Oh what a night indeed!
for my full review of Jersey Boys!
Somerville. Oxford. London. Arts.
'All Art is Quite Useless', Oscar Wilde
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Petersburg, Andrei Bely
Petersburg is a novel by the lesser well-known St Petersburg
based author from the turn of the twentieth century, Andrei Bely. His most
notable novel, Petersburg, a tale of
parricide and loyalties amid a bourgeois establishment precedes the 1905
revolution with underlying references to mutinies, riots, strikes and petitions
that are engulfing a city and its surrounding provinces on the verge of descent
into a dark Russian winter with biting winds, permanent snow and a frozen Neva.
Russian literature has a
reputation for being lengthy and relentless with intense text so heavy it can
at times feel like a full raincloud in a summer storm is encircling your head.
The stories depict misery and struggle regardless of the subject whether the
backstreets of Sennaya Ploschad (the inhabitants of which include Raskolnikov
and his victim in Dostoevsky’s Crime and
Punishment) or the high society balls of Moscow in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.
It would be false and deceptive, disrespectful to these books to deny that they
are not trying reads that do not require perseverance, concentration, moral and
philosophical reflection- indeed, reading them is an embodiment of the mental and
physical struggles faced by the characters. Not only were there struggles in
the novels but also within the world in which their authors were writing. Dostoevsky’s
journey through the Neva gate and on towards Siberian austerity following his
arrest for offences against the state provided the material for his novel House of the Dead. Bely’s novel whilst
retaining this struggle- the main narrative which follows student Nikolai
Apollonovich as he is entrusted with the task of assassinating his Senator
father involves a severe examination of the merits of family loyalty and the
effects of remorse on the brain and the body- attempts to balance sorrow with
the Romance of the title city, St Petersburg whose bridges, canals, prospects
and statues have provided solace and comfort for many individuals as well as a
silent muse for artists throughout history. Reminiscent of the verse of Pushkin
Petersburg is a devoted description
to the city, its history as well as its potential directing the reader’s
attention towards remnants of the city’s past, The Bronze Horseman and Nevsky
Prospect, which have guided the inhabitants throughout the decades, the winters
and the revolutions.
Petersburg does not suffer from the prejudices sometimes faced
by other Russian works such as The House
of the Dead, The Brothers Karamazov or even the plays of Muscovite Chekhov,
the latter being the scribe of a play a friend of mine left uttering the remark ‘well
now I feel awful about everything in the world ever.’ Bely’s work benefits from
being less eminent although it remains a challenging read and demands no less
attention particularly as much of the text is broken, disjointed, a symbol of
the anguish suffered by the plights of the characters who have fallen victim as
much to the hypnotic beauty of St Petersburg as to the stimulation of its politics.
It is however perhaps an easier introduction than the daunting task of War and Peace… As well as this, its main
character is St Petersburg, an intellectually vibrant, naturally vivacious
and historically overpowering city.
Monday, 25 June 2012
The 'Art' of Making Coffee
Coffee has become my indispensable
item. Like many other 20 year old students I cannot function sensibly without
my morning cup; always a medium white Americano, preferably from Taylors and consumed
whilst sitting on the library steps with a good book in hand. Chain shops are
just not the same for me anymore. The mass-produced and commercialised branding
that must force out hundreds of cups a day does seem to take away the magic slightly.
But what is the magic? - That perfect gulp, hot so it warms your insides but
the right temperature so that you don’t cough and spill it all over your
Dostoevsky. The taste? - No one could deny that that is a factor, milky but not
a milkshake and a kick that compliments a pain au chocolat in a way not matched
by any other culinary combinations. While it cannot be denied that there is a
knack to a good tasting coffee, it seems to be the experience of drinking it
that people savour. My ‘coffee memories’ are from sunny days surveying
Somerville quad, an espresso in Kos when I hadn’t gone to bed and had multiple
delays to push through and the breakfast family coffees poured from the
silverware overlooking a green lake in Switzerland. They are the coffees I
remember and it is not because of the taste. It is probably hard to tell much
difference between chain and independent coffees, but I know with which one I
would rather spend my morning.
