Category Archives: Arts

Wednesday Catchup

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Wow, falling behind here. Let’s catch up then, shall we?

Wednesday we enjoyed a matinée of The Other Place at Manhattan Theater Club. This taut drama by Sharr White stars Laurie Metcalf (Rosanne) as a powerful drug company executive and former scientist who is relating to us a story from a business trip a while back. Utilizing a combination of flash backs and flash forwards, the script builds a complicated framework within which the complete story eventually is fit.

We soon learn, however, that we cannot be sure just how much of what this woman tells us we can believe. She is cagey about her name, for example, when talking with a doctor in one of the many threads of the tale. She accuses her husband of adultery, but is he really guilty? She claims he is divorcing her, but he tells us otherwise. She has long, fraught, phone calls with an estranged daughter, but does she really?

It would be giving away too much to tell more about the basis of these uncertainties, but suffice to say that the play, which opened to fairly good notices the next night, paints a daunting and frightening picture of what can happen to our inner, and outer, worlds when our minds get away from us.

Cudos to the design staff. The set, by Eugene Lee & Edward Pierce, is an elaborate semi-cylinder of window frames, with embedded lighting elements, which matches the elaborate framework of the story telling to a tee. Lighting by Justin Townsend compliments the set nicely, and serves to establish the many different settings required by the script, all within the single set. But it is the costuming by David Zinn which really does the most with the least to move the story along. Within Zinn’s single costume, Ms Metcalf transforms from a high level business woman, with impeccable style, to a forlorn mother, lost in this world and losing everything. By the simple removal of a jacket here, stockings there, or the addition of a shapeless sweater, we see many different sides to this one, complex, woman.

Daniel Stern as the lonely and left behind husband, who must struggle against his wife’s constant anger and accusations, turns in a mostly muted, but moving and frustrated performance. When he erupts in sobs 2/3rds of the way in, we are moved to do the same. Zoe Perry (Ms Metcalf’s real life daughter) ably dispatches the three roles she is tasked with.

A heavy matinée, to say the least!

That evening took us to the Joyce for some dance, part of the Focus Dance 2013 program. We saw a program with Camille A. Brown & Dancers, and Brian Brooks Moving Company. Ms. Brown’s group performed Been There, Done That, City Of Rain and The Real Cool. The latter, a sole piece featuring Ms Brown, was a lovely piece, often using small front-mounted pin-spots to project large expressive shadows of her onto the rear cyclorama.

Mr. Brooks’ company used a very physical dance form to explore movement in some new ways, in I’m Going To Explode, Descent and, with Wendy Whelan, Fall Falls. I was especially moved by Descent, a dance in three movements. In the first, dancers dragged partners, literally, across the stage and maneuvered them about as if dolls, at times — all while lit from the sides by horizontal wedges of light.

The second movement presents us with a stage lit only from 6 feet up. The dancers enter the stage from left or right, putting lacy fabric aloft with the breeze from wood fans they wave upwards. It was like watching well choreographed jelly fish dancing! So lovely, so lyric, so fresh! Each dancer would cross from left to right, or right to left, their focus upward on their fabric, and the fabric would twirl and bob in the drafts.

The program closed with a duet by Mr. Brooks and Ms. Whelan, part of her series Restless Creature, which explored the interaction of bodies and the shifting of the planes of horizon and plateau, their bodies sometimes climbing the floor or walking on the air. Hard to explain, but lovely to behold.

Filmic Wonder and Balling At The McKittrick

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Monday brought us to the Museum of Modern Art for the final day of their exhibit, “Quay Brothers: On Deciphering the Pharmacist’s Prescription for Lip-Reading Puppets.” This retrospective of the twin brothers’ 40 year career creating some of the most iconic and beautiful animated films in existence. We’ve both been fans for some time, X and I, but never thought we’d get to see something like this. This exhibit was the catalyst for the trip, to be perfectly honest.

