Arts Archives

Wanted: a producer for Peter Nichols’s four new plays

Arts feature

Gosh. I wouldn’t mind being Peter Nichols. Eighty-six this month and still enjoying the easy domesticity and professional stimulation he’s benefited from since the 1960s when he was propelled to stardom by his play about raising a disabled daughter, A Day in the Death of Joe Egg. He lives in a penthouse flat in north Oxford on the verge of cow-dappled meadows, tufty footpaths and a low grey canal full of quacky coots and ducklings. He’s fit, sharp-witted and fun to be around. (After our interview he and his wife called a cab and went off to Corpus Christi to knock back champagne at a summer party.) He dismisses his age with a paragraph of jokey self-evaluation.

John Greening

Wind

Poems

Invisible hand that jangles the lantern over the porch and tells the leaves on the pond to imagine they are clippers and wrenches the shed door , and makes leylandii lurch, unnerving the cat, wobbling the elderly; that viciously clobbers pedestrians at the corner, then snatches up bills and payslips put out for recycling and juggles with them; that gibbers and squeaks through gaps in your sealed units; that laughs as it swipes her portfolio of art, the pantechnicon of his life’s work, in fits when a cone skedaddles like a clown or turning Dalek wipes the smile off its fierceness and swivels a death-ray that hits your moped, your chimney, your safest nook, knocking over five centuries’ peaceful growth. It is its own blitz- krieg on the establishment. Respect it.

Giannandrea Poesio

Gusto galore from Boston Ballet

More from Arts

Those who lament sluggishness in contemporary stagings of Balanchine’s ballets — and those who are responsible for it — should have seen and learnt from Boston Ballet last week. Forget the funereal tempi we, in the old world, are forced to accept because of the killjoy aesthetics favoured by artistically challenged ballet directors and teachers. Boston Ballet’s Serenade had all one would wish for: quick, sparkling tempi, a splendid use of the space, majestic flow and gusto galore. It’s true that precision might have gone astray now and then, but never in a major way; besides, real artistry has always had little to do with precision.

Ian Thomson

Nicolas Roeg interview: ‘I hate the term “sex scene”’

Features

‘Oh, some of my films have been attacked with absolute vitriol!’ said Nicolas Roeg, 85, and still one of the darkest and most innovative of post-war British directors. We were sitting in his study in Notting Hill; nearby in Powis Square is the house Roeg used for his 1968 debut, Performance, starring Mick Jagger as the rock star who entices a gangster (James Fox) into a drug-induced identity crisis. The film was shelved for a year before Warner Brothers dared to release it. ‘The critics didn’t always get it then — but they do seem to now,’ said Roeg. Roeg was born in 1928 in St John’s Wood into a vaguely bohemian background.

Candy Neubert

how to get a life

Rousseau and the Tiger

9 July 2013

Douglas Murray

There are upsides to live TV, but being spanked by David Dimbleby is not one of them

Belated thanks to readers who wrote in about the BBC’s Question Time last week (still viewable here). It was a slightly odd edition, I thought. The panel – Margaret Hodge, Danny Alexander, Sarah Woollaston, Tony Robinson and me – found ourselves in agreement on more things than is usual on the show. On party-funding we agreed that the parties are all in a mess – albeit in slightly different ways. Likewise we thought that although there may be an argument for it, this isn’t a great moment to raise MPs pay. We all wanted the NHS to remain solvent, though disagreed on the priorities. And everyone was concerned about the coup in Egypt. I think the only point of real contention was between the chair – David Dimbleby – and me.

4 July 2013

Alexander Chancellor

Long life: The curse of the black tie

Our shameful treatment of Alan Turing, the man behind the Enigma Code

More from Arts

Alan Turing, the man who developed the Enigma code that saved the Allied war effort, was not merely disregarded by his country. A homosexual, he was convicted of ‘gross indecency’ in 1952 and chemically castrated via forced oestrogen injections. Under unimaginable duress, he committed suicide. That it took until 2009 for the British government to apologise only compounds the scandal. Turing’s story is told in Codebreaker, a docudrama that combines reenactments of conversations between Turing, played by Ed Stoppard (above), and his psychiatrist (the German Jewish refugee Franz Greenbaum), and interviews with experts on his life and work. One after another, they attest to Turing’s brilliance as the man who created modern computing.

