Arts Reviews

The good, bad and ugly in arts and exhbitions

Wednesday

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Fright night

Here comes Jane Asher. She swings through the doors of a small Chelsea hotel, chucks her bag on the floor, and sits down with an expectant look. Her voluminous red hair has attractive hints of something blonder on top. Her eyes are pale blue, and extraordinarily intense, and she has a fulsome rack of plump white teeth that hint at large appetites. But her figure is as trim as a teenager’s. We meet a few weeks before she begins rehearsing Charley’s Aunt, the classic Victorian farce in which she plays a Brazilian dowager, Donna Lucia d’Alvadorez. Does she think it’ll be more fun because the script is a bundle of

Andrew Lambirth

Under the skin | 19 September 2012

John Berger (born 1926) is one of the most intriguing and richly controversial figures in British arts and letters. Actually, since he lives full-time in France, he can scarcely be considered English in any meaningful way, and is indeed an international figure, widely regarded outside this country as one of Europe’s greatest intellectuals and quite often as some sort of cultural guru. Here he is thought of as a Marxist art critic, a dangerously potent broadcaster and a writer or novelist who defies categorisation. One suspects he is a bit of an embarrassment to the arts establishment, so he tends to be ignored. His residence abroad makes this easier, but

Sarah Drury

The place to be

A display of drawings by 20th-century sculptors is a welcome event, and the multi-levelled, multi-functional Kings Place provides just the right ambience, the building echoing the concept and providing a satisfying mix of enjoyment, surprise and irritation. To stage Sculptors’ Drawings (until 12 October) has been a long-held ambition of Pangolin’s Rungwe Kingdon and he has assembled over 200 works, including Eduardo Paolozzi’s ‘Collage’ (above), plus a scattering of 3D pieces. It sounds straightforward, but this being the art world, and sculpture a broad kirk, no chance to complicate has been foregone. The ‘drawings’ encompass working exercises, recordings, dissections, experimental shape-making and pieces that exist as creations in their own

Giannandrea Poesio

American beauty | 19 September 2012

Tragically, the number of ballet directors who can orchestrate good programmes and good openings is dwindling these days. Helgi Tómasson, of San Francisco Ballet, is one of the few who are still in the know, judging by the terrific bang with which his company opened last week in London.  Divertimento No.15 might not be one of George Balanchine’s greatest works, but it remains a delectable compendium of all the distinctive traits dance-goers love in Balanchine’s composition. Craftily entwined with and within Mozart’s music, the 1956 dance is one of the choreographer’s many tributes to the grand old era of the Imperial Russian Ballet — whence he came. Like any of

Michael Tanner

A time for reflection

As any regular opera-goer knows, next year is uniquely one for three major operatic centenaries, two of them, Verdi’s and Wagner’s, bicentenaries, while Britten was born only 100 years ago, but seems to have been dead for a very long time. So we can expect numerous series — of performances, recordings, broadcast radio and TV features — and probably quite a few biographies and critical studies. Indeed they have already got under way in Wagner’s case, with several new German biographies, while the prominent conductor Christian Thielemann has just given his account of Mein Leben mit Wagner, a book and CD;  Marek Janowski, another of today’s leading Wagner conductors, is

Matthew Parris Matthew Parris

A lost illusion at the Last Night of the Proms

It was the last night of the Proms and the first I’ve ever attended. I’ve watched it on TV, of course, and even been to a Last Night of the Proms party, where we all watched the television, swigging sparkling wine and singing along to Rule Britannia. But to be there, actually among the audience at the Royal Albert Hall, would be something special, I thought. And it was. Ever since receiving an invitation to join a friend whose party were occupying a whole box I’d felt excited about it, and I was not disappointed. There’s something about real events — a thrill that has perhaps sharpened in an era

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Underpowered Ibsen

The tone is the thing. Ibsen is among the heaviest of the heavy-going playwrights and his masterpiece, Hedda Gabler, is an unbearably tense psychological thriller that ends with one of the biggest shocks in the theatrical repertoire. The play takes us into a doomed marriage between Hedda, a brilliant and eccentric depressive, and George Tesman, a dull-as cheesecake university lecturer. Director Anna Mackmin has read the Old Vic audience correctly. They’ve spent all day at the office, raising enough funds to buy tickets, and they’re not interested in a three-hour Nordic brain-bruiser. Instead, they want a frothy, offbeat marital comedy with a few sad bits. And that’s what they get.