It is unsurprising therefore
that chain shops are using new tactics to demonstrate that every one of their cups
is special, in order to encourage you to drink them. They implore you to
believe that it is made with care, with love, with talent. In other words, it
is art. This is the angle a well-known chain has recently taken with images of
beans embossed with the words ‘coffee making is an art’ over them in its
stores. What can they be doing other than trying to emphasise that they care
about coffee, that it takes work to get it right, that it is not just mass produced,
assembly lined liquid, but is considered, crafted and created.
But, what is it about coffee; the
making, the final product, the experience of drinking; the ‘big R’ Romance of
cafetieres and sun kissed mornings with a cigarette, croissants, berries, fresh
orange juice and a newspaper. The ideal cup of coffee creates pure hedonism but
at what stage does it become art? It may be during the process of creation- regardless
of the taste of the outcome it takes a lot of work to make a good cup of coffee.
It may be within the finished product- Oscar Wilde said that the artist was the
creator of beautiful things, which does imply that it is the final product that
must be examined to see whether or not it is art. But it does not necessarily
follow that in order for something to be art it must be beautiful, especially
not in a modern context where people’s conceptions of beauty and art have
changed. Beauty is of course as much in the eye of the beholder today as it
ever was and like with any other art form, people differ in their opinions. I
know of many people who feel modern art to be abhorrent, an offence to the
talent shown by the Pre-Raphaelites or the Impressionists, and yet Damien Hirst
is a multi-millionaire. This might however suggest a greater question
concerning whether the label ‘art’ has merely led to a pretentious and
intellectually arrogant monopolising culture; pick something ugly and call it
art and if you say it often enough, people will begin to believe it.
Surely therefore, if art is
viewed in the context of the creation and embodiment of an idea, an artist can
create ugly things. It is arguably still art even if it is visually, orally, or
sensually repulsive. A large umbrella term for art is what keeps it inclusive
and applicable, evolving with the movement of society who after all are those
that determine cultural ‘fevers.’ A shark in a tank 200 years ago would have
raised many eyebrows and yet now, thousands will flock to see it. Maybe they
don’t know what they’re looking at, but do they even have to know? A friend and
I recently contemplated the consequences of art galleries charging
extortionate entrance fees. The impact in his view would be that only those
with sufficient intellectual appreciation and interest will go and not those
who just want to say that they have seen that exhibition, that painting. That would
to me, distort the entire concept of art and the enrichment that it can provide
people with. It is organic, how many things can now be considered ‘art’ or part
of the ‘arts’ than previously; food, drink, fashion, comedy; they can all involve
the creation of beautiful things if our conception of beauty is inclusive and
flexible enough. But, even if in our opinion that dress is hideous, that joke
isn’t funny, that coffee doesn’t taste right, we can still look at the process;
the talent, the creativity, the idea behind it can justify it as art as much as
the merits of the finished product. I appreciate a Leonardo as much for the
intricate work and effort that went into producing it as the final piece. Art should
encompass everything- the inception, the creation, the experience. I do not
think it is a bad thing to make the definition this broad; it allows for all
tastes, interests and talents to have a chance at leaping into the new heights
of culture regardless of what is the ‘right thing to be interested in.’ We are
no longer so restricted by censorship, social norms or thoughts and can embrace
all aspects of creativity if merely for the daisy sized spark of an idea that
came into the artist’s head, regardless of whether it ever fully bloomed. Modern
art antagonists often cite Rothko- ‘IT’S JUST A BLOODY RED SQUARE, I COULD DO
THAT’. But you didn’t, did you? Regardless of whether you think a big red
square is nowhere near as impressive as the roof of the Sistine chapel, Rothko
has made it art through the employment of creativity. To some people at least
he is an artist and that is all that matters.
