious pleasure. I screech, louder than any previously, trying to form something coherent for no one to hear or understand, or perhaps a cry of worship to whoever made me, destined to become at the foot of a bed to a man and his tongue. I close my eyes and sink back onto the soft sheets, my hands leaving his head and scrunching up the duvet as I let out a long, shuddering sigh. My crotch is burning, every nerve stimulated and awake, yet the rest of me wants to fall asleep in this moment forever.

I open my eyes and he is there, no look of concern or satisfaction on his face. He holds his member erect, and shows mere expectation. The pleasantry and the small talk over, the meat of the discussion comes to the fore.

GAMING concrete.gaming@uea.ac.uk

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11.02.2014

The Bloodbath of B-R5RB Kristan Emery The Battle of Hastings, The First World War, The Second World War, Korea, Vietnam: these are all Wars that have shaped our world and the people in it.

On Monday 27th January in the world of EVE Online, a war raged that would change the online universe, as almost $300,000 worth of ships and resources were lost in a vicious conflict that lasted 14 hours, setting the record for the longest Battle in any game.

EVE Online is a Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (MMORPG) which simulates a futuristic universe where one can spend their time exploring the enormous map, consisting of hundreds of planets and systems.

The game is so in-depth, realistic and complicated it has been likened to playing a spreadsheet, as opposed to the non-stop action and constant stimulation of the casual games filling the market now.

This game is for those who appreciate the investment of a world and a life in it.

Understanding this helps illustrate the loss that has been felt from this catastrophic battle that will be remembered in the game’s history for years to come, The Bloodbath of B-R5RB. EVE Online is known for their huge

Sam Emsley The issue of sex in video games is something that has plagued the industry for far too long. On the one hand the attempts to include candid sexual encounters have been derided as explicit and disgusting, and on the other hand the needless inclusion of overly sexualised characters (usually women) has caused uproar and protest from many more.

There seems to be no safe middle ground for the industry.

Rockstar North

player vs player Battles, and especially so for the fact that there is no respawn. Once your ship is lost, that is it.

More than 75 Titan ships were destroyed. They are the largest in the game each costing around 1 Billion ISK (in game currency) equating to $3,000 each. It is not only the money cost but the time, as each Titan takes thousands of hours of resource collection and assembly to create, and all of that was destroyed. But why all this fighting in the first place? A missed payment.

The Alliance system is strong and terrifying in the EVE universe and it was the largest of alliances that could participate in the blood bath.

The N3 Coalition (N3C) and Pandemic Legion on one side forgot one single payment for a station in which they held their fleets and accessed their resources.

This part of the universe is in high demand and the Clusterfuck Coalition (CFC), along with the Russian Coalition, took the opportunity to seize it.

With uncanny similarities to the Entente and Alliance of the First World War, these commanding groups clashed with all their might for command of this small section of the gigantic world. The Titan Ships loomed closer as the defence

stood their ground.

A moment of peace, as the anticipation, excitement and worry escalated. And then it began, both brutal and beautiful, as these monstrosities fought!

The damage done to this online world was catastrophic; a true world war with serious alliances and dangerous participants. The tragic truth is that it lies unnoticed by the rest of the world.

CCP Games/ Eve Online

Sex in Gaming Early explicit games were text based adventures with mainly soft-core images, however later games like the Leisure Suite Larry franchise and BMX XXX, seemed to tackle the subject of sex head on and make it the entire focus of the game.

Perhaps the most famous inclusion of sex is in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City which allowed the player to pick up and sleep with prostitutes in their car, although the

encounter is not seen.

At the time it seemed to be openly inviting uproar and discussion and it did just that. For this and many other things besides, the game was called to be banned, and this was put into action in some countries. Although this was a necessary step; a hugely popular, ground-breaking game, candidly tackling the subject of sex was revolutionary, and after this the industry was far more accepting of sex as a whole.

Today far more explicit sexual content can be included, such as in Metro: Last Light. The game allows you to receive a topless lap dance during one section of the game, however unlike in GTA where the action was an interesting aside to an already comical story, Metro seems to have included this to the detriment of their game.

In Metro the player enters the sleazy brothel – hangout of the antagonist and his cronies – a seemingly obvious example of the degradation of post-apocalyptic Moscow.

