Shia LaBeouf’s real art project was the queue

I waited in the cold and dark to see Shia LaBeouf for four hours. The latest gonzo and only slightly ridiculous, “art” project to grace Oxford with its brief presence inevitably drew huge swathes of the student body of both Oxford and Brookes to queue to stand in an elevator with Shia LaBeouf, in an attempt at performance art that left many confused, and more cold.

The live stream in the most part was incredibly dull, with the few brief highlights of LaBeouf playing the “cock and ball game”, and slapping a student in the face. Yet, most in the queue were certain to make their own small window with the artist different and memorable, convinced of their own unique take on the rather weird experience.

After four hours in the queue

It became apparent that even the queue formed part of the artistic vision and social experiment in… watching people queue. Some people lost hope early, some foolishly remained hopeful and stayed until the bitter end. Friendships were made and broken. Our whole world became the queue. At three AM we were en masse singing of ‘Wonderwall’, and shouting ‘ELEVATE’ sporadically, as a somewhat failed morale booster. By five in the morning the tone was more sober and sombre. Some people even stayed until nine in the morning to watch LaBeouf do the “Just Do It” thing with his arms, and leave.

Very few people actually got into the lift. As more people reached the front, it was rumoured that alliances and agreements were formed to only spend a few minutes in the lift with the man himself, and to make it fair on the other people waiting in the cold. Of course, just like the status of everyone’s favourite boy band, One Direction, the alliances quickly fell apart, with some people spending upwards of forty-five minutes in conversation with LaBeouf. We were helpfully informed by a security guard at around five AM that twelve people had been in the lift in the last two hours.

Every now and then a group would concede, deciding that the marginal benefit of meeting such an elusive and bizarre human spectacle of art was far outweighed by the callings of bed and sleep. The haggard masses remaining, persisting in their attempts to push forward and reach the front, were convinced that they had the staying power to see the man himself. Most didn’t (myself included). By six in the morning, having stood waiting purely for the selfie opportunity, giving up was inevitable. I still have no idea whether it was art or not, but it was certainly an experience.

Any artistic sentiments aside, my own biggest takeaway from the experience was that if people want something, my god they will queue for it.