Elizabeth Hillman Waterston enrolled at McGill in September 1939—the same month that Hitler’s Panzer divisions first rolled into Poland and World War II began. When one thinks about how fraught with tension the McGill campus has been this year, with students locking horns over issues like the Quebec government’s proposed tuition fee increases, it is hard to even imagine how volatile campus politics must have been in Hillman’s time, when government proposals concerned policies of mass conscription, and when fighting for a cause was meant in the literal sense of the word.

Hillman, now a professor emeritus at the University of Guelph, has fortunately made the tricky task of imagining what the McGill campus was like during World War II a much easier one, having just published her memoirs, Blitzkrieg and Jitterbugs: College Life in Wartime, 1939-1942 with the McGill-Queen’s University Press. The book is written in a lively and engaging style, bringing to light a remarkable viewpoint of World War II, and of a very different student life compared to today’s.

On the one hand, Hillman’s view of the war is an abstract one, formed from the confines of an isolated ivory tower which remained unaffected by the fighting itself: Montreal was far from the tangible dangers of the war, and sonorous lectures,  “freshette tea parties,” and essay assignments continued in defiance of the Nazi threat.

Yet on the other hand, Hillman makes it patently clear that the war still haunted McGill campus life, radically politicisingclasses and classmates alike, and transforming the university into a vital cog in Canada’s war machine: many students and younger professors signed up to the armed forces and were shipped off to Europe, the Middle East, or Asia; trigonometry professors were rushed off to help advise the government on how to lay mines and sink U-boats; multilingual professors were commissioned to crack enemy codes; chemistry classes focused on testing different forms of poisonous gases; physics classes specialised in improving radar technologies; psychology research looked at pain tolerance to assess the effects of torture; and female students spent a lot of their classes “knittin’ for Britain,” sending over knitted woolen clothes for families left homeless by the London Blitz.

Hillman’s main achievement in Blitzkrieg and Jitterbugs is her creation of a sense of immediacy throughout the book, using the present tense effectively to press home how urgent and extraordinary the wartime situation was, interlacing the prose with bold and daunting student newspaper headlines like, “Canada Declares War on Japan,” and “Nazis place 1,000 Czech Students in Concentration Camps.” Even more striking is how Hillman contrasts this state of global urgency with the cheerful jocularity of student life, in one breath mentioning the brave and desperate fighting of the alpine ski soldiers in the Norwegian snows, while in the next—in a twist of irony—recounting the fun, frivolous and carefree student skiing trips to the Laurentian mountains.

Other less savoury aspects of campus life are explored with gusto. In particular, Hillman flashes a torch onto the gender discrimination of the day, pointing out the complete absence of women in the faculties of law and mathematics, and noting the fact that Quebec women were not even granted the vote until 1940. Equally well-observed is how separate the anglophone Montreal community was from the francophone community during the war, socially as well as linguistically.

What makes the reading of this book so unsettling is how external politics managed to pervade every aspect of academia so thoroughly. It is not just about the classes using their expertise to help with the war effort; it is also the more remarkable and shocking fact that even English literature classes began to proselytize about the merits of warfare, with professors championing the virtues of Chaucer’s man-at-arms, and lauding Milton’s vows to oppose tyranny at all costs. Even more shocking is how the highest form of feedback in physical education classes was to attain the grade of “fit for service.”

The most disappointing facet of the book is that it finishes in 1942, when the war is still very much in the balance. Furthermore, there is not quite enough of a discussion about what the book’s characters went on to do later on in their lives—a topic that would have made for an interesting epilogue. But for the most part, Blitzkrieg and Jitterbugs is a highly enjoyable read, as well as being a highly informative glimpse into McGill’s past.

After a typical day of school, 12-year-old Alex Libby jumps on the trampoline in his yard, or walks around the neighbourhood, delicately holding hands with his angelic sister Jada. Sometimes, he throws rocks near the train tracks behind his house as the burly freights pass. In the morning, Alex heads back to East Middle School where he is greeted by cries of “fishface,” and endures a torturous bus ride; he is stabbed with pencils, strangled, and has his head beaten against the seat. Although he tries to laugh it off and convince himself that his tormentors are just joking, Alex’s mother unequivocally tells him that the only connection he shares with them is as the object of their violence. Alex flatly replies, “You say these people aren’t my friends. Then what friends do I have?’’

Alex is one of the subjects Lee Hirsch profiles in Bully. Others include Kelby Johnson, a 16-year-old lesbian who copes with her townspeople’s vitriol through her tightknit circle of friends; Ja’Meya Jackson, who wanted to teach her bullies a lesson by bringing a gun on the school bus; and Ty Field, the grade six boy who received a suspension for shoving his long-time bully, and then shot himself in his parents’ bedroom.

