1Literary Lions

Issue 11 Spring 2014

Comedy& Tragedy

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COMEDY

TRAGEDY

Let Sleeping Lions Lie... 4

Censors**p 10

The Personal Tragedy of the Third 12

A Conversation with Cate Blanchett 15

Straying From the Path 20

Tragedy on the Silver Screen 22

Game Over: Tragedy in Games 24

Tragedy Strikes the English Department 26

Apathy: A Tragic Poem 28

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Special Forces Mentor Jacob Winskell opens up to Literary Lions about the ups and downs of an average day in the Force…

Another Hampton week begins as usual for both me and Deputy Mentor Revesby. Our early morning patrol passes unremarkably, but, around break time, we pick up a Code Beige from Modern Languages and decide to check it out. It’s the usual routine; a couple of first years heading Maths-bound at quite a speed. “Keen to get to the lesson,” apparently.

“Tell that to a fifteen minute conduct,” I quip as I dole out the law, with Revesby sniggering behind me. Smiling, we saddle up and push off aboard our trusty Segways. The mentor Segway Scheme is a recent initiative of the new Headmaster’s regime, although “mentors on wheels” had been in the concept phase for years before the scheme evolved and the school purchased an entire fleet. Not being official mentors, Revesby and I aren’t really meant to use the hallowed Segways, but no one seems to care. So we do.

My rambling thoughts are suddenly disrupted as the walkie-talkie at my hip comes alive. “CODE RED! CODE RED in the RS Tower!” Revesby stares at me as though to establish some sort of “let’s-go-get-‘em” look, but I sagely shake my head. “Leave it.” I say. Sometimes I wonder whether Revesby will ever be mentor material at all…

1pm rolls around. Settling down to a well-earned lunch in the staff canteen, my troubled mind wanders. I find myself remembering that day; that fateful assembly: the mentor initiation ceremony…

One by one the names of those destined for greatness were read out, and Hampton’s top brass paraded to the stage, receiving the appropriate upholstery for their rank. Oh how eagerly I waited, ready at any instant to spring onto the stage, to don the longed-for crimson tie alongside my fellows. To cast the entire lower school into a preemptive detention.

“And last of all…” announced the Headmaster… “Robert Revesby.”

I was still sat there, numbed, when the four o’clock bells tolled for home-time. Into the hall came the

cleaners, stacking up chairs and sweeping the floor around me. It was a little past midnight when, quietly, I gave up and made my lonely way home.

That night, I vowed that I would be Hampton’s greatest mentor. There would be no task too great for me, no duty too thankless. From then on, I lived only to deal out justice in the corridors.

A disturbance outside drags me from my lunchtime reverie. I often joke to Revesby that an unfinished lunch should be the emblem of the Hampton School Mentor Department. A half-eaten panini in the Lion’s paws would look good.

As we park up, I survey the scene. Another lunch queue disturbance. I glimpse two other members of staff struggling to contain the situation. “Better leave this one to the professionals,” I jape, wresting my favourite cane from its holster. Being an unofficial mentor has its perks - all weapons were confiscated from the Mentor Department years back. Popular thought these days favours ‘soft mentoring’. Popular thought is not a school of thought I subscribe to.

I take a moment to assess the situation. It’s disorderly - pushing and shoving everywhere. It’s only lucky that Revesby and I showed up when we did.

I’m just squaring up to deliver the necessary swipeage with my well-practiced cane arm when I hear ol’ Revesby whimper: “Oh my, it’s the ‘Fects!”

Only then do I hear it – the sound of frantic pushbike pedalling. Sure enough, a pedal car screeches to a halt behind us, and four black-tied sixth-formers clamber out of the vehicle, adjusting their shades as they square up to us. I turn, slowly, to face the Mentor’s worst enemies: the men of the Prefect Department.

“Hey, Red Tie!” one of them hisses. The solitary gold lion on his chest marks him out as their leader.

I vowed that I would be Hamp-ton’s greatest mentor. No task too great, no duty too thank-

less.

“Let Sleeping Lions Lie....”a murder mystery

Starring

cunning detectiveJacob Winskell

6 7

“What are you doing here at this time of day?”

“We’re just doing our jobs”, retorts Revesby, before I can stop him. (Revesby is of very little use in these situations, but he does laugh at my jokes so I always let him tag along).

“We’re just ushering some troublemakers to their detentions,” I explain, exuding the illusion of calmness.

“Uh-uh,” says the prefect, stamping out his cigarette in a manner reminiscent of horrible acts of violence. “I suggest you check the rota.”

“Yeah!” chirped up his deputy. “Monday afternoon lunch queues are prefect turf!”

I fumble about for an escape. I can’t let them beat me…Suddenly, Revesby squeals: “Girls!”

The ‘Fects dive for cover. I faint - momentarily - but loyal Revesby picks me up and carries me to the Prefect-mobile. Within seconds we’re off, our feet spinning in unison.

“We fooled them!” cheers Revesby.

“Well Revesby, when you’re right you’re right,” I say (thereby subliminally informing him that he’s normally wrong). Nonetheless, I do feel a flicker of pride for his bravery. “That was some quick thinking back there.”

“Yeah and that was clever – how you pretended to fain-”

“Just concentrate on the road.”

For a while, we pedal along in silence. Then Revesby glances across at me.

“That Code Red earlier,” he begins with trepidation.

“You want to know why we didn’t check it out?”

“Well…yeah.”

“You know Revesby, you’re not a bad deputy,” I sigh. “But sometimes you gotta let the

teachers learn how to handle it for themselves.”

