More from Arts

Saturday

Simon Hoggart

Leaders of the pack

Two programmes about singing this week, and they could scarcely have been more different. I’m in a Rock’n’Roll Band! (BBC2, Saturday) was the first in a series about groups, and it kicked off with lead singers. Thank heavens, they skipped most of the ponderous, portentous, pretentious nonsense that is often spouted about rock bands. You can’t get rid of that altogether when Sting is around (he identified the main qualities of the lead singer as ‘arrogance and immense courage’, which is 24-carat luvvie-talk — ‘For God’s sake, the sheer guts it takes to go out in front of an audience gasping for you to be Lady Teazle!’) but for the most part people were pleasingly direct.

Kate Chisholm

Reality check

What Gordon needs now (whatever happened on Thursday night and Friday morning) is a bit of radio therapy. I don’t suppose he had time to listen to The Vote Now Show (Radio 4) in the rumbustious run-up to the election, but he’d have done well to tune in for a bit of a laugh and a health-inducing reality check. Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis’s nightly paean to the political shenanigans of the previous 24 hours took us back to the heyday of Week Ending, before the PC Brigade and/or Russell Brand made it so difficult to be funny, decent and pertinent all at the same time.

Saturday

Michael Tanner

Lovers’ tangle

Elegy for Young Lovers Young Vic, in rep until 8 May Albert Herring Blackheath Halls Hans Werner Henze’s Elegy for Young Lovers, with a libretto by Auden and Chester Kallman, is less familiar than one might expect. Never recorded complete, it has rarely been performed in the UK since Glyndebourne staged it in 1963. Yet in the excellent new production at the Young Vic, the concentration awarded by the audience was instantly apparent, and maintained throughout the three hours the piece lasts. ENO has got Fiona Shaw to direct, and one of the results is that the performers behave like human beings rather than opera singers, and even speak their lines — there is a considerable amount of spoken dialogue — naturally.

Deborah Ross

Metal fatigue

Iron Man 2 12A, Nationwide Iron Man 2 is a mighty dog’s dinner, which would be OK — or, as my dog Mr Woofie puts it, ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it’ — but it is also fantastically boring. It’s the sort of boredom that starts at pore level and then seeps its way, via the lymph system, down into the very marrow of your bones. It’s the sort of boredom that makes you sad to be alive. It’s the entire axis of boredom. It’s the boredom that accrues when an incoherent plot, flimsy characters, a dumb script and an excess of CGI fighting nonsense all gang up on you. I think even Mr Woofie would have found Iron Man 2 boring and his standards, when it comes to any kind of entertainment, are quite low.

James Delingpole

Money well spent

Science, you may have noticed, has been getting a bad press of late. Scientists losing raw data, scientists withholding data, scientists cherry-picking data, scientists torturing the evidence till it says what they want it to say, scientists acting more like political activists than scientists. And, of all the world’s media institutions, none has been quite so shameless in justifying, excusing or covering up this appalling behaviour than that supposed bastion of neutrality and authority, the BBC. Still, the BBC can’t get everything wrong all the time, and its new series The Story of Science is a case in point.

Kate Chisholm

The battle continues

It sounded as if a World Heavyweight Championship was just about to begin. The roaring mob. The pent-up energy. The buzzing excitement at the prospect of an upset, a defeat, a knockout blow. The tension was palpable, seeping through my study, as the contenders squared up to each other for Round Two. I don’t have Sky and wanted to experience The Prime Ministerial Debate live, as it was happening, rather than wait up until 11.30 last Thursday night to watch it on BBC2, so I had no alternative but to listen to Gordon, Dave and Nick thrashing it out on Radio 4 instead of watching them on screen. I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to it.

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

Arboreal glory

Paul Sandby: Picturing Britain, a Bicentenary Exhibition Royal Academy, until 13 June As Paul Sandby’s dates 1731—1809 suggest, last year was his bicentenary, when this exhibition started out in Nottingham. Sandby lived in that illustrious city before heading north to Edinburgh, when he was appointed draughtsman to the Military Survey of North Britain in 1747. It is therefore most appropriate that this exhibition travelled from Nottingham to Edinburgh before coming south to the RA. It follows Sandby’s own trajectory in this. He moved to London in 1751, to stay with his elder brother Thomas at Windsor and in Soho, and became involved in the St Martin’s Lane Academy.