However allowing the player to then receive this lap dance from a smiling dancer turns the whole situation on its head. It isn’t actually a symbol of degradation: it’s a device used to include a controversial scene

for its own sake.

The game itself was truly unforgettable in every respect, and the fact the developers used this solely to generate comment and publicity is disappointing, as the game could achieve this itself. Later in the game there is a totally necessary sex scene with more nudity which is a perfect example of how sex should be tackled in video games, but the pointless lap dance still taints this success.

Other games have tackled the subject by including adult scenes which have significance to the story and serve to aid the verisimilitude and make the game better as a consequence.Recently Beyond: Two Souls managed to do exactly this by handling the topic maturely and ensuring that scenes aided the game.

Video games are no longer seen as a childish curiosity – they wish to be taken seriously as pieces of art and it is their conscientious treatment of sex that allows them to do so. However, including sex needlessly to either create controversy or lure an audience into buying the game ensures that the sex itself is a gimmick, and consequently games will be viewed this way.

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TELEVISION

concrete.television@uea.ac.uk

TV vs Porn

How is Television battling the Porn Industry?

Adam Dawson

Let’s just get this out there right at the start so we’re reading from the same page. We all watch porn; we’re students, it’s basically expected of us. Honestly, you’re the exception if you haven’t had your mitts in your knicks within the last day. So we all know it’s not a stretch to say porn is unrealistic. How many plumbers do you know with a body cut from marble? Is your Dominos delivery guy a bit too randy? No, thought not.

The complete lack of reality has had a knock on effect though. TV has decided to show sex in a much more hilarious, but more realistic manner – a bit awkward, a bit funny, and sometimes not even that sexy. Take the BBC Three sitcom Pramface which isn’t very good but gets sex bang on. The main character loses his virginity in a drunken haze, and wakes up the next morning beside a girl who is full regret and also a foetus.

Granted, your first time probably won’t result in pregnancy but it’s the drunken fumbling, awkward undressing, and a slight feeling of regret we’re focussing on here. That definitely wouldn’t happen in

Wordpress: 20poorandfabulous porn – the clothes are on the floor like there’s no tomorrow, there’s no messy groping for the bra clasp or asking ‘is it in yet?’

So let’s have a little talk about The Inbetweeners, that ‘documentary’ about

sixth-formers. Specifically Will’s ‘first time.’ He has Charlotte, a busty maiden, in bed and then proceeds to move his entire body whilst trying (for lack of a nicer phrase) to enter her. This is probably the most realistic bit of sex

on TV, especially sex that shows losing your virginity. No one really knows what they’re doing. Porn would have you believe every single person you meet knows all the dark secrets of the trade.

They don’t; no-one does.

How could we write about sex on TV and not mention Girls? Doubtless many people will be wailing like a depressed porn star over how much it gets written about, but it gets so much attention for a very good reason. The sexy times it shows are realistic. They have great sex, bad sex, and average sex. It’s probably the least arousing thing you’ll watch where a bunch of twentysomething girls and guys get very naked.

Most of the time, we don’t come to TV to see an actual representation of sex.

That’s why we have porn. Despite what Mumsnet might think, everyone can tell the difference. Porn isn’t damaging our expectations about sex any more than science fiction makes us think NASA use the Starship Enterprise. They’re different things for different purposes. Long live porn and long live bad, hilarious sex on TV.

Nudity on TV

Is it all for Art, or is it an exploitation?

Melissa Haggar One of the most controversial, and seemingly frequent, elements a programme can have is nudity - but why is it so popular? Both men and women are getting their kit off these days and appearing in a wide range of shows which now feature high levels of nudity; True Blood (Hello, Mr. Northman!), Dexter, Girls and Game of Thrones are all TV shows that flash the flesh.

It’s no surprise that programmes feature an abundance of naked ladies as opposed to naked guys in order to entice audiences to their programmes.

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t; but is this an issue? There is no shame in being nude, but is it becoming more frequent to attract attention as opposed to engaging writing?

It seems to be more of a case about how people appear nude on television.

