Arts Reviews

Lost Highway Young Vic Aci, Galathea e Polifemo Middle Temple Olga Neuwirth’s Lost Highway, which was first performed in October 2003 in Graz, gets its first UK outing at the Young Vic in a production by ENO. It is impossible to imagine it being better done, and the roar of applause which greeted it at the end of its unbroken 90 minutes was, I hope, mainly evoked by the perfection of the execution. So many things could have gone wrong, and none of them did. The set consists of a black strip reaching from one side of the auditorium to the other, wide enough to cope with a car, as

It is three years since I last wrote about my iPod. When I first bought the blighter, my then 12-year-old son warned me that it would prove a disaster and he was absolutely right. Unable to cope with the technology required to load the thing I enlisted the help of my nephew, Tom, who agreed to transfer my favourite CDs for 50 pence a time. By the end I had some 2,000 tracks on a machine the size of a cigarette packet. I was a little frustrated because it was capable of holding 10,000 tunes, and poor Tom’s computer had given up the ghost, but how I enjoyed putting on

The relentless downgrading of the News to a series of shocking revelations about child abuse, bearded terrorists and the ghastly incompetence of our Olympic pretensions sent me straight to the World Service where even the shortest of hourly bulletins contains enough information to remind us that life goes on beyond our own limited horizons. On Sundays, too, there’s a new evening series presented by the illustrious Bridget Kendall. In The Forum she brings together an unusual selection of guests from around the world to ‘navigate’, as she explained, ‘the cross-current of ideas’. I suppose it’s a kind of In Our Time, World Service-style, assembling experts on world events and encouraging

Kate Royal’s name may not be instantly recognisable, but she is fast emerging as one of our great lyric sopranos. At the age of only 29, she has an exclusive contract with EMI and is booked to sing in the world’s major opera houses and concert halls. She is impressing both music critics and audiences with her ravishing voice and her statuesque beauty. But since many young artists who are prematurely praised fail to fulfil their potential, those looking after her interests guard her vigilantly. An interview with Gordon Brown would be easier to obtain. In fact, Kate’s schedule is so hectic that she has time to speak only on

Leatherheads PG, Nationwide Leatherheads is George Clooney’s third outing as a director and the first in which he plays a starring role, and it must have looked good on paper, just as anything with George Clooney’s name attached to it probably looks good on paper. A musical based on the plumbing-supplies aisle in B&Q would probably look good with George Clooney’s name attached to it, plus top Hollywood actresses would likely vie to play the U-bend or plunger. But there are dangers, I suppose, in not having to fight to get projects made and just how dangerous this can be is frighteningly evident in Leatherheads, a slovenly, timid, strenuously studied

Why is it so difficult to make engaging television programmes about classical music? Time and again I have watched earnest and expensive attempts fail, despite every care in the planning, coming away grateful that the effort was made but aware that nothing lasting had been achieved. I felt like this after seeing the most recent episode of Sacred Music, dedicated to Byrd and Tallis and broadcast as part of a series on BBC4, with the admirable Simon Russell Beale as presenter. Ever since it became mandatory for peak-time television to entertain more than to educate, programmes about our cultural traditions have had a big problem of definition. This has never

God of Carnage Gielgud Never So Good Lyttelton Into the Hoods Novello Nothing terribly original about Yasmina Reza’s new play, God of Carnage, which examines the idea that civilised behaviour is a decorative curtain that masks our true savagery. Two nice smug bourgeois couples, while attempting to patch up a row between their sons, descend into an inferno of violence and rage. But the show, not least on account of the script, is an absolute triumph. The back story is contrived with great artistry so that small plot details reappear with minor changes that give them massive new force. And Reza draws her characters very deftly and sympathetically. But her

Carmen Royal Opera House What is an opera house for? The question would sound silly if it weren’t being asked in a particular and, in this case, rather peculiar context: that of the latest press release from the Royal Opera, which lists productions of opera and ballet for next season, but begins by excitedly letting us know about a new ‘initiative’, the idea of which is to attract a new audience to the opera house: it seems that the management is more concerned to get people inside the building itself than to attend any performances of the kind that normally take place there. So we’re told ‘Deloitte Ignite opens alongside

According to a recently divorced friend of mine, the sex opportunities when you’re a single man in your forties are fantastic. Apparently, you don’t even need to bother with chat-up lines. You’ll be hanging about at the bus stop, or wherever, and, bang!, a flash of meaningful eye contact then back to her place for brilliant, uncomplicated sex miles better than you ever had in your teens or twenties because at this age you know what you’re doing. I’d like to be able to try out my friend’s theory but I’m afeared there might be opposition from the Fawn. Plus, this friend is a very rich banker, whereas I’m not.

Cranach Royal Academy, until 8 June Friend of Martin Luther, and court painter to the Elector of Saxony (who was Luther’s protector), Lucas Cranach the Elder (c.1472–1553) has been called the leading artist of the Reformation. He produced many devotional images and religious scenes yet to us Cranach is known for other subjects — palely loitering nudes and strongly naturalistic portraits on fresh green backgrounds. Braving the queues at the Academy, I was pleasantly surprised to discover an exhibition filled with colour, mostly in the richly decorative religious works. We haven’t seen much Cranach in this country, though our public collections have a few choice examples of his work. Last

Son of Rambow 12A, nationwide Son of Rambow is the tale of two young boys — one from a strict religious background; the other a troubled troublemaker — who come together to shoot a backyard version of Rambo: First Blood to enter it into the BBC’s Screen Test competition. It is a British film, set in some English suburb in the early Eighties, and it is chock-a-block with all the things that usually make films like this work very happily indeed: slapstick; fantasy; derring-do; friendship; getaways on bicycles and scrappy underdogs triumphing over horrid adults. It’s mostly a kids’ film, but it also has its eye on cinema-accompanying parents with

As in real life, it’s considered faintly reprehensible in music to have a sweet tooth. Greens are good for you, and so is The Velvet Underground, but right now I’m thinking about going up to the shop at the end of the road and buying a packet of Maltesers, having just listened to a Take That album. I can’t believe I have just written those words. If you had told me ten years ago that not only would I voluntarily listen to a Take That album in 2008, but that it would also be my own copy, which I had bought with my own money, I think I would have