To bring this back to coffee, that
shop is right. There can be an art to coffee- in the making, the finished cup
and the experience of drinking it. It is creativity that defines art and even
if that creativity manifests itself as a crazy splash of paint, an eighty page
long poem or the moonwalk, it can still be called art. Everyone has the potential
to be an artist if they just cultivate their creativity, painters, authors,
dancers and baristas included.
Friday, 8 June 2012
Oxford Shakespeare Festival
The Oxford Shakespeare Festival or more fashionably termed the Oxford Bard Fest, began in earnest with
a launch picnic in university parks, exploiting the glorious weather and providing
the platform for what promised to be a two-week indulgence of the playwright. Determined
to avoid a purely thespian dominated fortnight, the festival played host to
music, talks and events as well as some new productions of classic plays, Love’s Labours Lost, Titus Andronicus,
Twelfth Night and an ambitious 24 hour production by English finalists of The Comedy of Errors, the third years
already requiring a Bard injection less than two weeks after completing their
exams, which aptly included an entire paper dedicated to the Elizabethan
playwright, the only compulsory author for English undergraduates to study so I
am told.
The festival’s events began with a
musical performance in Brasenose chapel- The
Montagues and the Capulets- a compilation of songs that have taken their
inspiration from the now renowned love story. Despite the undoubtedly talented
female singer forgetting the words of Taylor Swift’s Love Story, other performances of modern pop by Dire Straits and
the love theme from Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 modernised film, provided excellent
contrast to Prokofiev’s masterpiece, which was performed by a wind quintet.
This was an astonishing
performance and only a shame that such music has now been usurped by The Apprentice for use as background to
Alan Sugar’s sinister presence. The short concert closed with a jazz trio
improvising tunes from West Side Story, the
pianist’s imagination and talent were immense and many of the audience left
open-mouthed at the unexpected composition. Serendipitously I was seated next
to the festival’s producer. She insisted, on overhearing our discussion of the
upcoming events, on the desire of the organisers to appeal to as many students
as possible, regardless of their reasons for admiring Shakespeare whether they
are his social, historical, musical or theatrical influence. This wish was
definitely clear by the opening night performance. Other musical events
throughout the week included ‘Lend Me
Your Ears’ at the Ashmolean museum, a concert of Shakespeare inspired music
by a capella groups such as The Oxford
Gargoyles and Out of the Blue, as
well as late night evensongs and candlelit concerts.
Not wishing to stray too far away
from the dramatic path, the Bard Fest did put on a collection of plays; Titus Andronicus, Twelfth Night, Love’s
Labour’s Lost and The Comedy of
Errors. Love’s Labours Lost, staged in Christchurch Cathedral garden,
accelerated the play’s situation forward in time to a Brideshead-esque era of
scholarship- the men wore gowns, the women flapper dresses with the bitchy
Rosaline perpetually clutching a cigarette in her claw like fingers. Aptly set
outside, the play brought out some brilliant comedy moments particularly by
Berowne, whose movement and facial expressions maintained an animated role and
complemented the static poise of the female characters absolutely.
Succeeding in forcing into the
fortnight as much divergence within Shakespeare as possible, the Bard Fest also
provided a forum for new writing in the form of Unsex Me Here, a presentation of the female monologues
contextualised in the scenario of a belligerent director, herself attempting to
stage a production. Staged in the Norrington room of Blackwells book shop, the
play’s originality, wit and imagination provided an excellent if short distraction,
facilitating a whole new Shakespearean perspective, something that many
productions have in my opinion tried and failed to accomplish. The audience
were presented with an insightful and honest portrayal of Shakespearean
characters. There was some excellent acting from each of the cast members and
noticeable differences between the speeches when the fictional director asked
for the words to be read as a witch, a lecturer, a housewife, with controlled
anger and amusedly ‘drag queen sexy,’ the latter being part of the attempt to
present a woman playing a woman being played by a man. Not only this, but Unsex Me Here was a witty exploration
into the role of women in modern society, particularly the relationships
between women. It also gave a completely believable presentation of the world
of ‘backstage’ with frequent references to bickering actresses, diva-like
behaviour and obscure theatrical techniques, with the actress at one point
being told to go outside and spin around three times before spitting, to
improve her voice.