He seems content with my answer.

“Anyway,” I say, pedalling around the Garrick,“it was only a speeding offence.”

“Er…no boss, Code Red is…murder.”

“So what’s speeding?”

“Speeding’s Beige.”

I nod to show Revesby that I already knew this.

“Oh! You were just testing me.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “Yep. Yes I was.”

Sometimes Revesby forgets that he’s a lower rank than me.

As we pull up to RS, chaos is at large. Dark-suited prefects buzz like flies round a rabble of hysterical first years. With my usual decisiveness and customary charisma, I calm down the witnesses, clear the area and establish a crime scene. Suddenly I find myself standing face to face with an officer of the Prefect Department. “Stand down, officer,” I say. “What we’ve got here’s a potential bullying incident. I’m taking charge of this operation.” Entrusted as we are with the primary role of lower school pastoral care, investigations of bullying-related deaths fall under mentor territory.

I stoop over the body, hands scrabbling for clues. It’s street-wise Hampton rapper Nunzio Rapz (MC), a tough-talking cool kid with a rebellious attitude and lyrics to match, asphyxiated by his own academic tie.

“Stand down, officer,” rasps a weak voice from behind me. “This looks like a homicide case – making this a CCF investigation.”

Faced with superior weaponry and discipline, we have no choice but to stand down.

Feeling perplexed by the day’s findings, I decide it’s time to pay Kurls Krawitt a visit. ‘Kurls’ is the kingpin in cookies and doughnuts; a lucrative criminal web which he runs from his unassuming locker units outside Changing Room 5. Kurls is also a mentor informant.

“Empty your pockets, Kurls!” I shout as we pull in to the side of the corridor. Alarmed, Kurls hands over a bag, his hands shaking. I inspect the bag. It’s double choc.

“Tut tut,” I sigh. “Thought you’d given up this trash.” I crumble a cookie at his feet.

“How much have you got for me?”

“£1.20 is all I got.”

“That’s too bad.” I pause to lick the crumbs from my fingers. “It was the same story last week.”

“Doughnuts ain’t sellin’ so well, Boss - the ‘Fects are watchin’ me!”

I play the sympathy card. “It’s OK Kurls, we can forget that 30p.”

“We can?”

“Yeah, sure we can.” I smile. “We just need some information.” I tell him all about Nunzio and Kurls just shakes his head. “They wanted him out of the way.”

“Who’s ‘they’? Black Ties?”

Kurls keeps shaking his head. “No, no this is bigger than Reds and Blacks.”

“Who then?”

“I don’t know! But Nunz did, and that’s why they got him.”

“I thought those raps were just a white middle class private school boy having the most embarrassing teenage tantrum ever.”

“That may be, but actually Nunzio was spitting a serious message…about the School.”

“Go!” I snap. Kurls scarpers towards the Common Room. I throw the cookies to Revesby. “Here: hide these in the boot. In case I get hungry later.”

I’m getting the car in gear when Revesby yelps: “Boss! You’d better check this out!”

At times like this, I remember exactly why I took Revesby’s tie off him in the first place. “Deputy Mentor Revesby, are you unable to handle this small task yourself?”

“Let me out of here!” The voice isn’t Revesby’s. Revesby runs over. “There’s somebody in the boot…”

We bundle the man into the passenger seat and Revesby sets about untying him.

“What were you doing in the back of a prefect car?” I ask.

“My name is Ronan Barnard,” mumbles the man, blinking in the broad daylight. “I’m with the Hampton Guardian.”

I give him the once over. “Not investigating mentor brutality, are you?” I ask nonchalantly.

“No.”

I regard him with suspicion. I’ve personally distrusted the liberal media since the News from Hampton phone hacking scandal.

“Well, what were you trying to find out in the boot?”

“What I’m trying to find out is the truth about Hampton. Unfortunately the Black Ties found me first.”

I share a look with Revesby. “Mr Journalist…” I sneer theatrically. “…What do you know about our case?”

Code Red is...murder!

I’ve distrusted the liberal me-dia since the News from Hamp-

ton phone hacking scandal.

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Ronan looked down, eyes brimming. “Nunzio is my informant. Together he and I have worked tirelessly - day and night - to expose this story.” He stared afar. “Last night, Nunz found a lead that would blow this thing wide open. He wouldn’t tell me anything, said he wanted to protect me…”

Revesby and I do the look again. “Nunzio’s dead,” I say, patting Ronan on the shoulder reassuringly. But Revesby’s attempt at comforting the bereaved lacks the gentle touch. He suddenly pulls on Ronan’s seatbelt, trapping him against his seat.

“All you need to know,” hissed Revesby, “is that Hampton is an all-Steinway, climate-neutral, independent day school, giving boys aged 11 to 18 a well-rounded education and great school dinners. Why don’t you just put that in your report?”

“Hampton… killed… Nunzio!” spluttered Ronan.

Eager to curtail the flow of animosity, I turn on the radio. The dashboard confuses me, but I settle on a large red button with a picture of a loudspeaker on.

“ALERT! ALERT! PREFECT IN DISTRESS!” blares out of the speakers as the siren wails and blue lights flash. It’s a song I’m unfamiliar with, but I like its vibe so I turn the volume up. I select another large button, this one with a striking picture of an arrow on it. Much to my surprise, the back seats are violently ejected, complete with Deputy Mentor Robert Revesby, who, after picking himself up, runs away from me, at high speed.

“Hampton really does spend money on pointless things sometimes,” says I.