It would be impossible to explain the Quay’s work in any way that would convey the beauty and magic of it, so best to send you off to search for some of it on YouTube and the like. That’s okay, do it now, we’ll wait…

Welcome back. This exhibit was quite thorough, featuring about 20 of the miniature sets used in making the films, as well as models and sketches, 2D artworks, such as a Blood, Sweat & Tears album cover produced long ago (who’d’a thought?) and reels of the short films and commercial work, such as Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer. Some longer work was shown in its entirety, such as their most famous work, Street Of Crocodiles, based loosely on the Bruno Schultz book. There were separate screenings, in Theater I, of the new The Metamorphosis, based on the Franz Kafka work.

We spent about 2 hours in the exhibit, enjoying it greatly, and after a brief sojourn to the book store (50% off sale!) and acquiring tickets to the 4:30 showing of Metamorphosis, repaired to the flat for a well earned nap.

Back uptown for the film. It was not just a simple screening, but featured live piano accompaniment by Mikhail Rudy. Here’s the museum’s description:

…these screenings of The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka mark the North American premiere of the Quay Brothers’ newest film. Commissioned by Russian-born French pianist Mikhail Rudy in affiliation with Cité de la musique in Paris, where it premiered last March, the film is screened with live piano accompaniment by Rudy, performing the music of Czech composer Leoŝ Janáček.

The accompaniment was fabulous, and the film good (but repetitive and obtuse in places) but the entire experience was more than this, as it really delivered a sense of completeness to the exhibit and our experience of it.

We drifted across town and back down to Chelsea for our evening’s entertainment, Crescent City Stomp, a performance of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at the McKittrick Hotel. First, though, a quick stop in at Son Cubano for a cocktail (quite good). The McKittrick is the fictional hotel which serves as host for Punchdrunk/Emursive’s production, Sleep No More. This environmental non-performance experience, based upon Shakespeare’s Macbeth, has been packing ’em in since early in 2011. Our show was in a new space, a speakeasy separate from the performance space used by SNM, on the west end of the warehouse block.

Served alongside the New Orleans riffs of PHJB was a menu of light appetizers and cocktails inspired by the Crescent City. We sampled most of the menu (having expected a proper meal here), and had wonderful corn bread, crisp muffalata croquets with tappanade, fried hominy, Brussles sprouts with pancetta and pomegranate seeds and shrimp-stuffed deviled eggs. Yum to all!

The music was stomping all right, the septet (piano, drums, tuba, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet and trombone) was tight, upbeat and having a good old time. The two sets, about 50 minutes each, were followed by a 2 song encore, by which time many of the tables had been pushed back and the floor was hopping.

The hall holds about 275 people and was full to the gills. There are an assortment of tables, from a dozen or so deuces arrayed around the stage (centered against one long wall), then 3 and 4 tops, and then larger tables and banquettes for 6 & 8. The bar fills one of the short walls of the room, and is well appointed with a good choice of liquors, liqueurs, wines and beers. Table service is fast and entertaining, the waiter and waitresses all embracing the roles of working a speakeasy.

The musicians were a treat to watch. The trumpeter, Mark Braud, looks like a more corpulent and dissolute Marsallis cousin, and belts out some grand vocals, too. The clarinetist, Charlie Gabriel, carries the aire of the old man of the troupe, while delivering some fine tunes and song. But our favorite was Clint Maedgen on tenor sax and vocals. His saxophone is painted white with fine black detailing, his hair slicked back, he could be Crispin Hellion Glover‘s louche and wayward younger brother.

Clint Maedgen & Charlie Gabriel

Clint Maedgen & Charlie Gabriel

All in all a fabulous night out!