Often, television programmes will deal with nudity by ‘displaying it in its best light’, if you will. The actors and actresses will be drop-dead gorgeous

Superherofan.net and pose seductively on a sofa, enticing you to watch. What’s more, they’ll be basked in the best lighting to make everything appear more attractive. Most audiences will know that this isn’t exactly an accurate representation of what most people look like naked – but is this really ok?

The bottom line is it is entertainment, and whilst some audiences may prefer to see less of the naked women and more naked men on our screens, it is important to remind ourselves (and for producers to remind themselves) that arbitrary nudity can often be restrictive to a coherent plot line. Whilst some audiences would love

to switch on their favourite programme and see their favourite male/female star cooking their breakfast in the buff, it does beg the question as to why they are doing it. Lena Dunham, (creator and star of Girls) sheds some interesting light on the topic. In a BBC interview, Dunham states she wants the programme to “normalise sex for other people” but that she doesn’t want the sole focus to be put on just the nudity, claiming that when people are “consistently focusing” on how often she is naked, it “prevents people from just being part of the viewing experience”.

So, it would appear that too much talk about nudity can take away from the experience and entertainment of watching a programme. With this in mind, should we simply enjoy watching the programmes we like and switch off the ones we deem too risqué? Whatever the case, nudity is an important aspect of our life and if those acting are comfortable with showing their skin and the viewers at home are comfortable watching them, then perhaps it should be embraced?

Nudity is only natural after all.

TELEVISION concrete.television@uea.ac.uk

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11.02.2014

The darker side of sex

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We take a look at how TV is dealing with sexual abuse Melissa Haggar A difficult topic on television is often one that has real-world impact. And with this, the depiction of highly sexually violent scenes on television can often leave viewers uncomfortable; not only with the scene itself, but also with the way in which television studios have handled a very serious issue.

Rape on television has been frequently used over the years as a plot device as a way to further the story by saying “look at us, we’re all dramatic and stuff.” But it should never be like this. What so many studios seem to forget is that rape and sexual violence are serious issues that people experience in real-life; they are not something to be depicted and used so trivially.

In case you are now trying to think of some examples of the above, you need look no further than several high profile shows.

True Blood is unfortunately guilty of this, with the rape of Tara Thornton leaving viewers angry as to how this furthered her character development or gave any sort of meaning to the plot line. In addition,

Daily Mail

American Horror Story: Coven’s depiction of the rape of Madison Montgomery was completely unnecessary, and just a way for the character to display her power (by killing her rapists).

Downton Abbey recently made waves with the rape of Anna Bates. Downton

differs from the previous programs in the way it handled this situation; the effects of this traumatic event on Anna were not swept under the rug, or left unshown like so many other shows do. It was made clear that it was a grave situation and that it needed to be handled carefully. Actress

Joanne Froggatt, who plays Anna, spoke specifically on The Jonathan Ross Show about this stating that she thought it was “a really brave thing to do” and that she believes the way it is written “is not gratuitous at all”. Creator Julian Fellowes has commented on the issue stating: “The whole point of the way we do things on Downton is we don’t do them gratuitously.

We are interested in exploring the resultant emotions and the effect these things have on people”.

It would seem that the intention behind the use of these plot lines differs when it comes to different networks and channels, and in Downton Abbey’s case this appears to be handled in a more appropriate manner; highlighting the devastation sexual violence can have (after all, raising awareness of this can have positive effects on the real world) and how important it is to talk about issues like this.

So, whilst some television programmes struggle to handle sexual violence appropriately it is evident there are efforts to make this a more understood and talked about topic, as opposed to just a device used for drama.

Liberating sex

Is Television fair in its presentations of LGBTQ sex scenes?

James Szumowski Sex scenes are so commonplace in media today that when one pops up, there is little to no reaction from the media, its censors or the public. Television has come a long way since The Flintstones were shown in bed together in the early sixties (Fred & Wilma were the first couple to share a bed on TV anywhere in the world) but still one subject proves controversial; LGBTQ love scenes.

1989 saw Eastenders make huge strides forwards for LGBTQ representation as they showed two characters, Colin Russell and Guido Smith, sharing a kiss.

This was the first time a male couple had done so on British television, and what should have been applauded was instead described by The Sun as “a love scene between yuppie poofs”.