“This alarm will have every red, black and rainbow tie in this school after us,” Ronan says. “We need to change vehicles.” As ever, we find the grounds staff drag racing across the fields in their golf buggies, so we pull them over and jack their rides.

“So Revesby was a bad apple?” I ask Ronan.

“One of the worst in the Force. I’ve been tailing him undercover for months. You know that he turns over £1.50 every week from black market cookies and doughnuts? Nunzio and I could never find anything solid on him but yeah; that guy changed sides a long time ago.” Ronan shook his head. “What did they do to him?”

“Nunz died this morning in the RS tower. I got there moments too late, and the assailant was nowhere to be s-“

“But…wait! He doesn’t do RS. He only does hard subjects - you know, with numbers and stuff…” Ronan looked concerned.

“Well what in Edmund Pigeon’s name was he doing there, then?” I take a moment to compose myself. “Looks like I’m gonna need a new deputy.”

Ronan nods. “Let’s bust this wider than wide.”

“Actually, do you mind if we stop off in the cloisters?” I ask.

“Why?”

I check my rota. “I’m on bag removal duty now.”

“Pointless job. Let’s just go.”

“I’ve gotta take ‘em to the RS tower anyway. Under orders. C’mon, let’s just load ‘em up in the buggies. There’s this door and we just leave them outside. I guess someone comes and takes them in.”

We speed in our buggies up the steep, narrow RS staircase, up the rickety wooden stairs, and finally up the ladder through the secret trapdoor leading to the fourth floor. The door to the upstairs room is locked and barred. Through it drifts the sound of mechanical whirring. I peer through the keyhole. Inside is a massive machine, its hydraulic arms pumping and cogs spinning. At its heart is a glass chamber several feet high which shimmers with green super-electricity. Silhouetted by the eerie glow of the strange device stand two men.

“The Governors need more, Kevin” whispers a Scottish accent.

The other man shakes his head. “This is wrong.

We’ve gone too far!”

“Shut up!” snaps the first man, checking his watch. “There should be a new delivery of confiscated schoolbags by now. Bring them in so we can harvest the DNA.”

“There’s only one place we can find the information we need,” says Ronan, as we narrowly escape. “We need to hit the library. The restricted section!”

We find the Archivist huddled amidst stacks of ancient leather-bound books. “For the last 10 years – since I was 17 - I’ve dedicated my entire life to unearthing the story of Hampton – the true story.”

We tell him about the machine in the attic.

“Sounds like we got ourselves an alchemizer. It converts children’s work into money - the one thing the governors feed off. Wait…it all makes sense now! ‘Praestat opes sapientia’”, the Archivist exclaims. “It means, loosely …work is money’!”

“Wow…how did they get away with that?” asks Ronan.

“Well not many people know Latin, do they? It’s considered obsolete,” shrugs The Archivist. “Have you boys ever wondered why they built the 450 Hall?”

“Because it’s a world-class performing arts centre,” explain Ronan and I.

“Ha!” snorts the Archivist. “This school’s been claiming it was 450 years old since the day it was founded, twenty years ago. The 450 Theatre isn’t a drama theatre – it’s an operating theatre!” He unfurls a map of the School. “The funds are extracted there. Every forty minutes they’re transmitted by laser to the work-alchemizer. That’s why the school bells are so stupidly, irritatingly loud – to cover up the noise as the work is pulverised.”

“They are a bit too loud,” says I.

Ronan and I race across the school. We know there’s very little time left, although due to incoherent storytelling we’re not sure exactly what for. We crash the buggies straight through the door of the machine’s engine room and there, drunk on power, stands Robert Revesby, twiddling with the controls.

In the dramatic rooftop fight scene that ensues – complete with punches flying and kicks whirling – it emerges that Rob was actually the villain.

“How could you?” I land a mean slap on Revesby which sends him sprawling. “Does a red tie mean nothing to you?”

“Ha!” Spits Rob bloodily. “What does it matter, what colour your tie is? It’s what’s inside that counts. That’s what Hampton’s forgotten, with all its poster campaigns, noisy school bells and bad modern art!”

“NO!” I roar, jamming Rob into the rotors of the fake wind turbine and thereby inadvertently setting back Hampton’s energy targets by several years. A joke, of course: we all know that turbine isn’t plugged in.

Beneath our feet the RS tower begins to rumble. The alchemizer was overheating! With the quick-thinking of true Hamptonians, we hoist the heavy machine into a buggy and then direct it full-throttle towards our pitches. We’re just in time. Seconds later it blows and the acrid stench of burning grass begins to waft across.

And as two laughing Hamptonians ride a golf buggy across the fields into the sunset, somewhere, not too far away, the school song begins to play.

And surely it really isn’t so bad. Naturally, it thinks in numbers and profit as well as people. And these days it cultivates a public image which sometimes deviates from the truth.

But I’m yet to find a multi-million pound company which doesn’t. Actually it’s a registered charity. There: it’s number 1120005; that’s not so hard to remember…and remember you will, when you’re studying the incredibly rigorous PPE at a fancy Russell Group university.

Hampton is an all-Steinway, climate-neutral, independent day school...just put that in

your report!

‘Praestat opes sapientia’...it means (loosely) ‘Work is

money’!

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Censors**pby Dafffn Gibboasdasns

The Tragedy of Free Speech

the words BLACK, BLACK and BLACK? Do you think that there’s something fundamentally wrong with BLA? By trying to babysit us, all you do is make us more inquisitive into finding things out on dodgy websites like THEPIRATEBAY. .com.