Hirsch, who was bullied himself, tells these stories in a clean, almost sterile manner, abstaining from any verbal narration. We benefit from his distanced approach, since our objectless indignation and sympathy do not stem from the polish that is acquired through production, but rather through the cruelty of the events themselves.

Alex’s story seems the most viscerally pitiful. Born some three months premature, he suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome, which noticeably hobbles his understanding of social relationships. Apart from his circumstances themselves, Hirsch amplifies the sense of misery by virtue of his complete access to film throughout Alex’s school—in one terribly lonely scene we see him awkwardly milling about the other children during recess, taking long, deliberate strides to nowhere.

Hirsch’s camera also introduces viewers to Kim Lockwood, the vilely myopic assistant principal of Alex’s school. When Alex’s parents confront her with the footage of his daily abuse aboard the bus, Lockwood assures them that the children on his bus route are “just as good as gold.” She then assumes a vapid smile, and proceeds to show them a photo of her granddaughter. It is this sort of neutered, anaesthetized response on the part of authority figures that prevents victims from telling others about their suffering.

Unfortunately, Hirsch misses an opportunity to prove his journalistic mettle when documenting the suicide of 17-year-old Tyler Long. Poignantly portrayed in the film as a boy driven to suicide by a barrage of bullying, Tyler is the subject of a mendaciously two-dimensional account. Rather than showing him as a bullied, mentally ill boy (bipolar, ADHD,Asperger’s) who was removed from his honours and AP classes by his parents, and whose girlfriend had recently left him (as Emily Bazelon’s thoroughly-researched Slate piece shows him to be), he was depicted as a shamefully crude sketch.

With Bully garnering a PG-13 rating, and many young students certain to see it, Hirsch perniciously simplifies Long’s death, giving a potentially fatal model to victims. In such affecting documentaries, filmmakers’ veracity should be held to a higher standard. With Bully, Hirsch jolts the audience’s indignation. It is disappointing that he wasn’t more honest about it.

Fun’s name itself is the best descriptor of their music. The band’s second album, Some Nights, was released in February, and their single “We Are Young” skyrocketed to the top of the charts, making them the first band since 2002 to reach number one on the Billboard Top 100 with their first single.

Fun’s rise to success seems to have happened overnight. “We Are Young” was featured on an episode of Glee well before it became a hit single, and though the TV rendition gained plenty of notoriety, the band was determined to turn their original into a hit. By March, they were featured as the cover story for Billboard Magazine.

“It’s very exciting,” guitarist Jack Antonoff exclaims. “I mean, it feels very atypical from most chances and how things normally happen.”

The group likes to think of the band as an extension of their respective careers. Each member originally came from a different band, and Some Nights is only their second album together. Their individual experiences of struggling independently makes their newfound success all the more exciting, as well as grounding.

“It’s kind of like the feeling you have when you’re younger and you see your grade school teacher at the supermarket, and it’s weird because you can’t picture them outside of school,” Antonoff says. “It’s like two worlds colliding; and that’s basically how we feel when we look at our ticket sales or hear ourselves on the radio. It’s physically very weird.”

Fun makes their gratitude to their fans abundantly clear, expressing their appreciation regardless of their status as rising musicians.

“When things are kind of happening on a bigger level it can be slightly alienating for a lot of fans who have been there for a long time,” Antonoff explains. “It’s really vital to us that we remind all the people who have been supporting us for years that it’s still us, and we’re still just making songs we like and [are] happy to be able to play them for everyone.”

Coming from different musical backgrounds and having dealt with the music industry through separate paths, each member wants to build their career with integrity. Through their tenure as Fun, they’ve learned and matured together.

“In our early 20s we really hated the idea of being told what to do, and we were all about releasing our own record,” Antonoff says. “But now we have confidence. We know what we want to do and how to execute it. We’ve realized the benefits of being signed to a major label and are very appreciative of it.”

Regardless, they retain their hesitance about the industry. The album’s intro song, “Some Nights,” opens up with the line, “Tea parties and Twitter; I’ve never been so bitter.” However, it seems as if Fun has figured out a way to work on their own terms.

“We have a code that we follow which is basically, in a non-arrogant way, to just do whatever we want whenever we want,” Antonoff explains. “At the end of the day, it’s really us out there; it’s our songs, our faces, our visions. We’re constantly putting ourselves in positions where we’re surrounded by people who really understand that and can help that process. I think it’s pretty rare that we can play by our own rules and also work with bigger companies; usually those two don’t go hand in hand.”

The members of Fun seem comfortable with their current status. Along with huge success, they are happy with the way things have worked out and look forward to continue making music people love. But most importantly of all, they’re having fun doing it.

Fun performs on April 30 at Cabaret du Mile End. Tickets are $16.50.