Clarissa Tan

TV review: Get out of my way, Tessa Jowell. Women are not all touchy-feely

Television

Luther is back, in Luther, and so is Donny Osmond, of Donny & Marie fame. Could there be two more differing cultural symbols of manhood? My feeling is no. Luther (Tuesdays, BBC1) fills our screens with sick foreboding. We are as victims pinned to the sofa, eyeballing the characters’ every action with terror as they move about menacingly in our living-rooms. It’s a cop show where the cops are not so much bent as twisted, their souls writhing to unarticulated inner torments, chief among them that of its anti-hero DCI John Luther (Idris Elba).

Michael Tanner

Opera: I am dreading the thought of Götterdämmerung if Opera North maintains the standard it has set with Siegfried

Opera

Siegfried is, everyone agrees, the hardest of the Ring dramas to bring off. The first and almost insurmountable problem is that the title role is one that almost no one can sing, and one of which even on recordings there are very few wholly satisfactory accounts. Lauritz Melchior, the only tenor with the adequate size and beauty of voice, and the sensitivity, when he could be bothered, to employ them to the full, never recorded the role complete, his only ‘live’ preserved performance being heavily cut. The most one can hope for is a more-or-less decent account, and they are rare.

Lloyd Evans

Theatre: Responsible Other: an assured effort from newcomer Melanie Spencer; The Moment of Truth: Peter Ustinov fails to impress as a playwright

Theatre

Dominic Cooke did it at the Royal Court. Now Ed Hall is having crack as well. Cooke’s crazy decision to place his theatre at the disposal of young scribblers prompted the emergence of several brilliant new female playwrights, some barely out of their teens. Ed Hall, following suit, has brought a play by newcomer Melanie Spencer into the Hampstead’s studio space downstairs. Responsible Other is a relationship drama set in Northampton. Teenage Daisy has just lost her mum to cancer. And she’s afflicted by a rare condition, lupus, which damages the organs and prevents sufferers from venturing outdoors. Her best mate Alice tries to cheer her up with newsflashes from the classroom and romantic chitchat about fit young shelf-stackers at Sainsbury’s.

Deborah Ross

Emma Watson shines in The Bling Ring

Cinema

Sofia Coppola’s latest film is not an action adventure, or a supernatural horror, or a stoner comedy, just so you know. Instead, it’s about the emptiness of the celebrity lifestyle just as her Lost in Translation was about the emptiness of the celebrity lifestyle, and Somewhere, and Marie Antoinette, in its way. Write about what you know, everyone says, and fair play to Sofia. Being ‘Hollywood Royalty’ herself, she can’t be any stranger to excess, and she has thought about it, and keeps thinking about it, and The Bling Ring is, I would say, and for what it’s worth (not much, I suspect) her best film to date. It’s taut, makes its point without hammering it home, well acted (particularly Emma Watson; I know!) and visually delicious. The Louboutins!

Kate Chisholm

‘It was like 26-dimensional chess’: Roger Wright on managing the Proms

Music

It sounds like a dream job — being in charge of what is now regarded as the greatest classical music festival in the world. But most of us would quail at the challenge. Quite apart from needing enough musical imagination to come up with 75 nightly programmes, it must surely be a logistical nightmare, corralling 300 musical artists and 315 works into a two-month season? Roger Wright, director of the BBC Proms since 2008 (as well as Controller of BBC Radio 3), obviously relishes the task. ‘I don’t do sitting in the chair dreaming about what we might put on,’ says Wright. ‘Nor is every single thing my personal choice.

James Delingpole

The Stones at Glastonbury: the greatest show EVER

Music

Yes, I’m sorry, the Stones at Glastonbury really were that good and if you weren’t there I’m afraid you seriously need to consider killing yourself. You missed a piece of rock’n’roll history, one of the gigs that will likely be ranked henceforward among the greatest EVER. So again, sorry if you weren’t there to enjoy it. Boy and I were. And we did. A lot. Perhaps it helped that so few of us were expecting much. I was hanging around the afternoon beforehand in the EE tent waiting for my phone to recharge, having one of those random Glasto conversations with strangers — an A&E nurse, a geeky kid — and we all agreed that the Stones were a band we planned to see more out of duty than pleasure.

Andrew Lambirth

Eduardo Chillida — the great modern sculptor, whom we shamefully ignore

Exhibitions

Eduardo Chillida (1924–2002) is one of the greatest of modern sculptors yet curiously little known in this country. The last major show in London was at the Hayward Gallery in 1990, where I first encountered his work in real depth. Before that, he had only exhibited once in the UK, a solo show at the McRoberts & Tunnard Gallery in 1965. Pilar Ordovas is to be congratulated for putting on this small but very choice new show. It’s high time we saw more of Chillida’s work: its powerful sculptural presence combines a satisfying sense of geometry with a love of materials, investigates space and light in new ways and is as much to do with poetry as with construction.