In fact, with the omnipresence of the inter-net, your jobs have lost all meaning entirely. It’s simply impossible for you to filter out all the BLAck, the rampant BLACKH, and let’s not forget the shocking amounts of HDKSJA (oh, and the bLAJDF). Despite Mr DAKJasdL‘s piti-ful attempts, a LhgFSJ filter just won’t work.

There’s a lot to be said for protecting our liberties. How long is it before EORGE RWELL ’s vision of a dystopic society where we can’t even think whatever we want becomes true? It’s difficult to see what exactly censors are planning on doing next, but it’s not hard to imagine a total ban of dis-cussing HSJSAKJ , HJADJD and even JKLDAKL.

But the crux of the matter is this. We have to be able to There’s lot to be said pro ecting our liber ies. How long is it efor GEORG OR-WELL’s vision o a ystopic so iety here we ing on do ng next, bu it’s not ard to imagine a total ban disc SAKJ, H ADJD nd even KL askd;fj lk;sdt to and said fo protectin ouib-erties. Ho long is it b fore GEO GE OR-WELL s vision of dystopic ociety whe e we can’t even hink what ver we wan becomes true? dult to see what xactly cen ors are

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and we hope that you will consider our points for the future.

To whomever it may concern,

As editors of the BlAC K newspaper, we would like to discuss the censorship of our recent ar-ticle, bLACK. The piece was seemingly not in accordance with your guidelines: we suspect because we discussed bLACK and BlaCK and may have gone a bit overboard when criticis-ing BLACaaaaaaaaK. Somewhat understandable, but we feel that there is cause for concern here.

Is censorship not a violation of principles of free speech, liberty and self expression? Isn’t it all too easy to stray from protecting the innocent to preventing one from telling BLACdK family to BLAffffCK? As a censor, your job should be to maintain that line, and with regards to the BLACK article we feel you have failed in that regard.

As an aside, let’s talk a little about the snowden Files. Here we have a man who did all he could to let the public know the truth about their lack of privacy online, and informed BLACK that we are constantly being spied on. And yet you censors did all you could to prevent this information from being published in the BLA-hahaCK. It’s obscene, really: claiming that you can black out politically important informa-tion on the grounds of national security. And yet your colleagues at the BLadsAck office in BLACK felt you were justified in acting this way.

And don’t get us started on television. Whether it’s bleeping out a BLACK on BBC One dur-ing coronation Strret before 9PM, or decreeing that we can never show BLACK BLAsdfCK on UK screens because of a few issues of BLA, BLACKBLACK and one scene of BLACK, you never shun an opportunity to prevent the pub-lic from seeing uncorrupted media. Are you thatnaïve that you think 11 year olds have never heard

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immensely. Meanwhile, up on the master cloud, God continued to row with Jesus. The Holy Ghost could sometimes hear them faintly across the white void. The row, which had lasted for almost two millennia, was the same old one as it had been at the start. God had never quite forgiven Jesus for slipping away and spending a weekend in the desert with Satan, when God had expressly forbidden him from liaising with him. At the time, he had thought grounding Jesus for another thirty-eight days would teach him a lesson. For deities, the age of thirty was something like the immortal equivalent of adolescence, and Jesus had angrily born the grudge throughout his punishment. The moment it ended, he had taken his revenge: gathering all the people he could on a vast mountainside, he had denounced every one of his father’s old teachings, and made his own alterations to them. Since God had found out, the two had been at loggerheads, often sulking when not openly rowing, oblivious to the world

below, where great schisms occurred among their followers, and terrible monstrosities were committed in their names – all missed by the moody duo.

The Holy Ghost heaved a heavy sigh that made his nebulous form swell momentarily. He partially merged himself with the bank of thick cumulus cloud that he used for a bed, his back sinking into the cloud wall behind it, and picked up his softback copy of The Fault in Our Stars.

The cloudbank opposite parted towards the bottom, and George, the Holy Ghost’s pet albino python, slithered in, cloaked in the very long woollen sock the Holy Ghost had knitted for him after the celestial temperature had dropped. George’s two favourite pastimes were hiding in God’s infinitely long beard, where he was well camouflaged, and keeping the Holy Ghost company. He was a wonderful companion. As George wrapped himself around the Holy Ghost’s shoulders, the Holy Ghost felt himself relaxing for the first time that day, and, at last, settled down to read his story…..

As the Holy Ghost desperately twisted and turned, wrestling with the puppeteer’s batons, his aura slipped off his left shoulder. As it pulled against him, he continued wrestling, unwilling to pause and hitch it up….

Far, far below, a handsome youth with carelessly tousled hair was slowly and confidently covering the distance between the Tesco aisle he had been browsing and the till at the other end of the supermarket, where a young woman in a flamboyantly pink jacket and skirt brushed a stray strand of long blonde-brown hair behind her ear as she paid for the last of her items.

The Holy Ghost twitched one of the batons. The youth increased his pace. Another few twitches, and peoples’ paths made slight adjustments, shifting them into the way so as to divert from the youth, herding him towards the young woman’s till. His tongue between his teeth, the Holy Ghost twitched the youth forward again, and raised the other rod, ready to flick. He concentrated hard.

He flicked the rod. The young woman’s purse slipped from her fingers just as the youth passed her. But the sudden movement caused the Holy Ghost’s aura to slip further down, and he became entangled in it. The rods flailed out of control, and the youth, instead of catching the wallet in the style of a postmodern romantic hero, sped faster out of the shop without so much as looking at the young woman. She was left to pick up the wallet herself. The moment had gone.