Madison Square Ramble

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Took a little stroll through Madison Square Park this morning.  Here’s some photos:

Flat Iron Building

Flat Iron Building

Pine Cones on Fountain

Pine Cones on Fountain

Bucky Ball Sculpture

Bucky Ball Sculpture

Bucky Ball close-up

Bucky Ball close-up

Around the base of the sculpture are several loungy benches from which to appreciate it.  The sculpture itself is bedecked with fancy-ass lights which trace various routes around the ball.  These benches let one get completely absorbed into this acid-trip experience, at least after dark they do.

 

Calatrava Tele Clava

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From today’s Guardian newspaper, UK edition, comes news of revolt stirring in Valencia against claims of exorbitant fees paid by the conservative government to Santiago Calatrava for works both completed and those unrelaized:

Stunning bridges, airports and daring buildings have made him famous around the world, but now Santiago Calatrava is facing fierce criticism for his dealings with the local government in his home region of Valencia.

The architect, who designed the roof of the Athens Olympic stadium, is under fire from political opponents of the conservative-run authority, and a website highlighting fees paid to him by Spanish taxpayers has been launched.

Calatrava has charged some €100m (£81m) to the Valencia government, according to the website, established by the leftwing Esquerra Unida party. The party says it has managed to see copies of bills paid by the People’s party regional government to the architect, who is now based in Zurich.

Architect Santiago Calatrava accused of ‘bleeding Valencia dry’ | The Guardian

Architect Santiago Calatrava accused of ‘bleeding Valencia dry’

And Now For Something Completely Different

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A Note To Our Readers:

It has come to our attention that some of you think we’re being too “safe” in our entertainment choices. “Pawn: Please, think outside the box. Get off the straight and narrow, the safe choices, and try to sample some of the outré offerings Modern London provides.” reads a typical note.

Okay, your wish is our command. Prepare yourself for the next few reviews of events from Saturday, 25 and Sunday, 26, to see what London really holds in store for the adventurous.

The Paper Cinema, Odyssey

Paper Cinema is a hard concept to express briefly, but let’s give it a try: Paper Cinema are an artist collective who produce original, live, animated performances with live musical accompaniment, utilising paper cuts with inking, shot via video cameras before black backgrounds, digitally composited and projected onto a screen.

The Paper Cinema - Odyssey

For this project, begun almost a year ago, there were two hand animators, three musicians, light and sound technicians. There were a few dozen musical instruments – piano, drums, violin, saw, Makita cordless electric drill, thunder plate – and a few hundred pieces of cut paper, card, etc. Through these tools, with no spoken word at all, they told the classic Homeric tale of Odyssey and did so with such originality, wit, love and passion that we hung on every graceful, carefully choreographed move.

Paper Cinema - James Allen

The show began with a lead animator stepping up to a light table and, putting pen to well and then to paper, drawing for us a guide to the major players in the drama. After this introduction, the real animation began. One cannot do it justice with a verbal description, so please take a look at their website: http://thepapercinema.com/

Paper Cinema's Odyssey at Battersea Arts Centre BAC

We saw a Saturday matinee, with several children as young as 4 in attendance, and the show held their attention for the entire 85 minutes. We thought this was an exceptional show, and would love to find a way to introduce this art to our own, local audiences.

Panta Rei Theatre Collective: Rocinante! Rocinante!

Not edgy enough yet? Okay, bus down to Rye Park Lane and the CLF Art Cafe @Bussey Building where Panta Rei want us to climb inside the minds of some seriously sick folk. Sick in the head, that is, like Don Quixote sick, like Hamlet sick, like wandering OCD scrubbing their hands without end sick. What do they do? The conceive a site-specific work, a promenade piece in which we, the audience, wander mostly un-directed through the performance space, while blinds, sheers or scrims are occasionally drawn to partition off a space.

Panta Rei - Rocinante! Rocinante!

What is the action, it is Don Quixote, with Rocinante, his loyal horse, Sancho Panza, his trusty squire and donkey; but no, it is Gary and Lolly, the gravediggers from Hamlet, given more character here than Shakespeare ever did, but different, also. They are discussing whether or not Dolcinea (rather than Ophelia) deserves a Christian burial, a matter of grave concern to Angustias, the cemetery keeper, who is ever and always rinsing raiment properly to wash the dead.

