The fashion world is mourning the loss of John Galliano. Not a literal death, but something closer to a fall from grace. The designer, who defined an era at Dior, has entered into a two-year partnership with the fast fashion giant Zara. For some, this is a cause for celebration, a Robin Hood-esque democratisation of his genius, so to speak – after all, Galliano’s archival pieces remain some of the most sought after by celebrity stylists and Vinted warriors alike. However, for others, this feels like a betrayal: my initial reaction was admittedly one of shock and a sense of disappointment. God knows I have a weakness for a Zara sale, but surely, even in the current economic climate, Galliano didn’t have to end up here.

Galliano’s work has long existed within the realm of artistry rather than mere design, famously describing “the joy of dressing” as “an art”. His legendary tenure at Dior, spanning from 1997-2011, was known for its theatrical runway shows, with the catwalks being transformed into a stage upon which he paraded fantastical works oozing whimsy and fantasy. He drew inspiration from everything from Ancient Egypt and chinoiserie, to the indulgence and excess of Paris in La Belle Epoque, as can be seen in the pageantry of his Spring/Summer 1997 collection, metamorphosing the runway into a debutante ball at its most dreamy. Put simply, Galliano walked so Carrie Bradshaw and her Dior saddle bag could run. Bringing the same level of creativity to Maison Margiela as to the high street could, in theory, be seen as a kind of fashion egalitarianism. Nonetheless, I would argue that the mixed response to this partnership suggests something more complicated is at play. Galliano is far from an unproblematic figure, facing prosecution for antisemitic comments which ended his tenure at Dior in 2011. Yet I feel as though his appointment is not an isolated incident, but rather representative of a shift in the wider perception of fashion itself.  

What was once an art form has become about consumption and profit – art equals transaction in this capitalist economy. The rise of fast fashion lies at the centre of this tension, a double-edged sword. On the one hand, brands like Zara were the first to replicate the trend-led styles of the runway, making them accessible to a broader socioeconomic audience than ever before. On the other hand, it comes at a significant environmental and ethical cost, one that is becoming harder to ignore in an age of climate awareness and with the increased prevalence of alternatives such as second-hand shopping and conscious consumption. The very speed that makes Zara’s model accessible also depends on overproduction and disposability, with garments designed for short-term wear as opposed to longevity. In this sense, what is initially framed as democratisation begins to look more like a dilution, offering the illusion of participation whilst simultaneously undermining the craft and permanence that once defined fashion as an art form. Perhaps most interesting is the announcement’s wording, which seems to implicitly frame Galliano’s involvement as a form of fashion egalitarianism. After all, the collection’s stated purpose is to bring high fashion and dramatic design to a broader audience through the combination of Galliano’s couture process with fast-fashion capabilities.

This isn’t the first time that Zara has dabbled in the world of high fashion, collaborating with other acclaimed designers such as Narciso Rodriguez and Stefano Pilati, even releasing a capsule collection with Kate Moss. However, this new partnership – between a designer once shunned from his creative industry and a fast fashion giant – speaks to the changing idea of luxury in fashion. These kinds of high-low collaborations have become commonplace in the fashion world since H&M launched its first designer partnership with Karl Lagerfeld in 2004, building an entire business model upon the merging of luxury appeal and mass-market accessibility. This underscores how the industry is rethinking value, access and who gets to buy into trends. Exclusivity is no longer the sole marker of value, with access and immediacy becoming equally important, fundamentally reworking the idea of who gets to participate in fashion and at what cost.

And yet, for all my reservations, I can’t entirely reject the appeal. This is the contradiction at the heart of modern fashion, a growing awareness of its ethical failings, paired with an undeniable pull towards accessibility and trends. Fast fashion no longer thrives on ignorance, but on a kind of covertly conscious complicity. Consumers understand the environmental and ethical costs and yet are still drawn in by the immediacy and affordability. Frankly, if you’re telling me I can stroll into Westgate and buy Galliano without having to forfeit the entirety of my student loan, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be tempted.