The Holy Ghost sighed and put down the rods:

another failure. He drifted vaguely in the direction of his private cloud-chamber. He floated inside, and the clouds folded themselves behind him, giving him some privacy. Inside the chamber, transparent shelves hovered in front of each of the cloudbanks that formed the walls. They were full of books, predominantly well-thumbed romance novels with tear-splashed pages. Against one cloudbank was an elegant, geometric, clear wardrobe that God and Leonardo Da Vinci had designed for him. A shaft of light pierced the cloudbank behind it, and was refracted by the wardrobe, forming spare auras for the Holy Ghost to wear. It was to this wardrobe that he now glided dejectedly – he had gotten so close this time!

Sighing, he changed his aura. As he did so, he shivered and felt decidedly cold. When Satan had fallen out with God over artistic differences, they had gone their separate ways; God

had muttered about him in a booming undertone for a few years afterwards – a very short time for an immortal being – and jealously resolved to be

as unlike Satan as possible. When the Angel Gabriel

reported that Satan was having a ball in his new realm, enjoying the continuously tropical heat, God in response reduced the temperature in heaven by a considerable degree.

So the Holy Ghost shivered, and slipped on the aura, grateful for its warmth.

Day by day, hour after hour, he had been practising at the puppet stand, gazing

down at beautiful human beings made in God’s image (apart from the immeasurable white beard) - trying to instigate orchestrated relationships between them through beautiful

romantic episodes inspired by millennia of romantic fiction (particularly the few

centuries of romance novels, of which the Holy Ghost was particularly fond). So far he had had no success, and it was getting him down

The Personal Tragedy of theThird

Aaron Glynn

“God had never quite forgiven Jesus for slipping away and

spending a weekend in the de-sert with Satan”

14 15

Australian actress Cate Blanchett has had a hugely successful career for well over a decade, receiving numerous Oscar nominations for her work in Elizabeth (and the sequel The Golden Age), Notes on a Scandal and I’m Not There. She has won an Academy Award for The Aviator, two Golden Globe Awards and two BAFTAs, along with recently winning the Oscar and Golden Globe for Best Actress for her stunning performance in Woody Allen’s Blue Jasmine. You’ve probably seen her as Galadriel in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit series as well. It’s safe to say that she is one of the most successful actors of her generation. Having just wrapped up filming on Disney’s new adaptation of Cinderella, Ms. Blanchett was gracious enough to grant us an interview in the confines of her lovely home. We had the chance to chat with her about her thoughts on film, theatre and television.

Over her career, Blanchett has worked with all the big-names in Hollywood: Ridley

Scott, Peter Jackson, Steven Spielberg, Woody

Allen…the list goes on.

B u t

A Conversation withCate Blanchett

Shakeel Hashim

16 17

ideas viscerally understood.”

But there’s one thing that theatre does that film can’t, she explains: unite an audience. “No two audiences are alike and, as

a result, no two performances are exactly alike. And whilst an audience is made up of individuals, in the presence of the experience unfolding on stage they become a collective presence. One is acutely aware of the fact one is watching the events on stage with others.” This is obviously something that film can’t achieve, and something that she points to as being key to theatre’s continued success even in this age of accessible TV and film.

“Theatre encompasses so many aspects of the arts - music, dance, architecture, visual arts. It is a ‘bastard’ medium - pardon my French. It is organic and, most importantly, it is live. If you don’t catch the show when it’s on, there is no true way to catch it later. It is ephemeral. It lives on in people’s memories in this way.” In this age of instant, on-demand streaming on Netflix

or pre-recorded shows on Sky+, this irreplicable sense of a live show remains popular, Cate explains. “I suspect with increased alienation occurring in a highly-digitised age, people are gravitating again towards the warmth of the truly live experience.”

However, although theatre is obviously not going away any time soon, another medium is on the rise: television. Prominent actors have spoken about television’s revival, with Kevin Spacey claiming TV is entering a new “golden age” thanks to shows like Breaking Bad, House of Cards (which Spacey stars in) and True Detective. Indeed, many

of Cate’s colleagues on the set of Cinderella star in TV shows, such as leads Lily James (Lady Rose McClare, Downton Abbey) and Richard Madden (Robb Stark, Game of Thrones). Although she hasn’t yet appeared on the small screen herself, Cate fully understands TV’s renaissance.

“Television has re-emerged as the place where complicated, long range narratives can unfold. The audience can live

there are some not on that list that she’d relish the chance to work with. “The one I continually return to is Ang Lee (director of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon; Brokeback Mountain; Life of Pi). He is an inveterate shape shifter as a director in terms of the material he chooses to tackle

and the perspective he takes on the narrative,” she says, speaking of his “unrivalled abilities as a storyteller” and “constantly surprising work.”

But although Cate has had a phenomenally successful career in film (movies she has appeared in have collectively grossed over $7 billion at the worldwide box office), she’s also been heavily involved in theatre. “Whilst I relish making films, and I have had the great privilege of working alongside some extraordinary people in that medium, it is theatre that has stretched me the most,” she says. “Until recently, I have been the co-artistic director of The Sydney Theatre Company, enmeshed in theatre not only as an actress, but as a producer

as well.” In her role here, she has starred in plays ranging from Shakespeare’s The War of the Roses to A Streetcar Named Desire, producing many more in collaboration with her husband, Andrew Upton.

