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How comic is it?

Monteverdi’s last opera, L’Incoronazione di Poppea, is an excellent choice for one of the music colleges to put on, containing as it does a fairly large number of characters, none of them with extremely demanding parts, though they all need to be as good actors as they are singers. The RCM’s cast that I saw, the first, but in its second performance, was mainly as impressive as I have come to expect. What was startling, though, was the hideously out-of-tune playing of the orchestra in the introduction, the cornets especially. Fortunately when the action began the playing improved, though there was less certainty in the performance, under the experienced Michael Rosewell, than usual.

Winning ways | 16 December 2006

This Bosnian film about the devastating emotional consequences of war has all the things you might expect from a Bosnian film about the devastating emotional consequences of war: suffering; pain; Soviet-style concrete estates with stinking stairwells; drab little apartments; dreary knitwear; hard-faced people tramping wearily though the slush and the snow; more suffering; more pain, more slush, more snow. But if this sounds like bad news let me tell you the good: there isn’t a single tap-dancing penguin in it. And here is the even better news: this is a gem of a movie. Or at least I think it is a gem of a movie. I’m a little worried now that I only think this because I am so fed up with what mainstream Hollywood is currently offering.

For portly old hippies

I have been listening a lot to David Gilmour’s album, On An Island (EMI). We must now call him David, as he is a portly gent of a certain age who will probably get a knighthood the next time a Pink Floyd fan moves into No. 10. Obviously, though, we think of him as Dave, just as Jimmy Page will never be James Page and Robbie Williams will be Robbie Williams when he’s 95 and gaga. Many reviewers objected to the Dave...sorry, David Gilmour record because it’s unmistakably autumnal in theme and texture. The songs are quieter and slower, in the main, than even Pink Floyd fans are accustomed to, although they are also much more direct, and I believe it’s by some distance the best album to emerge from the extended Floyd family since The Wall, a mere 27 years ago.

The young ones

I wonder whether Tony (‘Education, education, education’) Blair or any of his cohorts in the Education Department were listening to the BBC World Service’s School Day 24 last week. Children from around the world were brought together in live link-ups as part of the BBC’s Generation Next week of programmes designed to give young people, aged from 12 to 18, the chance to air their views, dominate the agenda, talk to each other across religious and ethnic frontiers. Mr Blair might have questioned the success of those ‘literacy hours’ after hearing the kids from a school in north London alongside those from New Delhi and Dar es Salaam. It was not that the English teenagers were lacking in confidence or self-expression.

Powerful but grim

This being the Spectator’s bumper Christmas issue, we asked the television companies for a few seasonal preview discs. There wasn’t much ‘ho, ho, ho!’ about any of them. Some were merely grim: Three Kings at War (Channel 4, Thursday), for example, chronicled how three cousins — George V, Czar Nicholas and Kaiser Bill — helped, through their own stupidity, to bring about the death of millions. Channel 4 also offered a three-part set — The True Voice of Rape (Monday), The True Voice of Prostitution (Tuesday) and The True Voice of Murder (Wednesday). Uncork the eggnog now! To be fair, The True Voice series contained powerful material. The problem was that — to protect the victims — their words were voiced by actors.

Objects of affection

Mary Wakefield talks to Craigie Aitchison about Bedlingtons — and about his painting By five o’clock last Thursday evening, Craigie Aitchison and I had been talking about dogs for nearly an hour. It was grey outside but, inside, the pink walls of Craigie’s sitting room glowed in the orange light of an electric fire, and I glowed, too, warmed by whisky and by the pleasure of a shared obsession. Mostly, we discussed Bedlingtons, the woolly, lamb-like terriers Craigie has owned and painted for more than 35 years, but Cairn terriers got a look in (‘My parents had them, but I never really liked them’) as did beagles (‘They make beagles smoke, don’t they? It’s a scandal!’).

Bird’s-eye views

Georg Gerster (born 1928) is a Swiss photographer who specialises in shooting from above. For more than 40 years he has been taking aerial photographs, and has flown over 111 countries. Concentrating on archaeological and heritage sites, Gerster has made what might accurately be called an ‘overview’ that has greatly enhanced our archaeological understanding. His pictures have been reproduced in National Geographic and used on Swissair posters and calendars. He is what you might call a popular photographer, and a very fine one. The current exhibition of his work at the British Museum presents his photographs in a very low-key way: blown-up and unframed, they resemble illustrations from a magazine or subsidiary information panels rather than exhibits.

Going wild

In November 1905, in the Galerie Ernst Arnold, four young architecture students from the Dresden Technical School had their first encounter with Vincent van Gogh. Only six months earlier, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Erich Heckel, Karl Schmidt-Rottluff and Fritz Bleyl had formed an avant-garde artists’ group, Die Brücke (The Bridge), to represent ‘all who express directly and truthfully what urges them to create’. At the sight of 54 paintings by van Gogh, remembered a teacher, they ‘went wild’. The extraordinary impact of one man’s singular vision on the birth of modern art in Germany and Austria is the subject of an ambitious new exhibition at the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.