The journey of televised LGBTQ romance took another turn when, in 1994, Brookside showed the first lesbian kiss on British television between characters Beth and Margaret. Interestingly, this scene (and storyline) was much better received than the Eastenders scene, with most

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appearing to accept it almost instantly.

The fact the scene consists of two pretty teenage girls raises the idea that maybe it’s not LGBTQ couples that make TV bosses uncomfortable; just male ones.

In the noughties, British television continued to evolve its representations; in 2003, Coronation Street finally caught up to Eastenders (14 years later) with Todd Grimshaw and Nick Tilsley sharing the first same-sex kiss on the cobbles. Sugar Rush, the 2006-07 Channel 4 drama

focussed on the life of Kimberley and her love for her new best friend, Sugar.

Though received with negativity, this time it was also due to the sexualisation of a main character who was only 15 years old. Skins, following in 2007, followed the lives of young people in modern Britain. Again, with an openly gay main character, Maxxie, portrayed as popular, intelligent and attractive.

It’s strange to think that 25 years after the first same sex kiss on British

televison, in a country where same-sex marriage has now been legalized, scenes showing LGBTQ characters in intimate situations are still causing outcry.

Eastenders’ character Johnny Carter recently came out to his father, Mick, in intimate, well-crafted and loving scenes.

While the response has been widely positive, there is still an outpouring of hatred towards the makers of the programme and the actors in the scenes, with some of the comments directed at the programme making uncomfortable reading on Twitter.

It seems that programmes directed at younger and more liberally-thinking members of society have a better track record when it comes to portraying and accepting LGBTQ love scenes. In an age where popular television shows are showing scenes of sexual encounters between heterosexual couples on a regular basis, it seems incredibly backward that scenes consisting of non-traditional , homosexual couples are limited to kissing only; and that even then these scenes cause a negative reaction from members of the public.

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At Cinemas Near You

August: Osage County

Director John Wells Starring Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts, Ewan McGregor, Juliette Lewis, Chris Cooper Cert 15 Runtime 121mins Silvia Rose There’s nothing like a funeral to bring families back together. Although in August: Osage County, based on the play

by Tracy Letts, it is more of a collision.

Set in the dusty plains of Oklahoma, the film is centred around the volatile, hugely tense relationship between the Weston sisters and their difficult mother, Violet (Streep). They are joined by their extended family to mourn the death of Beverly, a poetic, studious man who has committed suicide under the strain of being married to Violet, and to a lesser degree, his alcoholism. The results of this forced family reunion are cataclysmic.

The Weston sisters are middle-aged and estranged; the only thing connecting them now is sharing a mother. The eldest, Barbara (Roberts), is strongwilled, controlling and feisty. Though she is going through a separation with her

husband (McGregor), she still manages to assume a self-righteous air. Ivy (Julianne Nicholson) is more calm and complacent. She is the only sister to have stayed in Oklahoma, and therefore bears the brunt of looking after Violet. The youngest, Karen (Lewis), is a self-centred airhead who brings her sleazy fiancée (Dermot Mulroney) to the gathering.

They all have their flaws. And yet, what is so beautiful about this film is that we can look past these unattractive features and focus instead on why they exist.

The main force behind them, of course, is Violet. She is a racist, pill-popping, chain-smoking, ‘truth-telling’, bold and unapologetic woman. As a mother, she is less than loving. She openly admits that Barb was the ‘favourite’ and she treats Karen like a child, referring to her in the third-person. She also has mouth cancer, which fuels her bouts of self-pity and, most importantly, is a running excuse for her addiction to painkillers. All in all, she is a wreck. But Meryl Streep’s performance is so ballsy, so forceful, that we cannot help but laugh along with her devilish humour, her manic episodes, and her drugged-up slurs. It is tragic, undeniably so. It is the blackest of comedies. What is most affecting is watching Violet descend from a tyrannical

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matriarch to a sick old woman who is abandoned by her family. Any meanness which might have been forgiven in the past now drives her daughters away.

Without Beverly’s mediating presence, her mood swings become unbearable.

What is brought to our attention is the cyclical nature of families. Towards the end, Barb ‘becomes’ Violet. Being the most headstrong daughter enables her to stand up to Violet’s taunts (a very entertaining fight at the dinner table is the pinnacle), and this in turn earns her mother’s respect. As the film progresses, we see Barb curse, antagonise and indulge in stubbornness, showing that we can’t escape our parent’s influence, no matter how much they hurt us or however different we want to be.

