Arts Reviews

The good, bad and ugly in arts and exhbitions

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

Pursuit of truth

When R.B. Kitaj put together The Human Clay, his ground-breaking 1976 exhibition of figurative art at the Hayward Gallery, he wrote: ‘If you have a great subject, say, a person or people or a face or some complex theme, you have no right to be negligent about form or colour. Great themes demand the highest artistic qualities and ambitions.’ The current loan exhibition at the newly reopened Haunch of Venison gallery (with a handy new shopfront on Bond Street) is a splendid example of great themes articulated by the highest artistic qualities and ambitions. Selected by Catherine Lampert, former director of the Whitechapel Gallery and now an independent curator and

Christopher Kanal

No compromises

The latest film by the Turner Prize-winning artist and now acclaimed film-maker Steve McQueen is an electrifying snapshot of the life of Brandon, a sex addict, played by Michael Fassbender. Shame (released this week) is McQueen’s second feature and follows his 2008 debut Hunger, about the Irish Republican hunger-striker Bobby Sands, which also stars Fassbender. McQueen, 42, is west London-born and Amsterdam-based. Intense and passionate, he has a big and bearish presence, and though initially rather brusque, he is none the less in buoyant mood the day I talk to him at the Soho Hotel; the night before, Fassbender had won another award for his performance in Shame, this time

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Pessimism fiesta

In early new year, we play-goers hunker down at home. We shiver and fast, we murmur and groan. We sweat off the excesses of the Christmas wassail. No impresario will launch a West End opening with the audience in recess. And into this brief void surges the Finborough Theatre in Earls Court. Fog is a brand-new play with an eccentric parenthood. Actor Toby Wharton and his mother’s lesbian lover, Tash Fairbanks, co-wrote an audition piece for young Toby’s Rada interview. When the distinguished panel of thesps heard the candidate perform his self-penned piece, they were so impressed that they commanded a full-length version. Here it is. The setting is a

Deborah Ross

Lost in translation | 14 January 2012

Steven Spielberg’s version of War Horse is like an extended Sunday afternoon episode of Black Beauty gone mad via the first world war, just so you know, and although it made me cry this is no endorsement. I rarely cry in real life but have been known to howl in the cinema, even when I’m aware something isn’t much good. It’s as if my brain and tear ducts are entirely unconnected so while, in this instance, my brain was saying this is a mediocre film, prosaic, plodding, over-sugared and with nothing like the power or imagination of the stage play, the tears still plopped. I wish there was something I

Simon Hoggart

Dickens on screen…

Nobody is going to be excused Dickens in his bicentennial year. This is good news for television people, since Dickens wrote his novels in the form of screenplays. He worked closely with his illustrators, making sure the scene they drew was exactly what he had in mind. He even acted out the roles as he wrote them, so the family would hear Fagin, or Pecksniff, or Squeers booming from his study as he worked. Someone pointed out in the Arena documentary, Dickens on Film (BBC4, Tuesday), that it is impossible to overact any of those characters, as clips of W.C. Fields and Bob Hoskins in the role of Micawber proved.

Kate Chisholm

…and on the air

The trouble with Dickens is that there’s just far too much plot. How do you make sense of his incredibly complex stories in just three hours as the BBC tried to do at Christmas with its TV version of Great Expectations? It looked fabulous but the storyline made no sense because there was no depth to any of the characters. The melodrama was laughably inept, the plot so confusing you needed to have read the book to understand what was happening. Over on Radio 4, the writer Ayeesha Menon has also been given just three hours to retell one of Dickens’s least popular novels in a three-part edition of the

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

Burra revealed

The last major show of paintings by Edward Burra (1905–76) was at the Hayward Gallery in 1985 and I remember visiting it with a painter friend who was rather critical of what she called Burra’s woodenness and lack of movement. At the time, I was impressed by her criticisms, but now they rather seem to miss the point. Burra made highly stylised images of people (often actually in movement) which are mostly about the darker side of humanity and the ways in which we distract and amuse ourselves in the face of despair. What might have been dreary little genre pictures he painted with such wit and humour and generosity