Laura Gascoigne

An insider’s view

A Critic’s Choice Selected by Andrew Lambirth Browse & Darby, until 7 May The bravest thing an art critic can do is to show their own work; the next bravest is to mount a show of the artists they admire. Publishing one’s critical opinions in print is one thing; hanging up the physical evidence in public is quite another. One normally fearless critic of my acquaintance, when invited to do it, declined with a shudder and a quote from ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’. Cork Street didn’t feel like the Valley of Death when I visited Andrew Lambirth’s Critic’s Choice last week.

Lloyd Evans

Porn and propaganda

Porn — The Musical Theatre 503, until 1 May Posh Royal Court, until 22 May Here’s the rule. Provocative title equals lousy show. The playbill Porn — The Musical filled my heart with misgivings as I made the long trek south of the Thames to a venue at a Battersea boozer. The room above the pub was huge and empty, but the theatre wasn’t here but higher up, via a trapdoor, wedged in under the beery roof-eaves. A fug of lavender and sawdust hung over the creaking benches and the stage was the size of a card-table. As I took my seat, a furry insect expired in midair and landed in the retro hairstyle just ahead of me. A moth in a beehive. Then the show began and everything perked up.

Peter Hoskin

Blood and guts

Centurion 15, Nationwide You know how it is. There are two sword-and-sandal films opening in cinemas, and you just can’t decide which one to see. Will it be Alejandro Amenábar’s Agora, which looks poised, if a little sterile? Or will it be Neil Marshall’s Centurion, which is all about the action, action, action? So you do as I did, and reach for a coin in your pocket. Heads, it’s Agora; tails, Centurion. You throw. The coin somersaults in the air, plunges back towards your hand, and... Centurion is Marshall’s fourth feature, and it remains faithful to the horror-cum-comic-book stylings of his previous three. In Dog Soldiers (2002), it was soldiers versus werewolves. In The Descent (2005), it was potholers versus subterranean monsters.

Robin Holloway

Suffering for art

Great bafflement during a recent week in Berlin, city of bleak exteriors, whose human and cultural rewards are almost wholly indoors — in its wealth of concert halls, opera houses and museums. Great bafflement during a recent week in Berlin, city of bleak exteriors, whose human and cultural rewards are almost wholly indoors — in its wealth of concert halls, opera houses and museums. Museums are, 20 years after reunification, ever-reliable. The music scene is passing and evanescent. I had hoped to find, over the Easter period, seasonal relevance of the most exalted kind — a St Matthew Passion or Parsifal on or around Good Friday itself. But schedules were bare, if not literally barren.

Michael Tanner

Jarring Janacek

The Adventures of Mr Broucek Edinburgh Festival Theatre Prima Donna Sadler’s Wells There is no composer to whose works my reactions fluctuate so much as Janacek. I don’t mean the various compositions in his output, I mean specific works on different occasions. When I saw a concert performance of his comic opera The Adventures of Mr Broucek at the Barbican in 2007, conducted by Jiri Belohlavek, I became an instant, passionate convert to a piece that I had previously thought was mostly a dismal flop. And I felt the same when the CDs of that performance were issued.

Kate Chisholm

Speed limit | 24 April 2010

I’ve hardly dared switch the radio on over the last few days so blissful has been the quiet engendered by the Ash Crisis. I’ve hardly dared switch the radio on over the last few days so blissful has been the quiet engendered by the Ash Crisis. The absence of noise is uncanny; this new soundtrack of life so deep, stretching way up into the empty skies. Why spoil it by turning on the radio? Yet an election looms, my sister’s stuck in Sri Lanka and I discover that my mind is just too addicted to grazing on news and ideas, facts and opinions to stop listening.