The less you know about The Cabin in the Woods, the better chance you’ll enjoy it. Co-written by Joss Whedon (Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and directed by fellow Buffy writer Drew Goddard, hardcore fans won’t need much more than the blunt tagline to know what to expect: “Five friends go to a remote cabin in the woods. Bad things happen.”

For those of you who might need more convincing, the basic premise is to take a classic horror movie and turn it on its head. On one level, this movie really is just a run-of-the-mill, blood and guts extravaganza, with the victims embodying the five classic stereotypes of the horror genre: the athlete, the nerd, the slut, the fool, and the virgin. But this classic formula is given a sinister twist once the audience realizes that they aren’t the only ones watching the mayhem unfold.

The film pays tribute to the horror genre while simultaneously mocking itself. At some points, it’s reminiscent of Scary Movie, although not quite as ridiculous. Where many scary movies boost their production value through gruesome new weapons and fake organs—often at the expense of dialogue and character development—Cabin features Whedon’strademark wit, brilliantly delivered by a dream cast of both veteran and up-and-coming actors. Heartthrobs ChrisHemsworth (Thor) and Jesse Williams (Grey’s Anatomy) play the athlete and the nerd, respectively, and newcomers Kristin Connolly and Anna Hutchison play the virgin and the slut with gusto. Fran Kranz steals the show as the foolish stoner, and established actors Richard Jenkins (Burn After Reading, Step Brothers) and Bradley Whitford (The West Wing) also add some unexpected flavour. The main cast brings depth to characters that are initially presented as archetypal, giving the audience a gory horror movie with all the familiar plot points, while also offering a chance to actually root for the young victims.

The film’s pacing keeps it from feeling too much like any other tired, predictable scary movie. As promised, it’s aslasher film, but Whedon and Goddard’s unique perspective on horror, namely frequent and unique scene cuts, are enough to keep the audience guessing, and ensures that there is never a dull moment. By the end of the movie, so many questions about human nature and juxtaposing perspectives have been brought up that one might want to head right back into the theatre and watch it again. It’s a brilliant mix of bloodshed and ironic humour that is thoroughly the product of Joss Whedon, and it’s great.

After performing for nearly 20 years, it’s understandable when artists get a little too used to the sound checks, interviews, and general wear and tear of life on the road. Yet, talking to Dandy Warhols’ lead singer Courtney Taylor-Taylor offers a refreshing surprise. While years of doing interviews might leave some artists with a large supply of stock answers, Taylor-Taylor is spontaneous, genuine, and honest. He offers up new elaborations on what might seem like old observations.

The band, comprised of members Taylor-Taylor, Peter Holmstrom,Zia Mccabe, and Brent Deboer, has been performing since 1994,  and Taylor-Taylor looks forward to performing material from their upcoming tenth album, This Machine, on their European tour this summer.

“The most constant awareness that I have during a European tour is that you can’t read a damn thing that’s on any [highway] sign,” he says. “The music part is fairly constant the world over. We are the same band, more or less, and the audience is fairly similar, so you don’t attract [the] kinds of people that you wouldn’t want to hang out with.”

Whether it’s touring the continent or laying down new tracks, the Dandy Warhols are rarely free. According to Taylor-Taylor, they’re “constantly making music,” working with producer Jeremy Sheerer at their own studio.

“Jeremy is just our house guy, he’s the angel of our studio, so we’ve been working with him constantly for years now,” he explains. “I don’t know if a week has gone by in nine years that we haven’t recorded something; a b-side or a tribute for someone’s tribute record.”

Taylor-Taylor has a hard time identifying his favourite place to perform, but he knows exactly what to look for in a venue.

“I think the size and shape of the room is important because that [affects] the acoustics,” he explains. “The texture of the walls, do they echo? How close are the walls to where I’m standing? How much are they influencing what I hear? Is the stage wood or is it carpeted?”

As far as the upcoming tour goes, the band is especially excited to perform “Well They’re Gone,” which they have made available as a free download on their website.

“We’re all extremely excited to play that one live,” he says. “I just like playing new songs live because, you know, we’ve been playing ‘Not If You Were the Last Junkie On Earth’ for 16 years now, and it’s fun, we’re very good at it, but it’s great to have new songs too.”

When speaking about the group’s songwriting methods, Taylor-Taylor notes that their growing experience and skill in the studio, coupled with their obvious passion for their art, promises a strong future for the Dandy Warhols.

“I have to wait for [songs] to happen to me, but generally once I have one, then I take it to the band and go, check this out, and we start playing it, and we all play it together, and then everyone works out what they want to play on it … It’s incredibly inspiring.”

Dandy Warhols play Theatre Corona on June 2. Tickets are $31.25 and go on sale Friday April 13.