Don Quixote is cracking up, as he rants in Spanish (sometimes with translation, via Sancho, sometimes not) we are treated to the lushness of his dreams, when they are not overrun by the waking dreams of the other characters. Gary, played by the exceedingly petite Ciara D’Anna in a standout performance of mind over dialect, is madly devoted to Lolly (Anna Zehenbauer), but Lolly wants to die, convinced that her life will be more complete once dead. Gary prevails to convince Lolly, via a burial ceremony (books as soil, what does that tell us) that she has now been buried and passed, and this brings at last some measure of tranquillity to their relationship.

Meanwhile Quixote drifts into a feverish dream wherein Dulcinea, in form of a beautiful, diaphanous jelly fish, appears to him, but always between the two are seven dark, evil jelly fish, blocking their reunion.

That is just a sample of the effect with which Panta Rei has brought off their goal: “Interdisciplinary collaborations beyond the realm of performing arts to explore on a deep level issues and topics that are relevant…”

How successful was this effort? Very, for the most part. Aside from Gary, other stand-out performances belong to Daniel Rejano as Sancho and Almudena Segura as Angustias. The staging is plagued with difficult compromises, mostly due to the exigencies of getting actors and audience in and out of the same spaces at the same time. Little accommodation is made to audience comfort, and this maybe should have been made more clear to ticket purchasers. In the second scene, were are seated on two rows of hay bales, set along the long side of a narrow rectangular space; unfortunately, the action is placed alternatively on one end or the other of this space, rendering those in the front row with stiff necks and good views only of their seat-mate’s scalps.

In reality, tho, these are minor beefs. This was a very ambitious undertaking, and we were moved. The beauty of the Dulcinea dream, with draped umbrellas sculpted into sea creatures was alone worth the price of admission.

Silent Opera: La Bohème

Silent Opera - La Boheme - Emily Ward as Mimi

Still with us? Okay, after a day at Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, we trundled back down to the Old Vic Tunnels this evening for Silent Opera production of Puccini’s La Bohème. We first visited the Tunnels last weekend for Eugene O’Neill’s The Sea Plays, which were staged in “The Screening Room” in the upper levels of the Tunnels’ space. For Silent Opera’s piece, we have to thank a couple of developments of the modern age: Digital archival and frequency hopping, spread spectrum radio.

The former has freed up these spaces, specifically “Archway 236~9, Network Rail, Archival and Storage”, which was no longer required by Network Rail and may now be given over to the drug pushers, anorexic models, tarted up showgirls and waifish writers who make up the dramatis personae of the opera.

The latter? Well, Silent Opera is a “peculiar and eccentric idea to come up with…” writes director Daisy Evans in her notes. “I looked at the world around me, and to the modern day fascination with the iPod. Teams of people plug into a world and walk around with a personal soundcloud. Apply this to opera, and you have a personal filmic sound world that enables you complete freedom within the world of the opera.”

We, the audience, are given high-end wireless headphones, pre-tuned to the proper channel to bring us the original orchestral arrangement produced for this project. The performers wear both wireless microphones and earpieces, allowing both for them to hear the music and for the sound crew to mix their voices in for our listening. The effect is profound.

Silent Opera - La Boheme

We are ushered up to Rudolfo and Marcello’s loft space, strewn with the detritus of bachelor living, but more – this is all specifically made for the production, notebooks are filled with Marcello’s sketches, magazines feature his love, Musetta, computer monitors are filled with Rudolpho’s website designs. Soon enough the performers crash into the space, and the game is afoot. The music wells in our ears and the singers engage. They engage! They are amidst us and are engaged with us. This continues throughout the entire performance, and I won’t belabour all of the details, but the point is this: Here is opera, on a professional level, in a compelling performance, right in the middle of us, and that is different and new.