August: Osage County is an unflinching portrait of a family’s pain. (“Thank God

we can’t see the future or we’d never get out of bed”). It captures the deliciously vivid emotion that runs through a family: past ordeals, resentments, precious moments of nostalgia, the inevitability of death. We see just how unfair life is.

We learn that we will always be tied to a role that we play out automatically, because of the simple fact of relation.

Though the story is heartbreaking, you are left feeling affirmed. The moments of humour and the glimpses of genuine affection ensure that it remains hopeful, without being sicklysweet. It shows us that no one is ‘wrong’, but only hurt in some way.

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Representations: Age in Hollywood

Madz Abbasi investigates depictions of age in film in the second of a new series Sex sells onscreen, hard and fast. But as soon as age has its way with actors, they can be whipped off the red carpet and shoved into the dusty ranks of the “hasbeens” and “once-weres” in no time at all.

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Sex appeal is like a dominatrix in Hollywood, the media taking pleasure in punishing the unappealing. Actors are slated if they dare take measures, such as plastic surgery, when faced with the pressures of maintaining the sexy, popular image which the media demands they uphold. Sex appeal for actors in Hollywood is no doubt hypocritical, especially for women. If not criticised for having lost or ruined their “sexiness”, older actors are brutally compared to emerging starlets with half their life experience and double their ability to fulfil a sexy role. Angelina Jolie faced this with the appearance of Megan Fox in Transformers. The dark hair, full lips and smouldering eyes gave the press enough to compare the two and stir up some rivalry. Yet Fox’s looks far outweigh her ability to give a noteworthy performance, so eventually the link between her and Jolie dissolved. It is strange that the first comparison to be made between the two actors was based on physicality as opposed to performance, when

both individuals make a living from performance, of whatever sort. Clearly there is a relationship between acting and appearance, but surely the craft is what is most important.

Likewise if female actors are not criticised, they are commended for having “stayed in the game” or for “still going strong”. It is as though age is a natural deterrent in Hollywood and as soon as an actor hits midlife, their career is bound to cease. Is this not a ridiculous notion? It is practically inconceivable to ever criticise Steve McQueen on the sex appeal of his own image or Scorsese’s aging looks (if anything the latter’s full grey head is a visual tribute to his wisdom and experience in the film business). We judge directors, producers, writers, virtually the whole film crew, on the quality of the work they create and not on the extent of their physical appearance, why do we not do the same for female actors? That is not to say male actors don’t feel the scrutiny of the press and the need to satisfy the odd sexual appetites of certain fandom

by maintaining the youthful appearance of their image. Of course they must.

However roles for older male actors are far more conceivable in Hollywood today. It is not a challenge to name a number of films in which the majority of the cast are males over forty, such as Inglourious Basterds and the more recent Last Vegas, whereas the same can’t be said for the opposite sex. A recent film that springs to mind is The Heat, in which Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy star. There was also The Hours – with the exception of Nicole Kidman who was 34 years old, the other central actors, Meryl Streep and Julianne Moore, were over 40 at the time of filming. However, that was twelve years ago. Today, the chances of seeing a cast of mature, female actors dominate a Hollywood feature are fairly slim, unless they co-star with younger, ‘sexier’ actors. That being said, if Sandra Bullock, Jennifer Aniston, Jane Lynch and Cameron Diaz somehow ended up in something together, that would make one hell of a film, sexy or not.

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At Cinemas Near You

Chris on Life

Inside Llewyn Davis

Directors Joel and Ethan Coen Starring Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, Justin Timberlake, John Goodman, Garrett Hedlund Cert 15 Runtime 104mins Joseph Holness Like previous Coen Brothers’ films such as The Big Lebowski and A Serious Man,

Out of the Furnace

Director Scott Cooper Starring Christian Bale, Casey Affleck, Woody Harrelson, Zoe Saldana, Forest Whitaker, Willem Dafoe, Sam Shepard Cert 15 Runtime 116mins Matthew Atwood Frequently, films will try to cover too much ground, which results in an anticlimactic ending as well as storylines that appear to be important, but are merely brushed over. Despite its all-star cast, Out of the Furnace commits this mistake, but it also has stylistic moments that allow it to shine.