Simon Hoggart

Cookery class

The other day there were four cookery programmes in prime time on the terrestrial channels. Why? What on earth makes this subject of such relentless fascination? At least on the similarly ubiquitous antiques shows you can look at the antiques. But so far you can’t taste the food, though no doubt they’re working on that as the next big thing after 3D. Instead of buying HD-ready televisions, we’ll get oven-ready sets. ‘Press the red button for venison in a raspberry coulis, or the blue button for turbot in a beurre blanc...

Ursula Buchan

Wild at heart

On the face of it, the phrase ‘forest garden’ is a contradiction in terms, since trees in mature forests do not allow enough sun through the canopy for satisfactory gardening. On the face of it, the phrase ‘forest garden’ is a contradiction in terms, since trees in mature forests do not allow enough sun through the canopy for satisfactory gardening. But it is meant simply as a shorthand for ‘a garden of useful plants (trees, shrubs and perennial vegetables) in an environment similar to a young natural woodland’ — which, if not exactly snappy, is certainly an interesting concept whichever way up you hold it.

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

Tears of the soul

Arshile Gorky: A Retrospective Tate Modern, until 3 May Van Doesburg and the International Avant-Garde: Constructing a New World Tate Modern, until 16 May Arshile Gorky (1904–48) was a great and versatile painter, either the last major surrealist or the first Abstract Expressionist. In truth, he was a bit of each, an Armenian who fled to America where he became a focus of European influence and an innovator of considerable potency. André Breton called him ‘the eye-spring’, and wrote: Gorky had the extreme sensitivity to be such a conducting wire, but his brief career was cut short by tragedy — a studio fire, cancer, a broken neck sustained in a car accident — and he committed suicide aged just 44.

Michael Tanner

Hypermanic Rossini

Il Turco in Italia Royal Opera, in rep until 19 April Commentators on Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia tend to take a defensive line, comparing its absence from the repertoire for many decades with that of Così fan tutte, and even comparing the two works directly, as well as pointing out that Mozart’s great opera was playing in Milan at the time that Rossini was composing Turco.

Peter Phillips

Sound effects | 17 April 2010

The Tallis Scholars’ 50th concert in New York City — the first was in 1988 — took place in St Bartholomew’s Church, Park Avenue, on 26 March. The Tallis Scholars’ 50th concert in New York City — the first was in 1988 — took place in St Bartholomew’s Church, Park Avenue, on 26 March. Since we have sung now in 15 different spaces in NYC — more than in any other city in the world and including the Lincoln Center and the Metropolitan Museum of Art — this was an unusual choice of venue for a celebration. St Bart’s is famous for a number of things, but since reverberant acoustics is not one of them I feared we would have an uphill task appealing to a new audience.

Lloyd Evans

Rotten truth

The Empire Royal Court, until 1 May Polar Bears Donmar, until 22 May The Royal Court’s stuffy little upstairs theatre is hosting a new play about cultural imperialism. D.C. Moore sets his scene in Helmand where a young English corporal finds himself morally compromised by his desire to torture a Taleban prisoner. The twist is that the prisoner is a norf-Lunnin geezer, of Asian extraction, claiming to have been kidnapped by insurgents while ‘holidaying’ in Kandahar. This device neatly brings the war back home and turns the play into an examination of the competing religious factions in Britain. And though the script is never less than absorbing, and often very funny too, it takes a while to hit cruising speed and the plot lacks complexity.

Deborah Ross

Classy tosh

The Ghost 15, Nationwide Cemetery Junction 15, Nationwide The Ghost is Roman Polanski’s adaptation of Robert Harris’s best-selling political thriller, and while it’s probably tosh, it is top-notch, classy tosh of the most satisfying kind: taut, neatly plotted, atmospheric and exceedingly well acted. Pierce Brosnan even puts some effort in, for once — well done, Pierce! It wasn’t so bad, was it? — and Kim Cattrall is so goddamn ripe and juicy and sexy even I wanted to sleep with her, and I’m a straight woman. (Yes, yes, I do have a bit of a moustache, but it’s a red herring; it’s just one of those things that happen with age, like the tone in your upper arms going.