How successful? Very.

Listen, every one of these shows is sold out, solid! What’s more, they’re all filled with a magical thing; Young People! This is what theatre, opera, arts need; Young People! Habits built in your 20s and 30s, attending live shows, will carry throughout lifetime, and this bodes very well indeed for London and for all of us.

Accent Versus Acting

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We’ve seen two shows in the past two nights featuring British actors wearing Russian accents. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Given the choice, Pawn prefers great acting over great accents. When you’ve got both, well that’s a winner. When you’ve got neither… meh.

Thursday night, Giant Olive Theatre at the Lion and Unicorn Freehouse in Kentish Town, presented John Thompson’s A Russian Play, hailed as best new play and best set design by the Off-Westend association awards. Self-described as “Withnail and I meets Crime and Punishment”, we were easily hooked. What they delivered, however, came up a little short.

The theater itself is of interest. Up on the top floor of this old pub, there’s about 50 seats (half filled for our visit) and no real stage, wings, etc. The set, a pre-revolution Petrograd bedsit designed by Olivia Du Monceau, is a work of art, and eminently functional for this show. There were anachronistic elements, but on a budget one can forgive this.

The action, set in 1916, centres around two men, friends since grammar school, Fyodor and Alexsie. Each has come to Petrograd for a different reason: Fyodor, the starving artist, hopes to write the great Russian novel, if he can only get past the first line, “A man enters a darkened room…”; Alexsie, the revolutionary, loud and boisterous, wants a leading role in the uprising, or at least wants drink like one. They occupy the attic bedsit as two men sharing a cell. There is no money, no food and no fuel. Books are burnt on the sly, by one, and cheese is eaten on the sly by the other. Furniture is sacrificed to the stove.

The dialogue is almost uniformly good, the interactions quite believable, to a point. We felt the direction, by David Salter, sought laughs too cheaply, and sometimes at the expense of otherwise strong scenes. There were other unbelievable moments, such as when a freshly rolled cigarette is discarded by a supposedly impoverished man, or hard-won tea leaves are thrown aside. The dialect work was strong, and it’s no great stretch to believe that these are Russians, just hard sometimes to believe they’re poor.

The performances by Tom Kanji as Fyodor and Dan Percival as Alexsei, are strong, for the most part, but one feels their natural timing may be frustrated by direction. Percival, in the final scene, a tense dramatic moment, seems to teeter uncomfortably between anguish and giggles, but that may have just been us.

Good effort, but not A work. Sorry!  Next up is an unexpected joy.

Friday morning we agonized over theatre listings as we had nothing booked yet for the evening. Every time we found a promising show, it was sold out. Finally we just about gave up, when I thought to check Pleasance Theatre up on Caledonia Road. We booked a couple of tickets for Boris and Sergey’s Puppet Cabaret. Then we hopped the tube up to Archway and wandered aimless through Waterlow Park and Highgate Cemetery.

After cemetery we got a bite in a pub nearby, then wandered down through Highgate and hopped on the 390 to King’s Cross. There we took in the “New Wave Photography” show at St. Pancras Crypt (nothing too special — former Eastern Bloc artists discover PhotoShop excess) and then to the Wellcome Collection for Felicity Powell’s fabulous Charmed Life which combines new original work of hers with a wide range of amulets she curated from the collection. Quite good. Also saw Mexican Miracle Paintings which is not so much my taste, but was still quite interesting.

After a day traipsing round Highgate and Islington, King’s Cross and St. Pans, we shot back up to Caledonia Road and Pleasance for the Puppet Cabaret. Oh my, what a shock and treat that was!! Clearly one of the least known, yet best entertainments in London right now. Just as in 2009 I felt that the Crypt show, Tales of the Electric Forest was the best exhibit up at the time, so I feel that Boris and Sergey is the cream of the crop right now. This was a Master Class in puppetry in disguise. What starts out as a bawdy exercise in audience participation (Puppet Poker Pit) morphs into a broad ranging take on culture, including puppet takes on Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights and David Lynch’s The Elephant Man. Faust has his share of the game, too. I cannot even begin to describe it all, and I shouldn’t, but I was beside myself with glee at the wonderful performances.

