Arts Reviews

The good, bad and ugly in arts and exhbitions

Saturday

Matthew Parris

How far do you truly believe? Perhaps it’s a waste of time even to ask the question

Readers familiar with Idomeneo might have shared my pleasure (and bemusement) at a performance of Mozart’s early opera at the Coliseum in London last week. The English National Opera production, which staged most of the action in what appeared to be a top-quality modern hotel, was ludicrous (I found the waiters distracting, but then I often do), but no more ludicrous than any other imaginable 21st-century staging of an 18th-century account of an ancient Greek tale. No, what perplexed me was the part played in the narrative by the gods.

Charles Spencer

Fighting addiction

As was so often the case with Bertie Wooster when he faced an interview with his fearsome Aunt Agatha, I feel a sense of impending doom as I write this on a beautiful morning in late June. The roses smell sweet, the sun is shining, and a light breeze is blowing through my study window. I ought to be at peace with the world but, in a few days’ time, the chickens will come home to roost, and the prospect is making my stomach knot with an all-too-familiar mixture of guilt and fear. My wife and her sister came into some money following the death last summer of their mother.

Andrew Lambirth

Relative values | 3 July 2010

The Wyeth Family: Three Generations of American Art Dulwich Picture Gallery, until 22 August There have been a number of painting dynasties in the history of art — families such as the Bruegels, the Bellinis and the Tiepolos — but fewer in recent years, British art having favoured the older brother syndrome (Paul Nash and John, Stanley Spencer and Gilbert). The Wyeth family is a glorious exception, an American family obsessed with realist painting, and an encouraging phenomenon to study. Andrew Wyeth (1917–2009) is the best known of the painter Wyeths, and indeed the most talented. He is a remarkable artist, and it is his name that will probably attract many of the visitors to Dulwich.

Michael Tanner

Awe and gratitude

Die Meistersinger Welsh National Opera, Cardiff and touring Welsh National Opera’s new staging of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg is a triumph. Not an unqualified one — I doubt whether there has ever been such a thing — but enough to leave the audience feeling that mixture of glowing wellbeing and sadness that this work alone engenders. WNO has a distinguished history of Wagner productions, thanks above all to the close relationship which it had with Reginald Goodall in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and which resulted in the most inspired performances of Tristan und Isolde that I have ever attended. By then Goodall had had his say with his great, enormous accounts of The Mastersingers with ENO a decade before, and the Welsh company moved on with him to Parsifal.

Kate Chisholm

True blues

Talk of blues music and you’re likely to think of Muddy Waters, B.B. King and Howlin’ Wolf, but most of these guys actually learnt their craft from women like Memphis Minnie, Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Precious Bryant. Talk of blues music and you’re likely to think of Muddy Waters, B.B. King and Howlin’ Wolf, but most of these guys actually learnt their craft from women like Memphis Minnie, Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Precious Bryant. In Lady Plays the Blues on Saturday, Cerys Matthews (who usually DJs on BBC 6 Music) took us to the Mississippi Delta to talk to people who knew these extraordinary female singers and guitarists.

Simon Hoggart

Character building

Years ago, not long after Tony Blair’s first landslide, I was asked by London Weekend Television to co-write a sitcom. Years ago, not long after Tony Blair’s first landslide, I was asked by London Weekend Television to co-write a sitcom. The idea was to satirise New Labour, and it was cunningly set, not in the Houses of Parliament, but in a flat nearby shared by three Labour MPs. It was a sort of political version of Craggy Island, as in Father Ted. There was the MP who didn’t give a damn and regarded loyalty to the party line as the sign of a wimp — he was loosely based on Bob Marshall-Andrews. There was a young woman loosely based on another Labour MP whom I won’t name; she was a slavish follower of whatever the leadership wanted her to say, do or think.

Saturday

Marianne Gray

‘Everyone must have a voice’

Marianne Gray talks to the down-to-earth Oscar nominee Brenda Blethyn about her latest film Brenda Blethyn doesn’t really understand why people continually ask her why she plays dowdy, often downtrodden characters, like Cynthia, the despairing mother in Secrets & Lies, or James McAvoy’s heartbroken mother in Atonement, or Mrs Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, who horse-trades her daughters. Or, indeed, like her latest role, the anxious Elizabeth, an ignorant, conservative, prejudiced woman, in London River. ‘I just don’t see it like that,’ says Blethyn, who has made a brilliant career out of playing understated, restrained women. ‘Everyone must be portrayed. Everyone must have a voice, even the flawed ones. I don’t try to smooth out the edges.