She explains how the challenging nature of theatre has allowed her to grow and develop as an actress. “The work I have been engaged in at the company has often been formally compelling and challenging and, as a result, this work has expanded my sense of what is possible when creating a character.” Directly comparing film and theatre, she says that “in the theatre, I am directly engaged with the audience and responsible to them, whereas as an actor working in film one is more dislocated from the audience,” citing this as what makes theatre both more challenging and more visceral. “Good theatre - pieces that live

on in the audience’s memory - is able to approach the big ideas, and do so through the space and the audience, making

“Peoplegravitate towards

the warmthof the truly

live experience”

FILMOGRAPHY

OSCAR ANDLUCINDA

ELIZABETH

THE TALENTED MR RIPLEY

THE LORD OF THE RINGS

THE LIFE AQUATIC

THE AVIATOR

NOTES ON A SCANDAL

ELIZABETH: THE GOLDEN AGE

I’M NOT THERE

THE CURIOUS CASE OF

BENJAMINBUTTON

ROBIN HOOD

THE HOBBIT

BLUE JASMINE

“Theatre, unlike film, can turn an audience

into a collective presence”

“With TV, you can live through the minutiae of a character’s life”

“Ang Lee is an inveterate shape

shifter, anunrivalled story-

teller”

“No twoaudiences are alike, no two

performances are the same”

18 19

through the minutiae of a character’s twists and turns and, crucially, the stories are made to be seen on a small screen. I think this latter aspect is pivotal when considering the renaissance of TV.” This is due to the way in which we currently view media: “Audiences now rarely consume feature films in the format for which they were intended. People download, stream: they watch films at home. With TV one is usually seeing the content in the form the creative team intended so the experience isn’t compromised.” Blanchett believes this uncompromised experience will lead to the continued success of TV as a storytelling medium.

Calm, composed and full of wisdom about artistic media, Cate Blanchett has proved to be every bit as brilliant off the screen and away from the stage as on it. Six films are currently in production that feature her, with more on the horizon, so it’s evident that her glittering career isn’t going to lose its shine anytime soon.

COMING SOONHOW TO TRAIN YOUR

DRAGON 2

THE HOBBIT: THERE AND BACK AGAIN

CINDERELLA

KNIGHT OF CUPS

CAROL

UNTITLED TERRENCE MALICK PROJECT

20 21

ing that one day she will be rewarded. At the end of the story, she goes off and mar-ries the prince while her sinful stepfamily gets their eyes pecked out by birds. Lovely.

Nowadays, we worry much more about damaging our children’s impres-sionable minds than

they did in the days of yore. If we take a look at Grimms’

Fairy Tales, we can begin to see that per-haps the stories are not so cheerful as we

have been almost conditioned to believe, especially in the case of the stereotypical ‘fairy tale ending’. There is tragedy be-neath the comedy and final resolution. Snow White, like Cinderella, is often seen as having a happy ending – she marries the prince and they live “happily ever after”. In modern interpretations, the wicked Queen returns to visit Snow White af-

ter her wedding and is forgiven by the kind-hearted bride, but in the original she faces the punishment of being forced to dance in red hot iron shoes until she drops to the ground dead. Clearly this ending is much more violent and disturbing than the version we remember from our bedtime stories. The note the story ends on is a scene of punishment and humili-ation, rather than a royal wedding, an ending that would certainly be seen nowadays as much

Once upon a time, there was an idyllic fara-way kingdom filled with joy – or so we tend to think. The worlds of the folktales aren’t as heav-enly as they are commonly portrayed in the ‘Disneyfication’ of nowadays. The original sto-ries – popularised by the Brothers Grimm, the French writer Charles Perrault and the Danish Hans Christian Andersen were much darker, exploring adult topics and traumatic ordeals.

The eponymous heroine Sleeping Beauty is raped by the king in her cursed slumber – causing her to later give birth to twins; Little Red Riding Hood is tricked into eating her grandmother’s corpse by the wolf; The Lit-tle Mermaid dies heartbroken and dissolves into sea foam. While little match girls die of hypothermia in Andersen, the pale princesses of Grimms’ tales are poisoned. A few hun-dred years earlier, French aristocrats with blue beards were murdering their wives in Per-rault. This is the world that these characters reside in – one unnervingly close to our own.

The key difference, it seems, between the land of myth and that of reality is the stark black and white morality that exists within folktales. These polar opposites of dark and light are also

reflected in descriptions of the characters and settings. Villains often inhabit shady woodland or caves, and wear black, whereas the heroic figures are usually fair. The woman with that dodgy-looking wart who lives in the wood? She’s evil (even if she can bake a great ginger-bread house). The tall blonde who lives in the tower down the street? Definitely the epitome of goodness. Many of the morally ‘fair’ characters are physically fair, blonde and blue eyed. Such stereotyping is reminiscent of the Na-zis’ preoccupation with Aryan ideals.

This fixed idea that people are either good or evil is obviously not present in our increas-ingly secular society, separated far more from religious teachings than the authors of those tales. The evil characters are punished while the virtuous characters are (usually) reward-ed. Take the example of Cinderella: Cinders is patient her entire life, suffering verbal and physical abuse from her stepfamily, know-

Straying From The Path too violent. Similarly, the evil stepmother (no-ticing a theme?) in Hansel and Gretel dies of starvation and so she meets her comeuppance in an almost darkly comic fashion, having sent the children off to die in the woods so that she and her husband would have more food for themselves. Nowadays, in the real world, we are usually expected to treat those who perform crimes with a degree of mercy and justice. This sense of mercy and redemption is mirrored in the more popular versions of ancient folktales nowadays, where many of the darker elements have been edited out, and the protagonist for-gives the villain at the end. Do 21st century readers struggle to accept the darker elements of these classic fables? Perhaps we value escap-ism and Disneyfied colourful endings more.