Faced with a stream of monologues
of Shakespearean females, the play had the potential to become overtly
feminist, the all female cast prompted concerns for this, but any feminist
references were subtle and therefore thought provoking and powerful. Including
different interpretations of the role that Shakespeare gave his women, whether
even the powerful women were truly powerful, Cleopatra or Emilia providing good
discussion points, or even why Shakespeare never wrote about a tragic heroine
or how the speeches would have been different if Shakespeare had been a woman,
were all thoroughly interesting questions that I left the Norrington room
pondering. The play encapsulated critical and analytical deconstructions of
Shakespearean works, how to present the women, as well as references to
attempts to ‘redo’ Shakespeare in modern days, the suggestion that there had
been a version in which the characters were ‘acrobats, suspended from silk
ropes over an aquarium’ inducing giggles from many an audience member reflecting
on that really weird Shakespeare interpretation they had recently seen, the
director desperately trying to make their production memorable. Writer and
director Mary Flanigan should be commended for managing to convey such a breadth
of literary issues in such a short space of time, with refined dialogue and
inter-textual references, including Virginia Woolf, poetry and actor
interviews. When the monologues were spoken, they were conveyed with conviction
and emotion. The cynical critic delivered earnest speeches and provided the
springboard for much of the literary controversies that Shakespeare has
provoked while the director was just the right amount of cutting, edging on
malicious to produce her character’s stereotypical indifference and a great
platform for chemistry with the other characters. Her relationship with her
assistant director in particular provided an amusing insight into the private
sparks of a back stage crew. This relationship allowed a context for the
monologues demonstrating that many of the issues of women during the time of
Shakespeare are just as relevant today, the claim that ‘there is no sisterhood
in Shakespeare’ being followed by a comical catfight between these two actors.
The Shakespeare festival also
provided constructive information with a variety of talks by lecturers and
outside speakers. I attended Fiona
Moorhead, the artistic co-ordinator of the Globe theatre. Fiona spoke about
her role as well as the current season at the Globe, and then answered
questions, prompting a discussion on Shakespeare’s place in modern society and
paths into the industry. Her enthusiasm for an occupation at the place that is
‘home’ if one is a Shakespearean scholar accompanied by experience and skills
determined her place within the organisation. In response to questions about
the future of Shakespeare, how to sustain interest and ensure an audience,
Fiona’s opinion of the far-reaching appeal of Shakespeare, how people can ‘find
themselves’ in his work regardless of gender, race or class and the mere
‘beauty of the language’ was touching, and hopefully true. Concerning funding,
Fiona emphasised that it is the narrative and relationship between actor and
audience that is important- this is why the Globe works so well, and why
regardless of budget, a faithful yet creative production can be staged. Finally,
Fiona focussed on the success of the recent international festival where 37
plays in 37 different languages were performed. Suggesting that there is a gap
in the market for an international theatrical venue in London, Fiona’s pride at
the success of the festival was noticeable, as well as the obvious success
of the festival itself in reaching out to new audience members and involving
them in Shakespearean culture.
Hosting such a wide range of
events- others included baking Shakespeare themed cakes, a Shakespeare themed
performance by the Oxford Imps and a film evening and competition- there is no
doubt that the organisers of the festival worked incredibly hard to ensure that
there really was something for everyone and not just English undergraduates. The
festival highlighted the extent to which Shakespeare has seeped into other forms of
culture, how great his influence was within the arts as a whole and of course
his phenomenal talent. All of these attributes certify Shakespeare’s place
within society- his impact is inescapable- and the Drama Society was correct to
celebrate the Bard. Calls of his irrelevancy or his being ‘over done’ should be
vehemently ignored, as it is clear that those criticisms are definitely not the
case.