Michael Prodger

Opportunity knocks

Tony Hall tells Michael Prodger about how he transformed the Cultural Olympiad into the London 2012 Festival The most obvious gift possessed by Tony Hall, or Baron Hall of Birkenhead to give him his proper title, is for cleaning up an almighty mess. When he joined the Royal Opera House in 2001, after a long career at the BBC where he had been director of News and Current Affairs, the place had just chewed through five chief executives in four years. Under his aegis turnover has more than doubled, the number of new operas performed is up, and he introduced £10 student tickets while lowering its reliance on the government

Deborah Ross

Mixed blessings | 7 January 2012

Firstly, my review of 2011, which I was going to do in photographs until I realised I didn’t take any, and then in animal thumbprints, but they are quite rubbish. My dog, for example, looks nothing like a dog. So I will spare you my review of last year — my giraffe is getting there, but still needs work — and, instead, will give you our first film of 2012, Mother and Child, which is terrifically acted and affecting in part, but also peculiarly pat and unsatisfying. If you haven’t yet seen The Artist, I would put that way, way, way ahead in the queue, and if you’ve yet to

Michael Tanner

Special relationships

‘It is impossible that you should not have sensed,’ wrote Wagner to Ludwig II shortly before the first performance of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, ‘under the opera’s quaint superficies of popular humour, the profound melancholy, the lament, the cry of distress of poetry in chains, and its reincarnation, its new birth, its irresistible magic power achieving mastery over the common and the base.’ The King, and anyone else, might well not sense that in the latest revival of Graham Vick’s production of the opera at Covent Garden. Always a toy-town affair, with little high-roofed houses and distant spires, all lit in glowing colours, and an oppressive cheerfulness reigning over all

Kate Chisholm

Swapping stations

‘Do you feel like crying?’ asked Shaun Keaveny on his 6 Music breakfast show this week, before replying, ‘Text us your tears.’ It was Tuesday, the first day back at work for many listeners. And Keaveny was trying to cheer us up. Then he played ‘Grey Day’ by Madness. Keaveny’s lucky. 6 Music reckons that its listeners, being creative types, don’t have to get up so early to leave for work. Their alarms will be set for later, and Keaveny doesn’t have to be in the studio for his three-hour show until 7 a.m. By which time, over on 5 Live, Phil Williams and Rachel Burden have already been up

James Delingpole James Delingpole

Sleuth at work

One of my resolutions this year is to make a lot more money. But how? In fact, I’ve noticed recently, it’s very simple: all you have to do is take a popular character with enormous worldwide brand recognition (e.g., King Arthur, James Bond, Sherlock Holmes) and shamelessly reinvent him for the youth demographic. So, for example, you dress up Dracula in Abercrombie & Fitch, emphasise the sublimated but not consummated sex angle, throw in a werewolf to complete the platonic love triangle, and suddenly you’re Stephenie Meyer selling trillions to pubescents. Or you turn Great Expectations’ Pip from a dreary cipher into a smouldering, pouty-lipped, Professor-Brian-Cox-style hunk of Boy Band

Lucy Vickery

Girl Power

Those seeking to banish the January blues should hotfoot it to the Cambridge Theatre for a gloriously uplifting injection of energy and exuberance courtesy of the RSC’s Matilda the Musical. Roald Dahl’s celebration of the redeeming power of the imagination is magically translated to the stage by writer Dennis Kelly and lyricist Tim Minchin. Watching pint-sized prodigy Matilda, champion of justice and mistress of her own destiny, triumph over a truly toxic trio of odious parents and diabolical headmistress is both enormous fun and unexpectedly moving. The role was expertly played by mini powerhouse Kerry Ingram (who alternates with three other girls). While the cast is uniformly strong, the show-stealer