This is a production of Flabbergast Theatre, and here is their mission statement:

Flabbergast was set up to make uncompromising and exciting physical theatre drawing on the Bunraku style of puppetry and a belief that all Theatre should be engaging and sweaty.

It asks the ultimate commitment mentally vocally and physically from its actors in order to achieve an intensity of performance which is all too often lacking in theatre of the day. It believes that its actors are its single greatest resource and as such endeavours to create theatre through an extensive and collaborative research and development process.

The company hopes to develop existing texts and new devised pieces bringing an innovative and unpretentious approach to its work.

The Bunraku puppets were so simple and yet their movements so true, the artists so dedicated and their ensemble so integrated. OMG!! Still now, the next day, I am still amazed at just how powerful the effect was. Please take a look at their website:

http://www.wix.com/metalchimp/flabbergast

If you’re in London, GO SEE THIS SHOW!

As to Accents and Acting? Well, there is little pretence that Boris and Sergey are really Russian, but you simply don’t care as the intensity of the puppeteers’ performance sweeps you into their world, and you utterly accept their conceit. Given good enough acting – and here it was sublime – an audience can be taken anywhere, and Flabbergast has proved that to us.

In the final scene of this show, a moment of intense drama, each of the six puppeteers are working simple hand puppets (not the Bunraku puppets used throughout the show) and they walk right up to the audience, arms outstretched before them. Their faces, both puppet and puppeteer, are 100% engaged in character and we are 100% engaged in story. This is magic, this is what theatre is for. This was sold as, “Simply the greatest vaudevillian double act ever conceived for the small stage”, but what we got instead was a lesson in what theatre is all about.

The Devil and Mister Punch

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My first taste of performance came as a small child. Growing up, we kids had our own theatre, the Amber Playhouse, a lovely little puppet theatre which my parents had made and outfitted with the usual cast of Punch characters; Mister Punch and Mrs Judy, the Baby, Constable, Alligator and Devil. With these puppets we performed not only various bastardisations of the Mister Punch oeuvre, but also works of our own making, and those based on fairy tales for which we had made or acquired additional puppets.

Samuel Pepys was the first to write down, to log, a reaction to Punch. Writing in his diary in May of 1622, of a visit with Mr Salisbury to Covent Garden, “Thence to see an Italian puppet play that is within the rayles there, which is very pretty, the best that ever I saw, and great resort of gallants.” This was an Italian marionette company performing Pulcinella (or variously, Punchinello), a piece of commedia dell’arte. This being the 350th anniversary for Punch, then, Julian Crouch and Improbable Theatre have decided to bring him back, albeit with a twist.

A puppet show in The Pit at Barbican is one of the hottest tickets in London right now, a sold-out run, and we think that’s just fine. Having failed to book in advance, we waited just a while on the returns queue before ending up with 6th row centre seats, right behind writer and performer Nick Haverson’s dad, whom we met in lobby over cocktails prior to curtain. “When I got out of school,” said Mr. Haverson, “I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I got a job and made a life. For our kids, we had two boys, we didn’t want to tell them what to do, but we made sure they got into good schools.” He was proud of his son’s work in theatre, even if the shows are sometimes unfamiliar to him. He certainly could be proud of the show we saw with him last night!

The script for this performance, by a Messr’s Harvey and Hovey, we are told (or shown) was written by a dog at a typewriter. The dog himself claims no authorship, chalking it up as a publicity stunt in subsequent court testimony, but it does have a ring of truth to it, if you ask me. A half dozen piglets add comic relief, before thoroughly getting into the sausage making, as it were. A rag-tag band of musicians on bass, piano, metronome, bells and more serenade us, and the puppets… where to begin.