Thursday, 24 May 2012
The Diary of Anne Frank
Staging a theatre production of a diary can sometimes be difficult, as the cast and crew are faced with a need to sustain interesting action, as well as managing to convey the inner emotions and feelings of the author, without resorting to a mere series of voiceovers. The Diary of Anne Frank began with a voiceover from the start of the diary, describing the journey to and beginning of the ‘adventure’ of the secret annexe. Being originally faced with this, I was concerned that this would be what the entire play would consist of. However, despite occasional excerpts from important stages in the diary, the majority of the play was performed in a set, mimicking the claustrophobic setting demonstrating the intense, sometimes antagonistic relationships between the inhabitants, and there was a good balance between Anne’s personal reflections, and scenes described in the diary.
The script and general production were okay, with a good balance between sentimentality and humour, particularly offered by the relationship between Mr and Mrs van Daan (Steven Pinder and Sarah Ingram), whose volatile marriage provided a backdrop for some comic relief amongst the tragedy of the story. The set also was good, minimal props and furniture simulating the closeness of the environment, the actors never actually leaving the stage but merely sitting at the side at times when they were supposed to be out of the main room and the consistent presence of a German soldier poised slightly out of the way, created a persistent underlying threat of discovery. A bicycle and swing suspended from the ceiling, posters of Hollywood movie stars and the bookcase also served to highlight the outside world and the isolation of the characters. These set pieces were however a little obvious, the bicycle seeming an odd addition as opposed to a subtle metaphor for freedom and lost innocence, as did the descent of hundreds of pieces of paper at the end signifying the end of the diary.
The script was honest without being too intense, facilitating simple scenes from the period of the annexe such as Hannukah and Anne’s inquisition into the history of Mrs van Daan’s fur coat and her previous lovers. It is a shame therefore that the script was overshadowed by some rather mediocre acting, particularly from Amy Dawson’s Anne herself, whose teenage immaturity, vivacity and playfulness was far too over the top to the point of irritating leading the audience to a dislike of the protagonist. I even overheard a neighbour describing her at the interval as ‘insufferable,’ which unfortunately detracted from much of the potential for an intense, honest yet poignant illustration of adolescence and humanity. Even the blossoming of Anne and Peter van Daan’s (Robert Galas) relationship was blighted by the insincerity of the performance. Whether the aim was to convey the awkwardness of such a situation or not was unclear, but it did make for rather uncomfortable viewing. Saying this, the relationship between Anne Frank and her father Otto (Christopher Timothy) was portrayed well, though I believe this was due to Timothy’s performance as Otto being the most earnest of the entire production. Victoria Ross’s Margot was unfortunately wet, dreary and uninteresting; the result of these lacklustre performances being that the audience struggled to empathise with the characters, and the penultimate scene of their discovery was weakened by the lack of real emotion showed throughout the play, in spite of the tragedy of the circumstances.
Overall, The Diary of Anne Frank was an adequate adaptation. The set and script provided a satisfactory outlet for just the right mix of tragedy, humour, claustrophobia and adolescent hostility and awakening. It was a shame therefore that quite an average and at times grating cast undermined these aspects, resulting in an underwhelming mediocrity in the wake of such an important work.
Sunday, 20 May 2012
Oxfordshire Art Weeks
Oxfordshire Art Weeks is an annual
festival in the county of Oxfordshire, with hundreds of local artists and
crafters opening their houses to showcase their work, and many local businesses
such as restaurants, book shops, galleries, university departments and even the
castle holding exhibitions. Not only holding over 500 free exhibitions over the
course of three weeks in May, the festival also organises tours, workshops,
speakers and forums, their focal event this year being a panel discussion of
‘What is Art?’