The film centres around two brothers, Russell (Bale) and Rodney Baze (Affleck).

Rodney is a soldier who has been affected by the war. In order to make money to help pay off debts and get out some rage, he enters the world of underground fighting. The leader of this ring, Harlan DeGroat (Harrelson), becomes the antagonist, and the man who Russell tries to find when his brother goes missing.

The film takes a generic storyline and

Inside Llewyn Davis feels very much like a film about nothing. That’s not to say it’s without substance, far from it, it simply glides from one moment to the next without much thought for any overarching conceit or impending tragedy. The film takes place over the course of a week in the life of a downon-his-luck folk singer, following him as he struggles to fulfil his own dream of being a successful musician. The film opens with the titular character playing a song in its entirety in a small dark venue

attempts to fill it with messages about small-town America and the impact of the recession, as well as commentary on war veterans. Both of these plot lines are eventually lost, and the focus becomes Russell seeking redemption for his brother. Throughout the film there are many interesting developments, such as Russell going to prison, but the time passes quickly and the plot points do nothing for the overall narrative, except attempting to make the viewer sad. There are countless examples of these tangents in the film, as well as random shots that take away from the film.

The characters in Out of the Furnace are one-dimensional. DeGroat is terrifying due to his senseless rage. Bale and Affleck bring life to the screen, whilst the rest of the supporting cast do very little other than stand in the background, or play their clichéd parts. For example, Lena Warren (Saldana), Russell’s ex-girlfriend, can only ever talk about babies or getting pregnant. If the characters were fleshed out more, it would have been easier to become attached to them. However, the film tries to grab the audience through unnecessary plot points.

Stylistically, the film shines. The camera work is interesting, and the cuts during dialogue move the longer scenes at

to a somewhat ambivalent crowd. This sets a slow pace that, whilst sounding unappealing, actually feels calming. All the music seen on screen was recorded live on set, an oddity in film production, working to create a sense of immersion and honesty. Although not a genre picture in any sense, at times one might easily mistake it for a musical. There’s a song every ten minutes and some are really quite good.

It’s hard to sell this film without it sounding boring or pretentious, but those familiar with the Coen Brothers and their unique blend of comedy and pathos will have an idea of what to expect. In truth there’s very little wrong with Inside Llewyn Davis. It doesn’t necessarily aim high in its scope, but it’s executed with a pinpoint accuracy that leaves a very satisfying feeling. Llewyn’s actor, Oscar Isaac, nails the role. We hear throughout the movie, especially from Carey Mulligan’s Jean, about how much of deadbeat and an ass he is. His performance is pitched somewhere between manchild and charming, so it’s believable that the people who surround him are both reviled and enchanted by him. Worth a mention are turns from the

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offensively talented Justin Timberlake as a fellow folk musician. Selling out with a novelty space race song, Goodbye Mr. Kennedy – the standout tune on an already impressive soundtrack. Not to mention John Goodman reuniting with the Coens as an old man in the back of a car.

Although robbed by the Oscars in the major categories this year, Bruno Delbonnel has been rightfully nominated for the Academy Award for Best Cinematography, and he should win.

If not for the sheer beauty of this film, for the grievous error of not recognising either Isaac or the Brothers Coen and their respective contributions. It’s hard to recommend this film any more. It is perfect in its own way and the way the ending wraps around to the beginning leaves you feeling as if you could just have this running on a constant loop in the background all day. Its pacing sags a touch when our hero leaves for Chicago, but it quickly picks back up and ends on a truly rewarding note.

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a good pace. The close-up shots bring the most emotion, especially with Harrelson’s character. However, the editing of the film could have been sharper, whilst some shots seem to repeat themselves. For example, there was a shot of the prison, then a couple of minutes later, the same shot, but with snow.

Overall, Out of the Furnace is decent.

It has the gritty feel it needs due to the

colouring and camera work, somewhat like Winter’s Bone, but the editing and some shot selections do not do it justice.

It grabs the viewer, and keeps them engaged, but cannot sustain it throughout the entire two hours.