Wednesday

Michael Heath

Here’s to Searle, the captain of cartoonists

The business of cartooning is in a pretty perilous state now that we have lost the captain of the ship. Ronald Searle was a cartoonist who could also draw — a rare thing. After the war, he became famous for a series of drawings he did for ‘Lilliput’ called St Trinian’s. The girls Searle created did the most appalling things to each other and to their teachers. But it wasn’t really about school-children. Searle was in fact using St Trinian’s as a way of exorcising the horrors he encountered whilst a prisoner of the Japanese, building railways in a chain gang. After the success of St Trinian’s, he ran away

Saturday

Andrew Lambirth

A look ahead | 31 December 2011

For those seeking refuge from the Olympics, Andrew Lambirth picks out the exhibition highlights of 2012: Freud, Hockney, Turner, Zoffany, Lely, Picasso… In the coming year, when the country will be besieged by all things Olympic, and many people of taste and discernment will (I am assured) be fleeing to spots less barbarous and sports-obsessed, there will still be a lifeline of art exhibitions to refresh those parts that physical activities cannot reach. Focusing on English artists, the main attractions will be shows dedicated to Lucian Freud (at the National Portrait Gallery), David Hockney (at the Royal Academy) and Damien Hirst (at Tate Modern). Despite cutbacks, museums are still largely

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Glorious farewell

Michael Grandage says farewell to the Donmar with a farewell play. Richard II tells of a glorious but profligate king compelled to hand over his realm to a workmanlike, Steady Eddie successor. Entirely devoid of romantic interest, and with only teeny-weeny roles for women, this is not a show-stopping Shakespeare favourite. It appeals to specialists who note that it marks the Bard’s transition from medieval thriller-writer to dramatic philosopher. Grandage rises to this level and puts on a production that will satisfy the most ardent purist. Richard Kent’s ecclesiastical set is ravishing. The clever split-level arrangement of arches and tracery creates a versatile warren of spaces that are entirely practical

Michael Tanner

Beyond compare

Bernard Levin once wrote an article in the Times called ‘But seriously, how can anyone compare Verdi with Wagner?’ (or something very like that). I can’t remember the article in detail, but its drift was ‘No one can seriously compare them’, something that I had and have always felt. Yet there is the temptation: they were born within a few months of one another in 1813, they were indisputably the two greatest opera composers of the 19th century, and each of them is thought to embody some of the most striking characteristics of their country. It fascinates people, too, how different they were, in their art and in life: allegedly

Kate Chisholm

Highlighting the goodies

Since the Home Service was relaunched as Radio 4 in September 1967, the station has established itself almost as the ‘heartbeat’ of the BBC. The chance to direct, shape and enhance such a treasure-house of programmes — ranging from Farming Today to ElvenQuest via Something Understood,  Classic Serial and The World Tonight — must be endlessly fascinating. But therein lies the challenge. Radio 4 does sparkle with its intellectual brilliance, its flashes of humour, its ability to make sense of the moment through its reporters, interviewers and the editorial wizards who pull the news together in seconds. It can, though, also appear sometimes like a mammoth container ship travelling ponderously

Simon Hoggart

Watching brief

The most watched programme on television this past year was the royal wedding, which is hardly surprising, since we had the day off to watch it. Bagehot said that royalty was the institution that ‘riveted’ the nation, by which he meant bound together rather than fascinated. However, strange as it may seem, most people in the UK weren’t sufficiently fascinated, or bound together, to see the ceremony — they were republicans, too young, having a day out, were on the street in London, or just didn’t care. Some 26 million were in front of their sets, only 3 million more than watched in the US, where the coverage started at

Scott Jordan-Harris

A laughing matter

Barry Cryer, defiantly old-fashioned in a dinner suit and red-velvet waistcoat, sits in a director’s chair and addresses his audience as if they are devoted friends. Most of them are: every joke he tells is met with affectionate laughter of a kind given only to national treasures. Butterfly Brain, which is currently touring, is structured around the alphabet, but each letter is simply a starting point for masterly flurries of unconnected comedy. Some of these, such as ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ sung to the tune of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, come directly from I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue, on which Cryer has appeared ‘since before sound’. Others are anecdotes collected