Culture

Choral church music is at its most effective when it’s embedded in the liturgy as it was designed to be, rather than performed on stage in a concert. The Mozart Requiem works well in both situations; but if you happen to be in a pew, mid-mass, eyes closed and head in the praying position at the moment when the choir breaks into the ‘Lacrimosa’, the music will somehow be doubly powerful. Two annual summer festivals of music within the liturgy celebrate this truth. The first is the Roman Catholic St Birinus Festival, now in its fourth year.

The choreographic partnership of Sol Leon and Paul Lightfoot has long been celebrated in mainland Europe: a new double bill presented by the Royal Ballet is the first time their work has been showcased for British audiences. The first-night reception to Covent Garden was rapturous, but I wonder how long the excitement will last. What an astounding masterpiece this ballet is. I adore it, who couldn’t? Leon and Lightfoot specialise in movement characterised by a nervous staccato, suggestive both of psychic anxiety and robotic precision: the dancers look demented or brain-dead, animatronically controlled. Black is the dominant colour (Leon and Lightfoot are often their own designers) and the lighting does more to shade than illuminate. It is all very chic indeed.

Steven Spielberg has said his latest film, Disclosure Day, is ‘the summation of my life in science fiction’, which began with Close Encounters of the Third Kind and ends here. (He is now 79.) I adored Close Encounters when it first came out in 1977 and still do – that final scene must be one of the greatest final scenes in cinema, greater even than The Terminator. But Disclosure Day is not its match, not nearly. What we have here instead is a forgettable action film with the bones of your average conspiracy thriller. There may or may not be life on other planets, but this poor Earthling felt the life drain from her at around ten minutes in.

Madfabulous is a biopic of Henry Paget, the fifth Marquess of Anglesey, who was probably mad and definitely fabulous. His prodigalities in jewels and clothing were enormous. He perfumed his automobile so it belched violets. He was partial to wearing women’s clothing. He set up his own theatre company to showcase his ‘butterfly dance’. Needless to say, he burned through his family’s fortune in a few short years. How could all this not be wonderful on screen? Who doesn’t wish for an automobile belching violets? Alas, the film leans towards the pedestrian but, still, it will send you down a most satisfying rabbit hole. Look him up. The spit of Frank Zappa, right? And this is the late 1800s we are talking about. Respect.

Northern Ballet commits itself almost exclusively to dance as a storytelling medium, and its weakness historically has been to home in on surefire box-office titles such as A Streetcar named Desire, The Great Gatsby and Nineteen Eighty-Four, which lose more than they gain by being deprived of their words. But adapting the source of the popular BBC television series Gentleman Jack proves inspired: the result must rank as one of the best things the company has ever done. Anne Lister was a real figure, a moneyed gentlewoman in early 19th-century Yorkshire whose masculine demeanour, dress and behaviour gave rise to the moniker Gentleman Jack.

Lucian Freud almost had a second career in the cinema. He acted as an extra in a couple of films during the early 1940s; the only one in which he made the final cut was a farce starring the ukulele-playing comedian George Formby in which his 19-year-old face can be seen peering out of the background in one scene. Years later, Lucian claimed, John Huston asked him if he’d like to play the part of his grandfather Sigmund in a biographical screen drama from 1962 entitled Freud: The Secret Passion (which had, at one point, a script by Jean-Paul Sartre). Eventually Montgomery Clift was cast instead, which was just as well because Freud was definitely an observer rather than a performer.

Everybody has been raving about Legends, the Netflix series about undercover customs officers in the 1990s busting a heroin ring. But even though it’s ‘based on a true story’, there are times when it feels more like a histrionically implausible, over-reverential recruitment drive for HM Customs and Excise. ‘Thought they were just those men in white shirts embarrassing you at the airport by exposing the stash of cheap baccy hidden in your holiday underwear? Think again!’, you can imagine the tagline running. The model here, of course, would be Top Gun – the 1986 movie, heavily supported by the US military, which supposedly caused the number of men applying to become US Navy fighter pilots to increase by 500 per cent (a figure that’s since been debunked).