5

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Lone Survivor

Director Peter Berg Starring Mark Wahlberg, Ben Foster, Emile Hirsch, Taylor Kitsch Cert 15 Runtime 121mins Freddie Van Der Velde In Lone Survivor, Wahlberg, Foster, Hirsch and Kitsch star as a four man team in mid-noughties Afghanistan whose assassination mission takes a turn for the worst. The film, based on true events and Marcus Luttrell’s fact-based novel of the same name recounting Operation Red Wings, may be forgiven for its sentimentality and overkill of American patriotism due to its very nature as an honouring of lives lost.

The opening credits of the film show real-life footage of American Navy SEALS in training complete with inspirational drill sergeant voiceover and pictures of unity within the ranks; at one point a line of cadets float in the sea, holding hands

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and singing hymns through the night. The film’s first act depicts the everyday life of the SEAL team on their US military base in Afghanistan, building up character relationships and an analysis of male comradeship. Everybody has a role to maintain in both work and play it seems, and it is this sentimental calm before the storm that is used in many war-related films to show how a team’s relationships with each other, combined with their discipline, reflect their hardship and merciless killing later on. Unlike Full Metal Jacket, this war film shows the human and caring sides of the soldiers being maintained, not hammered out of them.

After a very interesting “what would you do?” situation, which acts as the inciting incident for the merciless assault on the team by Taliban forces, visceral and brutal images of close quarter combat fill the screen and we see the characters deconstructed, both literally and physically before our eyes.

Wahlberg’s performance, along with his supporting cast, do justice to the real-life characters as they are chipped

I, Frankenstein

Director Staurt Beattie Starring Aaron Eckhart, Yvonne Strahovski, Miranda Otto, Bill Nighy, Jai Courtney Cert 12A Runtime 92mins Rachel Keeley

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Adapted from the graphic novel by Kevin Grevioux, I, Frankenstein is set in modern-day London and tells the tale of Frankenstein’s monster (Eckhart), caught in an age-old war between gargoyles and demons that could have dramatic consequences for the fate of humanity.

At first glance, this sounds like an interesting spin on Mary Shelley’s original tale, depicting Frankenstein’s creation as a muscular being rather than a stereotypical green Hammerhorror monster.

However, I, Frankenstein is presented more as an action-film than a horror or thriller.

The opening of the film is set in 1795

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Nerd Locker

away by the trauma of war. Moments of heart-wrenching tragedy combine with their heroism and will to support one another. Both really make you care for the characters, a compliment attributed to the actors, original ‘Lone Survivor’ Luttrell’s source material, and director Berg, who also wrote the screenplay.

The film does its job, depicting a reallife situation in which lives were lost, and honours those who fought in a powerful manner. However, as with most factual wartime dramatizations like Black Hawk Down and We Were Soldiers, we are left

with a film that does not raise anything new in relation to the conflict. For that we turn to the likes of Platoon or The Hurt Locker, both fictional films but both raising moral questions about war’s implications on humanity. Perhaps this was not the aim of Lone Survivor, but despite the action, talented acting and story, nothing new is raised on the subject of war that we have not seen before.

with Victor Frankenstein being buried with his journal (a key object in the film) in a graveyard by his creation, who is referred to mainly as “Adam”, but also as “creature” and later “Frankenstein” when he accepts the surname of his creator. Whilst in the graveyard, Adam is attacked by demons before being rescued by gargoyles and taken to the Gargoyle Queen, Lenore (Otto), who asks him to be their ally in the war. But he chooses to fight the demons alone.

Fast forward a couple of centuries and Adam is still fighting off demons despite being faced with a modern society.

The film’s Gothic tone is reminiscent of the Underworld films in the use of a war between fantasy creatures, with a likely explanation being that Grevioux was also behind the Underworld series.

Moreover, Bill Nighy has again been cast, as in Underworld, as a demonic elder, this time in the form of Naberius.

On discovering that Adam is alive, the plot focuses more on Naberius’ wish to obtain Frankenstein’s journal so that his scientist Terra (Strahovski) can use it

to reanimate corpses. Naberius’ secret intention, however, is to bring thousands of corpses back to life to form an evil army – a plot device as seen in another Gothic-fantasy film: Van Helsing.