Oxfordshire ArtWeeks facilitates
an immense variety of techniques and media. Not only are there the more
traditional painters and photographers, but also jewellers, ceramicists, sculptors
and woodturners. The festival is divided up into thirds, with each week being
the focus of a different section of the county, the north, south and the city
of Oxford. Jericho itself provided a large range of opportunities for
mid-afternoon artistic browsing and during my excursions to some of the venues
I encountered some really interesting artists and was exposed to many different
types of art. The Oxford Ceramics
Gallery, which is located on Walton Street, exhibited a selection of
porcelain pieces from various local ceramicists. Helen Beard’s pottery in particular was charming. Helen drew her
inspiration from ‘quirky, individual and curious’ places, which she would then
hand paint on to Limoges porcelain and group the pieces together in sets to
create a story.
The Albion Beatnik, is a wonderful bookshop and café that often hosts
events and readings, as well as intimate gigs and even bookbinding courses. In
their basement for Oxfordshire Art Weeks, Stella
Shakerchi exhibited. Stella’s work is based on her academic past where she
studied amongst other disciplines medieval mythology. In her own words, Stella
wants her art ‘to reflect the fun in life hidden behind what looks serious.’
The pieces were made from a huge range of materials such as iridescent powder,
mirrors, holographic card, sequins, coloured glass and there was also a UV
light to see in the dark parts of the art hidden song lyrics and poem stanzas.
Stella’s work shows an acute attention to detail, the colours are rich, vibrant
and the collages provide a forum for texture and emotion. Unlike chain stores,
the Albion Beatnik’s ethos is personal and intimate, a perfect place for an art
exhibition.
Hidden in the depths of Jericho, St Barnabas Church housed a wide
variety of work encompassing an assortment of materials and pursuits. There
were The Ten Potters, ceramicists
that included Alison Jones, whose
wall vases and unusual designs that worked with shape and movement were
fascinating. The careful leaf print designs of Liz Teall were also beautiful, and the process of printing the
leaves onto the pottery ensures crafted and refined designs. I also loved the
graphic digital art prints of David
Harris, the completely contrasting embroidery of Jane Bale and the still lifes of Clova Stuart- Hamilton.
Venturing further afield and along
the Woodstock Road, I visited the
exhibition of Katherine and Richard Shock, a painter and wood turner
respectively. Exhibiting here as well were the silversmith John Huddleston and the jewellery designer Guen Palmer. John creates delicate jewellery as well as candlestick
holders and brooches, including some really unusual cat brooches, using a
drawing of Katherine’s.
Art Weeks allowed the ‘outside
Jericho’ adventure and subsequent discovery of new venues most notably The Old Boot Factory in Cowley,
unsurprisingly, an old boot factory that has been converted into an arts venue
and exhibition space, utilised during Art Weeks by Sarah Mayhew and her installation ‘The Natural Course of Things.’
Having originally studied international relations, Sarah’s art demonstrates the
potential for art as a medium for socio-political messages and reform. Her work
is ultimately concerned with the ‘psychology of space,’ how people view one
another as well as the wider world around them. This particular installation
draws from experience of the impact of weather, the environment and nature and
how these impact on decisions and behaviour, and luckily I was able to view the
exhibition in daylight as well as in the dark, when it looks a lot different. On
the final night of the installation, Shelter
held a charity gig in the venue where the bands The Half Rabbits and The
Scholars as well as the soloists Richard
Walters and Phil McMinn performed
amongst the art. As well as Sarah, lighting designer Jon Barker’s installation ‘Journey’ was staged behind a black
curtain, where walkers became part of the installation themselves, as whenever
a Twitter post with the word ‘journey’ in it appeared, the message was
projected onto the individual behind the curtain. Finally, in the Old Boot Factory, Joseph Fairweather-Hole’s ‘Chimney’ commanded attention as a
dominant concrete structure surrounded by moving lights.
Just off the Cowley Road is The Garden Café, the main office of
mental health charity Restore, which
works with people who have experienced severe mental health problems and aims
to rehabilitate them using skills such as woodwork, gardening, construction,
cookery and art. As part of Oxford ArtWeeks, Restore’s Straw Bale Gallery housed
some work from the Oxford Complex Needs
Service, including poetry as well as paintings, sculpture and mosaic.
There was also a sculpture by Tessa Campbell Fraser outside the Museum of Natural History...
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