This is some of the most lovingly done, most graceful puppetry one may ever see. A scene in which Punch negotiates with Mephistopheles has the large puppet of the devil worked by three people, but with such grace and such slow, precise movement that the performers disappear. A hand puppet one moment is life-sized the next, shocking the audience.

The design and production crew all deserve kudos here. Julian Crouch and Jessica Scott’s puppets are exquisite. Marcus Doshi’s lighting design is at once effortless and exact, leading us around the complex set and focusing our attention just where it needs to be. That set, designed by Crouch, along with Rob Thirtle and Mike Kerns, and constructed by Heywood Productions, is a true piece of art. There are panels everywhere through which the puppets appear. The whole piece is a shrine.

The final performance of The Devil and Mister Punch will be Saturday, 25 February. Keep an eye out, however, there are rumours of a tour.

Tis Pity

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While Pawn finds himself most at home with New Work, there is plenty to be admired in a well executed revival or classic. Monday night brings your intrepid travellers to the latter, John Ford’s “Jacobethan” Tis Pity She’s A Whore, revived and restaged by Cheek By Jowl at Barbican’s Silk Street Theater. Ford was a contemporary to Shakespeare, writing in a similar style, albeit seldom in iambic pentameter.

We were most impressed by Cheek By Jowl’s 2009 production of Jean Racine’s Andromaque and so were expecting similar quality. We were not let down. The large cast performed in brilliant ensemble form…

If I may take a moment aside, that is a recurring theme of the best of the shows we’ve taken in, of late – fine ensemble work. This is great to see, and must be encouraged.

The scene opens with Annabella, marvellously played by Lydia Wilson, as a teenage emo girl, walls bedroom covered with Vampire Diaries posters and the like, dancing wildly on her bed, whilst surrounded by her suitors. Her father, Florio, David Collings, is eager to marry her off, and is pushing her to choose.

Lydia Wilson as Annabella

Her brother Giovanni, Jack Gordon, has other plans. He courts his sister, wins her and after a night of passion, virtually abandons her, telling her to choose her husband wisely and always keep this their secret. Bereft, Annabella first tries to simply avoid marriage, but when her father insists, she chooses the nobleman Soranzo, played ably by Jack Hawkins.

Lydia Wilson and Jack Gordon

There is much drama: teenage pregnancy, unrequited love, jilted cougar (Hippolita) and such. Much sturm und drang. As in any good tragedy, by the time its over pretty much everyone is dead.

The single set, designed by Nick Ormerond, which serves this all is Annabella’s teenager’s bedroom; all action comes and goes through this single, simple setting, and is brilliantly managed by Declan Donnellan’s brisk direction. The show is taughtly choreographed and compellingly staged. Wilson’s performance, especially, stands out for its unending, boundless energy.

Not usually one for morality plays, Pawn seems to be finding himself in more and more of them lately. Tonight, as much fun as the immorality was, the morality was much bloodier, and in the end, that was just what the playwright ordered.

A Bigger Crowd

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A Closer Winter Tunnel - David Hockney

We stood on queue for well over an hour at the Royal Academy for David Hockney: A Bigger Picture. The show itself we saw in considerably less time. There was much to appreciate in this exhibition of Hockney’s scenes of nature, mostly from the recent past, but on a whole I believe it was oversold. The crowds were so large it was hard to manoeuvre the galleries, and, not trusting us gawkers to behave ourselves, rope barriers kept one from moving freely between otherwise connected galleries – forcing us to follow the curator’s chosen path. Boo on that! Allow me to escape an over-crowded gallery and return to it later!