Joy and happiness is not, in fact, always that easy to find in these tales. What is obvious, however, is the tragic element. Theft, abduc-tion, murder and rape all feature in fairy tales. You only have to flick through a few pages of The Bloody Chamber, a collection of Angela Carter’s delightfully dark and updated versions of classic fairy tales, to find all three. Adapt-ing sources from Grimm, Andersen and Per-rault, her stories contain at least one disturb-ing crime as a main plot point, ranging from slavery to subterfuge. Having examined the facts, it would seem that the ‘happy ever afters’ are not as happy as they’re cracked up to be.

“The world of the folktale isn’t nearly as content as it is por-

trayed in Disney’s films”

“All the moral characters are blonde and blue eyed: sinisterly close to Nazi ideals”

“The villain used to face their punishment in a gruesome,

darkly comical way...”

“Cinderella marries the prince while her sinful stepfamily

get their eyes pecked out by birds. Lovely...”

Fergus Church

22 23

Tragedy on the Silver Screen

This is the film that you might least expect to have ap-peared in this list since the Shakespearean connection is

usually missed entirely. The connection is nonetheless acknowledged by the writers and easily noticeable when pointed out. The film sticks closely to the source material, except for the upbeat, Disney ap-propriate ending. Other frequently missed points are that most characters’ names, when translated from Swahili, describe their main character traits

(‘Rafiki’ is ’friend’, ‘Mufasa’ is ‘king’, ‘Pumbaa’ is ‘slow-witted’). This film is, in its own terms, a mas-

terpiece; moving, funny and offering insightful com-ments on relationships. Furthermore, the familiar cast of

great actors portray their characters flawlessly. This is a film that can reduce even the most cold hearted to tears. Its unforgettable score is easily one of the best. For those who don’t know, the sequel to this was based on Romeo and Juliet.

The director, Akira Kurosawa, described this film as “a series of human events viewed from Heaven.” This film is set in medieval Japan; a common setting for Kurosawa’s films. By this time in his career, he had become hugely experienced. His familiar and adept cast, including Tatsuya Nakadai and Mieko Harada, display their talents in acting. Mieko Harada’s performance stands out particularly amongst the others, creating a ruthless impression of a char-acter unable to be sympathised with by a viewer. What’s more, unlike other Shakespearean adapta-tions, Ran incorporates more than a single play into its story, also introducing a character based on Lady Macbeth (played by Harada). Similarly to Throne of Blood, the battle se-quences are physically well staged, and here they are executed on a much grander scale. The film uses stunning cinematography with a broad usage of colours to make this epic uncommonly entertaining to a wide variety of different genre fans.

RAN

adapted fromking lear

This is the earliest attempt to adapt Shakespeare into a teen drama, though one set in gang culture rather than a

high school environment, which, as you may already have noticed, is a popular setting. This film succeeds through Robert Wise’s directing of the non-musical parts and Jerome Robbins’ mastery of choreog-raphy. Fight scenes in ballet may not satisfy a Die Hard or Zack Snyder fan but work to make the film energetic and upbeat, putting a more innocent spin on a grim topic. The film can be faulted by

its casting of lead roles, with Richard Beymer un-inspired and Natalie Wood simply adequate, but they

are helped by an exceptional supporting cast who per-form multiple intricate dance numbers. Of course, the lyr-

ics are inventive and the songs justifiably well known and catchy. The set is very well made and creates a good environment for the scenes to take place. Despite changing the ending so that only one protagonist dies, the story maintains more than suffi-cient emotional depth. I completely understand that this film may not suit all teenage boys and may very likely alienate them due to its dance and song content, to which I reply: get over it.

West Side Story

adapted fromromeo & Juliet

O addresses high school violence in a thoughtful manner. The film fits Shakespeare’s plot well into high school. The main attribute this film had was a trio of young actors giving stunning per-formances. One of these, Julia Stiles, has acted in three modernised versions of Shakespeare (O, 10 Things I Hate About You and Hamlet). These young actors fault-lessly manipulate our emotions so as to build up to a grand, if unrealistically violent, catharsis at the end. A fault of this film is that it tiptoes around certain areas addressed in the original to concentrate on race and betrayal in greater depth. The film develops gradual momentum for the first three quarters after which it creates an explosive finale, including one of the most emo-tionally compelling dying monologues of any film I have seen.

O

adapted fromothello

A powerful message deliveredin a thoughtful manner

The film is a masterpiece

Dhruva Preston

adapted from hamlet

The Lion King

24 25

Are games art? The discussion has raged on for years, but the answer is clear. Not every game is a masterpiece in the same way that not every film is, but that doesn’t stop games from being a valuable and insightful medium with which to tell a story.

This has been particularly evident over the past year; during which games have capitalised on their medium to tell richly compelling and, at times, deeply upsetting tales. Here are just a few such examples of brilliant, tragic writing in video games.

The Last of Us is the very definition of how to deliver a story. It has writing and acting that rivals the best films, taking you on a richly compelling journey through a post-apocalyptic America. You play as Joel, a man scarred by the horrors he’s seen in this desolate world. He’s tasked with taking a teenage girl, Ellie, to

a band of survivors that think they can use her to cure the plague that has been ravaging humanity.