By Victoria Corfield

Does Big Tobacco sponsor Paolo Sorrentino’s films? Almost certainly not, but their money would be worse spent elsewhere. One of the lasting images from Sorrentino’s latest feature, La Grazia, is of Toni Servillo smoking on the parapets of the Quirinal Palace overlooking Rome. Servillo’s expression is enigmatic, the view exquisite. As viewers of Sorrentino’s 2013 Oscar-winning triumph The Great Beauty will know, there are few things eminently more watchable than Toni Servillo slowly dragging on a cigarette.

La Grazia sees Sorrentino reunited with his long-time muse – and what a welcome reunion it is. Servillo plays the ageing, lame duck president Mariano De Santis, a legal expert who is a “jurist”, not a politician (sound familiar?). He would normally be facing his last six months in office with the same detachment and letter-of-the-law rigidity that have earned him the nickname “Reinforced Concrete”. However, a bill passed through parliament on assisted dying must be signed by him to become law, and thus, the president is faced with a dilemma. If he signs, he is an “assassin”; if he rejects the bill, he is a “torturer”. Two petitions for presidential pardons for convicted murderers complicate the picture: De Santis has the power to offer the titular “grace” to those on all types of life sentences, medical and criminal.  

A tired and grieving De Santis (he lost his wife some years before) proves an excellent vehicle for the film’s meditations on life, loss, and legacy. Who better to weigh up the suitability of euthanasia than a man who has seemingly lost all flair for life himself, who falls asleep when he prays and is still obsessed with an extramarital affair his late wife may have had 40 years ago? “Who owns our days?” is the question that De Santis keeps coming back to with the help of his daughter and legal advisor, Dorotea (an effectively exasperated Anna Ferzetti). But the film also asks: “Why should we care who owns our days?” Though De Santis is a genuine Catholic, the existentialism at the heart of the film is reminiscent of the tortured questioning of a lapsed Catholic at confession.

Boy, does Servillo have range. This is not his first time playing an Italian president, yet the contrast with his muted, shuffling Gulio Andreotti in Il Divo, and his exuberant Silvio Berlusconi in Loro is remarkable. He is able to convey a world of emotion in the most subtle of movements. It is no wonder the Venice Film Festival awarded him the Best Actor award.

As in those films, all the hallmarks of a Sorrentino film are here, if rather downplayed. The trademark big set-piece scenes do not disappoint. The Portuguese president’s welcome to the palace in biblical rain is reason alone to head to the cinema. A dinner for veterans of the Alpini, Italy’s mountain regiment, at which De Santis is the guest of honour, is profoundly moving. As ever with Sorrentino, the soundtrack is full of thumping electronic music, although this time with the humorous (you’ll see why) addition of some Italian rap. You will leave the cinema with a host of unexpected, striking images – and a surprising affection for a horse called Elvis.

This is the most melancholic of Sorrentino’s films that I have seen, but it was nonetheless much funnier than I expected from a film about assisted dying. From the reactions of those around me, the Ultimate Picture Palace audience certainly agreed. Much of the comic relief comes in the form of the acerbic Coco Valori (Milvia Marigliano), De Santis’ old friend, whom I could happily watch an entire film about. (Or maybe I already have? As a critic-cum-impresario, she is like a female version of Servillo’s man about town in The Great Beauty.)

If the film fails to fully capture the deep sadness of the assisted dying debate, it is due in part to the at-times clunky dialogue, also, unfortunately, something that can be expected of Sorrentino’s films. The ending might strike some as too saccharine, but if you allow yourself to be swept up by the admittedly contrived plot, you will leave the cinema feeling pleasantly revived. Sorrentino’s more muted direction here might also surprise those who came expecting the bright colours and relentless opulence of The Great Beauty. Sorrentino’s famous maximalism may be gone, but the dry humour is certainly still there, just not wrapped in a bouquet of colour but instead a dull, wintry palette.

Will this be the definitive film about euthanasia? Probably not. But it certainly makes you ponder the similarities between death and justice, and to question the suitability of those who wield such decisions. If nothing else, it is worth going for Toni Servillo’s performance alone.