Peter Phillips

Fête de la Musique: Couldn’t we just get over ourselves, risk a bit of foreign and join

Music

One of the many cultural initiatives to have come out of France in the past 50 years — and therefore by definition to have been viewed with suspicion by the British establishment — is the Fête de la Musique. One need look no further than Margaret Thatcher and Unesco to get the flavour of what follows; but so complete has been the disinterest in the Fête around here that even I, Europhile to the core and anyway booked to perform in Paris on 21 June, had no idea what I was contributing to. This Fête began life in 1982 when Jack Lang, then minister of culture in Paris, framed a festival that would put ‘the music everywhere and the concert nowhere’.

Stephen Deuchar

Don’t believe the spin, this arts cut is a disaster

Arts feature

Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) spending review rounds always work like this: officials choose three figures of increasing severity and ask those they fund to model what would happen should their funding be cut by the corresponding amounts. The organisations duly devote considerable resources to trying to work out what they could cut or stop doing entirely, worrying staff and donors and driving speculation in the press. Then the culture secretary of the day proudly announces that he or she has fought culture’s corner and we all now only have to cut by the lower figure. Cue grateful thanks in public, and private pain as the agreed changes are made. This is no doubt the same across Whitehall, but in culture and the arts it seems a particularly merry dance.

Anthony Thwaite

The Colours of London

Poems

(after Yoshio Markino, 1911) Colours of women, a grey-veiled pink, a bloom Fading to yellow, stippled, dust-hung, flecked Soot startling white lace in summer gloom. Colours of trees, pavements sticky with leaves Trodden to blackened bronze, a patina Attached to every twig. The heart grieves, Colours the blood with fungus, smudges all Spires, bridges, waters, with its spores, Catches each raindrop as the bruised clouds fall. Colours — the names of them, the languages Seeping between — slip into sepia, Then steely white, as words freeze images. Colours of women, trees, blood, stone on stone Piled high, dismantled, crowded as a dream Night after night in London, and alone.

Kate Chisholm

Radio review: Rambling across Europe and into Asia with Tara Bariana and Clare Balding

Radio and podcasts

One morning in 1995 Tara Bariana walked out of his house in Walsall and didn’t stop walking until he had reached the village in the Punjab where he was born and grew up. Ten thousand miles in 19 months is a lot of footwork. What made him do it? ‘I came here in 1960 with my mother and two sisters,’ he told Clare Balding in Ramblings (Saturday), her Radio 4 programme dedicated to those who love nothing better than to tramp for miles with no other objective in mind than the reassuring pleasure of putting one foot in front of the other. ‘But I’ve never forgotten my childhood; those early years in the village.’ He had been back to India two or three times, but always by plane.

2 July 2013

Rod Liddle

Down with the Glasto smugfest

I suppose this will seem churlish, but I’d just like to add my support to the grime rapper Wiley who, upon arriving at the Glastonbury festival, tweeted to Michael Eavis: ‘Fuck you and your farm.’ I’m not sure what motivated this annoyance but credit where it’s due, it’s roughly what I’ve felt about this bloated middle class smugfest for the last fifteen years. If it persuades the badger-strangling but otherwise impeccably PC post-hippy Eavis to call it a day, so much the better. Why in Christ’s name would anyone wish to attend a music festival in which the headline acts are almost double the ages of the cabinet (and slightly further to the right)?

27 June 2013

Lloyd Evans

Anna Chancellor: I vetoed a kiss with Dominic Cooper

Arts feature

We meet in the late afternoon at a jazzy little bistro near the Old Vic. I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the sheer visual impact of Anna Chancellor. Imposingly tall and wearing a simple glamorous frock, she rises to greet me. The dispositions of her face — the dimpled chin, the high cheekbones and the smoky blue eyes — combine in an extraordinary synthesis of softness, elegance and power. It’s like looking at a beautifully designed weapon. She’s playing Amanda alongside Toby Stephens, as Elyot, in Jonathan Kent’s production of Private Lives at the Gielgud. The show originated in Chichester last autumn. ‘I’m thrilled it’s going into town.