But as with all good tragedies, it’s the characters that really matter. The relationship between Joel and Ellie is cultivated and developed over the

course of the game: carefully tiptoeing

the line between parental care and protective instinct. The

game makes brilliant use of the

player’s agency: you’ll be forced to do things

that you don’t want to do, putting you in an empathetic position that film or literature can never reach. By striving to

build more than just a cinematic game, developers Naughty Dog

crafted something special: a tragic story of friendship that leaves you aching for more at the end.

You return home from your gap year to an empty house. You parents are away, and your younger sister has left a note apologising for her disappearance and begging you to not to go digging into her whereabouts. You then spend the next few hours wandering around the house, collecting notes, letters and audio journals

as the story slowly unravels.

Although presented to you as a horror game, Gone Home is nothing of the sort. It’s simply a story about your character’s family, chiefly focussing on your younger sister and a romance between her and a school friend. Ultimately, you’re left with a realistic and heartbreaking tale of teenage love, marital failure and career d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . Although you can only roam within the confines of the home, this becomes a microcosm of society at large: a fully-fleshed out world that can be experienced in just a few short hours. Gone Home is a masterpiece of how games can be great even with no traditional “gaming” aspects: there are no puzzles to solve or enemies to shoot; just a fascinating house to explore. You can easily miss things, and you undoubtedly will, but that’s part of the thrill of it: you’ll end up with a unique version of the story, and thus a unique interpretation of the game’s comment on familial relationships.

If you’ve managed to avoid The Walking Dead over the past few years, I applaud you - you’ve clearly found a large rock to hide under. This hyper-popular comic-turned TV show is a million dollar franchise, and

it’s surprisingly good for a zombie story. The highlight of the franchise is undoubtedly Telltale Games’ adaptation, which uses a new cast of characters to tell a depressing yet powerful tale of life in a world populated with the undead. In the first game, you’ll play as Lee, an ex-convict that takes 8 year old girl Clementine under his wing. You’re tasked with keeping her safe and

protecting her: no matter the cost.

What makes The Walking Dead shine is its unique approach to choice. Every so often, you’re presented with an impossible

decision. Who do you save: the father or the son?

Do you stay in the camp or rob them and leave? Do you kill the man who’s about to turn into

an undead or let him suffer? Choices

like this arise every 10 minutes, and they’re inescapable. Each time, you doubt and, at times, hate yourself, and the game makes sure to rub salt in the wound. By exploiting the potential for decision making that’s unique to the gaming medium, The Walking Dead allows you to have unique conversations with characters and forces you to truly accept the grim reality of living in this dismal world. The game is episodic, with month long waits between parts, helping to sustain the unbearable levels of tension for just that little bit longer, and keeping you waiting for the next superb installment.

The Last of Us (2013, PS3)Gone Home

(2013, PC/Mac)The Walking Dead

(2012-present, All Platforms)

GAME OVERTragedy in video games

Shakeel Hashim

26 27

A powerful and tragic play about the Salem Witch Trials. The defiance of an old man against religious bigots is encapsulated in Giles Cory’s request for ‘more weight’ as his oppressors crush him to death.

“”

This is a darkly comical tale. A father kills himself by microwaving his head. The tragedy of this and the whole chapter describing the complex difficulties which the man goes through leading up to his death make this a dark and moving tale.

“”

This gets me every time. The reason why is that I feel desperately sorry for the tormented and misunderstood Heathcliff. Everyone else thinks he’s a bastard, but I just can’t help loving him.

“”

Hamlet is Shakespeare’s most exciting revenger. His dazzling soliloquies compel, provoke, and explore questions which transcend his own need for justice. We need more men like Hamlet, willing to take on our image-conscious, performance-managed world….

“”

The Crucible

Hamlet

Infinite Jest

Wuthering Heights

- Mr Thomas

- Mrs McLusky

- Mr Fernandes

- Mrs O’Hanlon

T r a g e d y s t r i k e s t h e E n g l i s h O f f i c e . . .

Max Bowden

28 29

apathyThe curtains shut out the lightAs the fools patter aboutMeaningless as the ants, dead on my windowsill

The floor littered with butts and discarded soulsI sink into my nightThe flame cooking and cuttingI give in to my body, offer my soul for sacrificeI’m shrivelled and numb

The masses come and goLike ghosts through my lifeI’m always aloneAs the fabric of my mind melts awayFor what is the point when death burns onAnd the monsters are real

Each hit draws me awayFrom these realitiesAs the blood drains away and is replaced by the sun

And the demons become my friendsWith their cocaine tongues and psychedelic eyes

And I smileBecause I have found apathyBetween these crudely drawn lines

30 31

The Team

Senior Editor/DesignShakeel Hashim

Editor in ChiefFergus Church

fin.Thank you for taking the time to read this issue of Literary Lions! It’s been a fan-

tastic issue: major scoops with A-list celebs, articles originally so risqué that they’ve been censored (thanks Jacob and Dan!) and wonderful artwork courtesy of the ridiculously tall Aca Delic. The issue’s been a labour of love, and thanks must go

out to Mrs O’Hanlon for all her help over the past year.

- Fergus and Shakeel

This is a magazine designed, edited and produced by Hampton sixth formers and coordinated by English teacher Mrs C O’Hanlon.

Editors’ Note

Art EditorAca Delic

ContributorsDan GibbonsJacob WinskellAaron Glynn

Dhruva PrestonMax Bowden

Special ThanksMrs O’Hanlon

illustrationsAca Delic, Luke Fletcher, Fergus Church

32

The arts magazine produced by Hampton School sixth formers.