Supreme challenge

Any article about a production of Wagner’s Ring cycle has to begin by saying that it is the supreme challenge a company can face, and how much more so when the company is based in a remote foreign city, and flies in to mount the tetralogy a few hours after it has been performing something else in its home base. Wagner’s great epic is usually performed, even in Bayreuth, with two breaks of a day each between the second and third and the third and fourth parts.

Cultural debate

Some playwrights mellow with age, but not David Hare. His sense of righteous indignation knows no bounds. According to press reports, the reason he decided to open his latest play on Broadway is that he still bears a grudge against Nicholas Hytner for refusing to schedule more performances of Stuff Happens at the National. Alas, The Vertical Hour got a fairly lukewarm review in the all-important New York Times, though it remains to be seen whether Hare will publicly attack the critic concerned, as he did when Frank Rich gave The Secret Rapture the thumbs-down in 1989. Hare’s irascibility is on full display in Peter Hall’s revival of Amy’s View, a play that had its debut at the National in 1997.

Past perfect

It was one of those perfect New York days that make you feel grateful to be alive. I’d eaten my favourite breakfast — pancakes with maple syrup and crispy bacon — then salved my conscience with a huge bowl of fresh fruit, and was now taking a post-prandial walk in Central Park. The sky was an eggshell blue, the air was crisp, there were skaters on the ice rink, and squirrels were chasing each other across the branches of the trees like a scene from Beatrix Potter. With that extra spurt of energy Manhattan so often provides, I decided to walk up to the reservoir, further than I’d ever gone before, and when I got there, it looked so beautiful in the late November sunlight that I walked right round it.

Funny girls

There’s a programme I sometimes do on the right-wing guerilla media website 18 Doughty Street which I think you might enjoy. It’s called Culture Clash, presented by Peter Whittle, and it’s a bit like Newsnight Review would be if you took away the pseudery, the left-liberal cant and Ekow Eshun. Obviously, the production values are a lot ropier than you get on proper TV, and because the guests are generally less media-exposed there’s quite a lot of ‘you know’ and ‘I mean’. But what’s good about it is that everyone feels free to say what they actually think about the films, books and TV programmes they’re reviewing rather than going ‘Heaven help us. We’re on TV! Better take care!

Flying high with music and words

The titles of Jonathan Dove’s musical works — Flight, Tobias and the Angel, Palace in the Sky, The Little Green Swallow, Man on the Moon — might lead one to consider his winged surname a highly appropriate one. However, while the composer undoubtedly possesses a soaring imagination, it is allied to a refreshingly pragmatic, earthbound streak, and he is also the author of the more prosaically titled Pig, Greed and An Old Way to Pay New Debts. ‘I don’t work to an inner manifesto but I suppose that, in my operatic writing, I am always exploring something about where the boundaries of opera are, opera and theatre. I’m trying to reclaim the art form for a broader audience.’ He is currently reclaiming on all sides.

Playing with the past

Louis le Brocquy is 90 this year and his new show at Gimpel’s is merely one of four current celebratory exhibitions. (The others are at Tate Britain, The National Gallery of Ireland and Galerie Jeanne-Bucher in Paris.) He once wryly observed: ‘I’m aware that my age and vulnerability could be mistaken for some kind of authority.’ While the Gimpel show of his latest work does not in any way claim authority it also fails to exhibit any vulnerability. The whole subject of homage versus imitation could spark a book and here he gives us four homages to Manet’s ‘Olympia’ — which after all is not only an independent masterpiece but also a homage to Titian’s ‘Venus of Urbino’ and has echoes of both Giorgione and Ingres.

Heaven and hell

Stanley Spencer (1891–1959) and Francis Bacon (1909–92) were near contemporaries but their work holds little in common. Although both are painters of crisis and intensity, their very individual achievements may be said to embody diametric opposites — the heaven on earth of Spencer’s beloved Cookham, and the ‘hell is others’ Grand Guignol of Bacon. Distinguished by a taste for physical deformity and duress, Bacon’s art is obsessed with brute facts. Spencer — who memorably wrote in his notebooks: ‘If I am called upon to worship...then I will begin with the lavatory seat’ — had an equally earthy approach to the human animal, but saw him as capable of redemption.

So-so, actually

Honestly, before I took up this beat I had no idea how many new movies aren’t that great and aren’t truly terrible but are simply so-so and when it comes to so-so Stranger Than Fiction is just so so-so, which is a shame because: a) I’d been looking forward to it and b) I have better things to do with my time, like buy goats for people for Christmas and then figure out how to wrap them. I’d been looking forward to it not only because the conceit sounded wonderfully neat (it’s about a guy who hears his life being narrated to him) but also because it’s got Emma Thompson in it.

Vintage year

Glyndebourne on Tour is having a vintage year, and that’s not counting its Die Fledermaus, which, favourite work of mine as it is, I couldn’t bear to see again in that production. Così fan tutte, on the other hand, I couldn’t bear not to see, having been at the first night in Glyndebourne last May, and felt there that, in the face of the hottest competition, it was the finest production of this infinitely subtle and probing comedy that I have ever seen. Not only did Glyndebourne on Tour match the home team, all told it surpassed it, and the result was an evening of simply unparalleled satisfaction — whether the hundreds of pre-teen schoolchildren who, incredibly, were taken to this of all works, felt the same I couldn’t say.