I was recently given the opportunity to attend the press view of Worcester College’s new sculpture exhibition, The Storytellers. Set in the college’s breathtaking gardens, the exhibition, expertly curated by Iwona Blazwick and Katie Delamere, is a journey through contemporary figurative sculpture, mostly from the 2020s. It is also a rare example of an exhibition whose setting complements and transforms the artworks. From the first moments, The Storytellers feels unusually thoughtful, generous, and alive. 

The exhibition, which is free of charge, covers a lot of ground, both literally and figuratively. Despite its breadth, though, , The Storytellers is one of the best-curated exhibitions I have seen in a long time. Covering a large area of the college’s gardens, The Storytellers is split into five ‘acts’, each named after a line from Shakespeare, in an homage to the Buskins, the college’s student drama troupe. These acts cover far-reaching themes: “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin” (from Troilus and Cressida) shows sculptures which morph the human with the vegetal, while “Thou, Nature, art my goddess” (from King Lear) delves into cultural tradition with its depictions of totemic deities. This kind of structure could easily have felt forced, but instead it gives the exhibition a theatrical logic.

There was clearly a lot of thought put into the curation of this exhibition, as combined with their intrinsic meaning, each sculpture’s location fits with its aesthetic appearance. Artworks emerge from hedges, sit beside water, or contrast against the college architecture. This makes for a cohesive, engaging, and visually interesting experience, in which every artwork is perfectly and poignantly placed, rewarding both close attention and casual wandering. 

The artists featured are greatly varied, with 14 artists coming from all over the world, all with something vastly different to say in their work. Despite this, The Storytellers doesn’t feel as though it is spreading itself too thin – I found that the overarching theme of ‘human in conversation with nature’ binds together all of the pieces, despite their differences in material, scale, or mood. The artworks vary in quality from ‘nice’ to ‘beautiful’, with no real lowlights, and there are enough highlights for something to resonate with anybody who visits. For me, it was Daniel Silver’s duo of sculptures, Fly With Me and Me, found in the main quad, that were the most striking. Silver has said that he wants to create “something you can look at and feel looked back by”, and these works achieve precisely that. By having all of the sculptures be of figures, the exhibition allows the viewer to engage in dialogue with the artworks, and in Silver’s figures, the reciprocal gaze is palpable.

As if that wasn’t enough, the exhibition is checkpointed by various works of performance art. The first, performed by recent Ruskin graduate Jarad Jackson, was a mesmerising piece of postmodern dance, bringing movement and bodily presence into conversation with the stillness of the sculptures. The second, performed by Lorna Ough, Hazel Dowling, and Lauren Dyer-Amazeen, created a delicate acoustic soundscape against the backdrop of the gardens. These performances felt less like decorative additions than extensions of the exhibition’s central concern of the relationship between bodies, stories, and place, and they helped make the exhibition feel like a living encounter, rather than a static display.

However, the star of The Storytellers is, of course, the gardens themselves. Though I have visited them before for an afternoon stroll, this exhibition made me appreciate the beauty of Worcester College’s natural scenery in a way I never did before. As I travelled across the quads, around the lake, and through the orchard, I felt totally at peace, even on the cloudy day on which I saw it. The sculptures appeared as figures emerging from the setting, rather than objects simply placed there. The Storytellers is an exhibition which is completely dependent on the natural environment around it, and this is one of its greatest strengths. As new flowers blossom in the late spring, and as the sun reemerges from the clouds, the exhibition will change, and the pieces will take on new meaning. Shadows will fall differently; surfaces will catch the light in new ways; the gardens themselves will become part of the storytelling. Few exhibitions make such persuasive use of time, weather, and place. 

I therefore find myself strongly encouraging readers to visit this exhibition this term, before it closes on the 5th of July. If not for the sculptures, which are as varied and thought-provoking as they are nice to look at, then for the gardens, which in the coming few weeks will only get more beautiful to stroll through. At its best, the exhibition does what outdoor sculpture should: it changes the way you look at the space around it. The Storytellers, for me, is both one of Oxford’s hidden gems this term, and one of its most rewarding cultural experiences.