Deborah Ross

Divine Diana

I don’t care much for fashion — ask anyone; I’ve even lately surrendered to the fleece — and don’t care for fashion magazines at all. They have nothing to say to my life. They’ve never even featured ‘top ten fleeces of the season’, as far as I know. But this isn’t to say I don’t enjoy the odd mischievous trip behind the scenes. I loved The Devil Wears Prada, starring my friend Meryl, with whom I have dined. I loved The September Issue, the fly-on-the-wall about American Vogue and Anna Wintour, although the only thing I can now remember is being fixated with Ms Wintour’s bob which, one day, will

Thursday

Angela Summerfield

Artistic response

Van Gogh to Kandinsky presents a rare and exciting opportunity to see some 60 paintings as examples of landscape symbolism from major international institutions and private collections. The exhibition extends beyond the usual north European definitions of this subject, with the coupling of the emotionally charged graphic-colourist van Gogh with the increasingly reductive and programmatic application of colour-to-form associated with late Kandinsky. It challenges, therefore, conventional categorisations of modern European art. Who would think, moreover, that Lord Leighton, Hammershøi, Monet and Mondrian could share a common thesis, let alone inhabit the same gallery rooms? In lesser hands, such an ambitious project could have descended into chaos and visual incoherence. However,

Andrew Lambirth

Connecting threads

The past few months have been busy for Jock McFadyen. Substantial commercial shows of his work have been held in London and Edinburgh, he has been elected a member of the Royal Academy, and a retrospective of four decades of his painting is currently on view at the Fleming Collection in Berkeley Street, Mayfair (until 17 October). Although Scottish by birth (he was born in 1950 in Paisley and brought up on the outskirts of Glasgow), he has lived most of his life in London. All the men in his family worked in the shipyards, but his father took a job in England when McFadyen was 16, so he came

Laura Gascoigne

A civilised way of death

‘Luxury high-rise duplex: lower floor comprising entrance hall with recessed guard posts, grand reception area, kitchen with crockery store, larders and walk-in fridge, armoury and staff WC; upper floor comprising master bedroom with two en-suite bathrooms, staff accommodation, guard rooms and safe deposit. Property provided with the latest hi-tech security systems and 24-hour manned guarding.’ Apart from the lack of a cinema and a gym, this property sounds just the ticket for the jittery billionaire looking to invest in London real estate. But its location is not the fringes of Hyde Park or the South Bank, it’s the side of a mountain near Xuzhou in northeast China, and its accommodation

William Cook

At home with the Pre-Raphaelites

Andrew Lloyd Webber cried when he first came to Wightwick Manor, and standing in the Great Parlour of this magnificent Victorian villa you can see what moved him to tears of joy. Lloyd Webber loves the Pre-Raphaelites (he’s always had the common touch) and Wightwick is a living monument to the one artistic movement that England can truly call its own. There’s William Morris wallpaper on the walls and Charles Kempe stained glass in the windows — and beneath the minstrels’ gallery is Edward Burne-Jones’s ‘Love Among The Ruins’ (which has this month travelled to London for the biggest Pre-Raphaelite exhibition since the 1980s). Tate Britain’s Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Avant-Garde (on

Julia Copus

The Orange Rug

for Antony and David Impossible to picture a time without it there beneath the living room window, afloat in the shadows of our father’s desk. Its flattened tassels were the rays of sun in a child’s drawing; it was where we must gather, three breathless children, our coats on for school, or to show who was first to be ready for bed, and if we’d a score to settle this was where we must do it. When was the last time we stood there, myself and my two, fly brothers, in the days before their bodies hardened and wives and children hovered round them? It is late, perhaps – a