Andrew Lambirth

Kaleidoscopic vision

The Summer Exhibition Royal Academy of Arts, until 22 August The Weston Room is packed with prints as usual, but also features five display cases of artists’ books, including work by such masters of the genre as Ron King, Ken Campbell and Ian Tyson. Among the prints I particularly liked Bronwen Sleigh’s hand-coloured etching, Terry New’s digital print, Cornelia Parker’s etched worry lines, the screenprints of Stephen Chambers, Eileen Cooper’s linocuts, Ivor Abrahams’s ‘Suburban Totem’ and etchings by Paula Rego, Frank Auerbach, John Carter, Peter Freeth and Eileen Hogan (a pale beauty of Bryanston Square). The Small Weston Room is a typical feast of tiny paintings, and supremely popular with the buying public.

Michael Tanner

Curses and blessings

Idomeneo ENO, in rep until 9 July Lohengrin City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra Mozart’s Idomeneo remains, despite the best efforts of its proselytisers, a connoisseur’s piece. For all its beauties and its emotional power, it is a predominantly static work, and one in which one can’t really care all that much about what happens to the central sympathetic characters — think of the Da Ponte operas and of Die Zauberflöte, by contrast, and the point is made. Katie Mitchell, who directs the new production at ENO, ‘places Idomeneo’s timeless dilemma in a contemporary context’, according to the programme. She would. One wonders, first, if Idomeneo’s dilemma is timeless.

Lloyd Evans

Thrill seekers

Through a Glass Darkly Almeida, until 31 July After the Dance Lyttelton, in rep until 11 August Ingmar Bergman wrote his first film aged 24. It was called Torment and he continued to entertain audiences in similar vein for the rest of his career. That an artist is easy to satirise is no proof of inadequacy, of course. MC Hammer was easy to laugh at too, and look how brilliant he was. But Bergman is the most austere and humourless of dramatists. He was so dry the ink wouldn’t flow from his pen but spilled out in dusty granules. Through a Glass Darkly, the only one of his films he permitted to be adapted for the stage, comes from the starchier end of the spectrum. It’s August.

James Delingpole

Disputed paternity

Apart from Punishment Day, Beating Day, and Kill-One-Of-The-Pets-To-Teach-’Em-That-Life-Is-Harsh-Random-And-Unfair Day, I’m generally not one of those fathers who goes in for cruelty and neglect of his children. I’m too busy working my arse off to feed, clothe and educate the ungrateful sods, that’s probably why. Apart from Punishment Day, Beating Day, and Kill-One-Of-The-Pets-To-Teach-’Em-That-Life-Is-Harsh-Random-And-Unfair Day, I’m generally not one of those fathers who goes in for cruelty and neglect of his children. I’m too busy working my arse off to feed, clothe and educate the ungrateful sods, that’s probably why.

Kate Chisholm

Digital deadline

It was such a shock. At first I couldn’t understand what was going on. Why were they all talking about Sid as if he was in the past? It was such a shock. At first I couldn’t understand what was going on. Why were they all talking about Sid as if he was in the past? I’d only been away for a few days. Surely nothing really major could have happened in Ambridge in the meantime? And especially not to Sid, who as far as I knew was safely ensconced in New Zealand on the trip of a lifetime to meet his new grandson. I listened to the next episode and still had no clue. A party for Sid? But he’s not around. Jolene in tears? But she’s usually such a toughie. A very nasty trick has been played on us by the scriptwriters.

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

Picasso: angel and monster

Andrew Lambirth talks to John Richardson, biographer and friend of the artist John Richardson has spent a lifetime in the company of great art and artists, and is justly celebrated for his ability to evoke, explain and evaluate their work in beautiful prose. Best known as the biographer of Picasso, he has written about many other artists, including Manet and Braque, and has curated a number of seminal exhibitions since the Picasso retrospective he staged in New York in 1962. For the past 50 years he has lived in New York, though born in England in 1924. He was in London recently for the installation of his major new curatorial excursion, Picasso: The Mediterranean Years 1945–62 at Gagosian Gallery (6–24 Britannia Street, WC1, until 28 August).