Andrew Lambirth

Exhibition review: Rory McEwen: the botanical artist who influenced Van Morrison; Paul Delvaux: a show to savour for its unusualness

Exhibitions

By all accounts, Rory McEwen (1932–82) was a remarkable man, hugely talented in several different disciplines (artist, musician, writer) and very much loved by his friends. Grey Gowrie calls him ‘a spectacular human being’ and writes: ‘Even now, 30 years after his death, he lights up the mind of everyone who knew him.’ Renowned as a botanical artist, McEwen was also an exceptional musician, specialising in blues and folk, whose mastery of the 12-string acoustic guitar rivalled the legendary Lead Belly. With his brother Alexander, Rory toured across the USA in 1956, becoming one of the first British acts to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show. Back in London, Rory became the resident singer on the Tonight programme, later hosting his own late-night TV show.

The Spectator

Barometer | 27 June 2013

Barometer

Field reports The Glastonbury Festival is once again being held at Michael Eavis’s dairy farm at Pilton, just outside the Somerset town. The venues of some other famous festivals: — Monterey: the festival most associated with the 1967 ‘Summer of Love’ was held at the Monterey County Fairgrounds, previously used for jazz festivals. — Woodstock: the 1969 festival was to have been held on an industrial park, but the local council placed a restriction limiting attendance to 5,000, so it moved to a dairy farm owned by Max Yasgur. He was paid $50,000 but was barred from the local shop. — Isle of Wight: the third Isle of Wight festival became the largest festival ever staged, with 600,000 attending.

Paul Henry

War fiction

Poems

That ‘bullet hole’ in your bush hat, there should have been two holes — for the truth to pass through. I think you believed your own lies, liked how they altered the light on the bullet, as it passed through. Who fired the gun? Who died? Who prayed for the victim’s soul? So many questions, passing through.

Peter Hoskin

Chronicle of a Summer: Reality TV decades before it had a name

More from Arts

Here’s a documentary called Chronicle of a Summer. Which summer? Why, the summer of 1960, in Paris, when fag-end colonial struggles were burning away in Algeria and other parts of Africa. And how is it chronicled? An anthropologist and a sociologist, Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin, put cameras on the streets and ask questions of the people they find. Who are you? Are you happy? The usual French existential stuff. The results are gripping, even from a distance of more than 50 years. Rouch and Morin focus on the personal; the everyday lives of factory workers, artists, immigrants, models and students. But when France’s present and recent past break into shot, it’s as dramatic as could be.

Kate Chisholm

Radio review: Damascus Diary: destruction of a city

Radio and podcasts

We’ve heard it all before — the misery that war wreaks on everyday lives — but Lina Sinjab’s audio diary of her experiences in Syria took us right into the heart of what it feels like to be hounded out of your home, your memories, your sense of who you are and where you belong. Sinjab grew up in Damascus, her whole life has been lived there, but now she has left, forced out by the uprising. In Damascus Diary, produced by Nina Robinson (Radio 4, Monday), she recalled how at first the demonstrators in support of the government and against the rebels chanted ‘Long live Assad’, and ‘Assad for ever’. Then their demands changed to ‘Either Assad or nobody’ and ‘Either Assad or we will burn our country’.

James Delingpole

TV review: Russell Brand socks it to the gods and goddesses of daytime TV

Television

This week I witnessed the bloody, brutal death of mainstream television. It will, I think, go down in media history as one of those ‘Where were you when JFK was shot?’ moments. The victims were the presenters of a US breakfast television show called Morning Joe; the executioner was Russell Brand. Russell Brand? No, it’s OK, I’m quite with you: on a bad day he can be the most annoying person on earth, with his swarthy, beardie, slimy, wheedling faux-grandiloquence and even more faux-intellect and that little-puppy-dog-lost way he has of looking you straight in the eye and impudently demanding your forgiveness for having just shagged both your wife and your daughter ‘because, hey, it could have been worse — at least I didn’t do grandma too’.

Giannandrea Poesio

Dance: William Forsythe’s new work is choreographic narcissism

More from Arts

As someone who once raved about William Forsythe’s innovative approach to ballet and fondly admired his groundbreaking choreographic explorations, I felt let down by last week’s performance by his company at Sadler’s Wells. Things did not start badly, though. The way gestural solutions unfold and develop in a crescendo of movement variables, variants, similes and opposites in N.N.N.N. (2002) is rather engaging. The game of quick interaction between four male dancers moves rapidly from the simplest hand movement to demanding acts of powerful physicality; there are humorous moments and tense ones, as well affectionate references to the neoclassical oeuvre of George Balanchine — whom Forsythe has often referred to as a major source of inspiration.