Shanta Acharya

Why Some People Read Poetry

(After W.S. Merwin) Because you know already if you didn’t you would have to make that appointment which means you would have to spend a lot of time talking, not to mention money you do not have, to someone who will not be listening or listening without hearing, maybe hearing without understanding, and what good would that do to you if you were not even heard like that mad man shouting across the road stumbling then not moving after falling; God knows it is past midnight, you are driving fast alone to get home then hitting something, lost in a strange part of town looking for help, mugged by some

Alan Jenkins

Sisters

These two, DOROTHY AND CLARICE DENCH — A pair of local spinster sisters, as I guess — Both died, two years apart, aged ninety-five. Yet ‘We are only here a little while’ Is carved, with names and dates, into this bench: A saying of theirs, perhaps, that raised a smile When each new birthday found them still alive, That friends recalled with wry tenderness? Did they walk their dogs here every day Then stop at ‘their’ bench and sit gratefully, Half-hearing distant cries (Howzat? or Play!), Half-watching men in whites move on the green As ‘Flush’ and ‘Bingo’ barked at long leg-drives That rolled, to dry applause, towards the screen?

Liz Anderson

Royal rocks

It’s a smallish dark room but, wow, what a lot of sparklers. There are more than 10,000 diamonds set in tiaras, crowns (Diamond Diadem, above), brooches, swords, earrings and necklaces, on display at Buckingham Palace in a special exhibition Diamonds: A Jubilee Celebration (until 7 October). These stunning pieces were acquired by six monarchs over three centuries. Many of the stones have been recut or made into new settings, such as the Fringe Brooch, belonging to Queen Victoria. The larger stones in this brooch are believed to have come from one of the two jewels given to her by the Sultan of Turkey. She wrote in her journal of 8

Kate Chisholm

Classic celebrations

It’s 20 years since Classic FM launched itself on the airwaves with a blast from Handel’s ‘Zadok the Priest’. Its mission was to play ‘the world’s greatest music’ non-stop to an audience for whom the classics was a no-go area. On paper it’s worked a treat. The station now claims five million-plus listeners, who love its blend of Vivaldi, Prokofiev and John Barry interspersed with adverts for dental implants, Age UK and classicfm.com/romance. Last Friday was devoted to its birthday celebrations. Alan Titchmarsh brought in a celebration card, John Suchet confessed that as a newsreader on ITN he dreamt of being able to present a programme on the station (he’s

James Delingpole James Delingpole

Identity crisis | 13 September 2012

The greatest moment in the history of television — and one which will surely remain unsurpassed for ever — was the final episode of The Sopranos. Part of its genius was to reward all of us who had stuck with it so loyally for the previous 85 episodes by allowing us to make up our own minds how it ended. Did Tony get wasted by those hitmen-like figures we saw entering the restaurant where he was having the rapprochement dinner with Carmela? Well, maybe. Or did the Feds finally get their wiretaps and informants properly organised and put Tony away for ever? Or did he — as I prefer not

Deborah Ross

Star quality

Hope Springs is a comedy drama about a long-term marriage that has effectively stalled, and is one of those films that is only as good as its stars. Luckily, in this instance, the stars are Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones. Meryl, we know about. I once had dinner with Meryl, and have talked of little else since, until I realised it got on everybody’s nerves, but have gaily continued nonetheless. She is the greatest film actress of her generation, our generation, any generation. She could play my left shoe, if she put her mind to it. She may even be playing my left shoe right now. How would I

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Song and strife

Without You is a show that requires a bit of prior explanation. However, if you’re a gay jobless thesp living in New York in 1994, and your Mom’s dying of cancer back home in Illinois, and you’ve landed a role in Rent, a new musical about Aids, then you’re already up to speed. You have all the data required. In fact, you’re probably Anthony Rapp, the author of this musical autobiography which has just arrived from Edinburgh. Rapp tells two tales through narrative and song. First we hear about Rent which, you may be aware, is a smash-hit musical based on La bohème and relocated to New York during the