Rod Liddle

Well done, Stephen Fry

The comedian Stephen Fry has apparently “outraged” millions of people by describing Dr Who as a “kid’s show”. What do these outraged people think it is, then? Wittgenstein’s bleedin’ Tractatus? I suppose there should be no law against adults wallowing in such cheery sub-teen confections (Fry was slightly wrong - it’s a YOUNG kids show. If yours are watching it after the age of 13, you’ve got a retard on your hands), but it’s a bit rich that they should complain when this fact is gently pointed out. Forty years ago nobody would have dreamt of disputing the issue, would they?

Henrietta Bredin

Molière with a US accent

Matthew Warchus tells Henrietta Bredin why he is directing an American play inspired by Molière Rehearsing is an extraordinarily intensive, exploratory, deeply engaging business and director Matthew Warchus, emerging from a long day’s work on his new production of La Bête, by David Hirson, takes a while to change gear, blinking slightly dazedly as we walk towards the Old Vic in search of somewhere quiet to talk. ‘It’s a slippery play, this one,’ he says. ‘The text is so dense and highly wrought and it’s changing shape as we go along. The acting of it creates dimensions that just aren’t apparent on the page.

Michael Tanner

The axeman cometh

Maria Stuarda; Rusalka Opera North, in Leeds and on tour until July Carmen Royal Opera House, until 26 June Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda is most celebrated for the apocryphal meeting of Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth, in which Mary descends to some coarse insults, backed up, in Antony McDonald’s new production for Opera North, by the use of a riding whip — Elizabeth has one, too, and the two queens do get quite physical. The drama here is stronger than the music, though, which is as perfunctory as most of the score, and only rises to an impressive level for the long monologues for the central characters, and especially the final scene — a very slow walk to the scaffold, inevitably.

Peter Phillips

Lesson from Venezuela

The idea that one can take guns and syringes out of the hands of disaffected youths and replace them with musical instruments, which they then delight to play, is so utopian that most people’s reaction was to laugh it off. The idea that one can take guns and syringes out of the hands of disaffected youths and replace them with musical instruments, which they then delight to play, is so utopian that most people’s reaction was to laugh it off. Yet, as everyone knows, this is exactly what has been happening in Venezuela since 1975, and is still happening. The lives of many young people have been improved by the opportunities offered by El Sistema, and no doubt the mood in society as a whole has been vastly improved.

Kate Chisholm

Changing minds

‘Do you remember listening to the radio for the very first time?’ asked David Hendy at the beginning of his thought-provoking series of late-night essays on Radio 3 (which you should still be able to catch on Listen Again). ‘Do you remember listening to the radio for the very first time?’ asked David Hendy at the beginning of his thought-provoking series of late-night essays on Radio 3 (which you should still be able to catch on Listen Again). His question was not intended to conjure up memories like my own glimpse back to the draughty kitchen of the vicarage where I grew up when Uncle Mac announced on Children’s Favourites my brother’s request for ‘Greensleeves’.

Simon Hoggart

Game for a laugh

In spite of the hype, I enjoy the World Cup. But I don’t enjoy the omnipresent James Corden, who played the clingy, footie-loving, curry-scoffing, lager-glugging, belly-baring, deeply annoying best friend in Gavin and Stacey. In spite of the hype, I enjoy the World Cup. But I don’t enjoy the omnipresent James Corden, who played the clingy, footie-loving, curry-scoffing, lager-glugging, belly-baring, deeply annoying best friend in Gavin and Stacey. That was funny. Bringing the same persona into his World Cup Live programmes (ITV, too often) is just embarrassing. Corden is from that school of comedians who think that laughing a lot is, in itself, funny.

Saturday

Lloyd Evans

‘Take risks and be exciting’

Lloyd Evans talks to Michael Attenborough, whose star at the Almeida is the theatre itself The back office of the Almeida Theatre in Islington could do with a major refit. Dowdy, open-plan and scattered with Free-cycled furniture, it looks like the chill-out room of a student bar or the therapy suite of some underfunded weight-watch clinic. The tin chairs are arranged around elderly coffee-tables. The walls have been painted with the ramshackle expediency of a squat — a blue stretch here, some scarlet columns there, a few purpley flourishes. Beneath the roof eaves a beer gut of damp and crumbly brickwork bulges outwards precariously. I’d give it three months, maybe six, before it collapses.