I, Frankenstein is certainly not short of explosive fight sequences, however this does often result in a thin plot and dialogue. Whilst focus is placed on Adam and Naberius, most of the demons and gargoyles lack any form of personality, with the exception of Lenore, whose character is only briefly touched upon, along with Terra.

Visually the film is impressive – an important factor for a film exclusively showing in IMAX 3D format in most cinemas. Images of gargoyles descending from their Gothic cathedrals and demons exploding into sparks are certainly eyecatching. If you’re a fan of actionfilled fantasy, then I, Frankenstein is for you.

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Philip Seymour Hoffman (1967-2014) With his intimidatingly broad range and fantastically moldable face, Philip Seymour Hoffman was unafraid, throughout his long career, to reflect the sometimes harsh vulnerabilities behind the characters he played, whether it’s his barely-coiled rage in The Master or the sadsack loneliness of his role in Happiness, the unrequited infatuation he displayed in Boogie Nights, or the heartwarming salute to the “uncool” of the world in Almost Famous. His passing leaves behind an enormous hole in modern filmmaking, along with a shockingly vast legacy that includes some of the most iconic and daring cinematic masterpieces of the last twenty-five years.

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11.02.2014

Strong Sex, Graphic Nudity

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For Concrete’s Sex Issue, Neven Devies explores the flaws in film censorship It’s kind of a funny story actually, the implicit hegemonic ideologies which continue to construct, even mould, public perceptions of artistic integrity. For a society which seemingly upholds the value in freedom of speech, there continues to be a dark, hanging cloud which shrouds and diminishes our utopian ideals of unrestricted self-expression. An entity so deeply ingrained into contemporary culture that many barely even question its presence around us - censorship.

Okay, maybe it seems a little much to characterise censorship as an unstoppable pseudo-viral conception which threatens the foundations we live upon. After all, cultural changes have forced artistic censorship to adjust onto a more lenient spectrum. It’s a long road away from the wholly restrictive ‘Hays Code’ which dominated Hollywood for the good part of three decades, and yet, for all the slack that film censorship has seen throughout these early stages of the 21st century, there remains one vital element which

seems to have refused to change - sex.

Recently, the BBFC released official changes in policies which would see a bigger scrutiny placed on the psychological impact of horror within cinema, whilst frequency of very strong language, which would usually predict an 18 certificate, would see an immediate leniency, a progression which they say reflects cultural changes within Britain.

Laughably ironic then, when we consider the board remains proudly stern on its archaic models of sexuality when the rest of the world has rightly moved on.

Theoretical constructs surrounding censorship directs that its main principle is to protect the public, primarily children, from witnessing materials which could potentially damage their innocent psyches. And so in a bizarre, illogical conclusion which seems to

plague Anglo-saxon countries specifically, the BBFC continue to imply that sexuality and nudity are inherently more harmful then violence. Shootings, stabbings and a moderated focus on injury are all nicely packaged within the child-friendly 12A ratings, but a simulated representation of sexual intercourse, or a “supposedly” gratuitous shot of natural nudity and BAM!, all hell breaks loose, you’re out of the ball-park and firmly into the minimum 15 rating category. Take Amélie. In its homeland of France, the film found itself rated ‘tous publics’, the UK equivalent of the U certificate. Just over the bridge however, in antiquated Britain, the film was slapped with a 15 rating. Alarmingly, this is not an isolated incident, with these major distinctions between the two neighbouring countries reflecting seemingly intrinsic

polarising attitudes towards sex.

Interestingly, with Britain remaining the top European country for teenage pregnancy, the question of the relationship between censorship and active audience participation is heightened. With sexuality in film classifying so high, there is a suggestion that rates of teenage pregnancy should be inherently low. So why does this not correlate with reality?

There is no distinct answer, but maybe it’s the physical act of censorship itself which proves more harmful. As humans, we are physiologically drawn to taboo, to participate in acts which are deemed culturally inappropriate. Perhaps then, with sex being presented as illicit and dangerous, the draw to participate in intercourse becomes heightened. It’s a basic hypothesis, but it’s important to consider such questions on the impact of censorship because it remains an unfavourable concept. A power play between the dominating ideals of the ruling institution and those of the public.

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11.02.2014

LISTINGS

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11th February - 24th February live music 11th February

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