Arrival Of Spring - Davind Hockney - 2011

One entire gallery was filled with The Arrival Of Spring, 51 prints and one large painting recording the transition from winter to spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire, in 2011. Each day, roughly, Hockney would venture to this or that favourite vantage point in the woods and paint the scene on his iPad with a stylus. These were later printed and painted upon, following specific notes he had made about how to properly scale them up. The effect was profound. The large prints, each about 5 feet tall, were stacked two tall, and ringed three walls of the capacious gallery. The fourth wall was covered with a 32 canvas painting depicting one scene.

Arrival Of Spring - David Hockney - 2011

In my mind, the most effective works, other than the lovely charcoal studies which seemed to be shown more for elucidation than admiration, were those in the ultimate, Recent Work gallery. This feature large iPad prints from Hockney’s 2012 visit to Yosemite Valley. These pieces are printed out in immense form, easily 10 or 12 feet tall, where Hockney’s sure and perfect capture of the majesty of these natural wonders is best able to play upon the user.

Yosemite Valley - David Hockney - 2011

For an interesting take on the exhibit, check out Elinor Olisa’s blog post about it.

Memories Light And Dark

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Saturday brings more visits, this time with A, artist/friend whom Pawn met in 2009 at her stall in Sunday UpMarket up Brick Lane. There, A sells tee shirts, bags and such emblazoned with her whimsical figures and clever words. Since last we met, A has taken up photography in a quite serious way (something she blames on moi) and in correspondence leading up to this visit has asked/offered for Pawn to sit for a portrait. Fright!

Having packed a shirt or two with French cuffs of course means not having packed any cuff-links. Thus a trip back and forth across Lower Marsh street ensues. First to the pawnshop, who carries only gold, thus quite dear, then to menswear shop, which doesn’t have the right thing, sadly, but does have a very nice gent behind the counter. Next to rock shop, which has mad great crystals in the window, and a few pairs of amber links, but too dear for “emergency” use (as pawn broker put it). Lastly to vintage shop, Radio Days which is just the ticket. Pick out a pair of lovely amethyst links, “I’ll wear them home!” Tip of the hat to proprietor Lee for all his help.

Bus up to Stoke Newington and A’s in-home studio. I haven’t seen her since that May of 2009, other than a Skype chat now and then (detest Skype; all that technology to produce a result worse than a century of telephony). She welcomes me with a warm embrace, a lunch of quiche and salad, and hours of conversation. Finally we settled down into the reception lounge, refitted as a studio, with paper drops, massive flash towers and all.

I won’t bore the reader with a full account of the sitting process, but to impart this. A note from A the other day read, “Would you like to sit for a [Photographic] portrait in the style of a painter of your choice? My recent shots are here.”

“I’m quite flummoxed by your portrait offer. I’ve been pondering all night just which artist that would be, and all I can come up with is Francis Bacon. Is that even doable? Colour me perplexed! :(“ I wrote back the next day.

“Do not be flummoxed. It has to be fun and I am quite a beginner. I am happy to try Bacon – maybe we can use a mirror to make parts of your body disappear or look cut off. If this does not work, we could go for a Futurist or even Cubist artist with a similar technique or with Rear Curtain flash technique if i can master my new flash in time.” was her response. Okay then, let’s go.

An hour or so of sitting and flashing and such, and then another hour or so sitting at her kitchen table editing, leads us to this:


Pawn has never sat willingly for a portrait before, but must admit that this entire process was fun, and the result is a better portrait of myself than I have reason to expect. I’m not fond of how I look in photos, but this I like. Well done!

–

Now it’s off to Arcola Theatre and Philip Ridley’s Pitchfork Disney in Studio 1.

Nathan Stewart-Jarret as Cosmo Disney and Mariah Gale as Haley Stray

It’s hard to know where to begin with a tour de force like Pitchfork Disney. The performances were amazing. Chris New, as Presley Stray, one half of the nightmare~and~chocolate addled twins who make up the heart of this tense drama, is an absolute amazement. Starting long before the house lights go down, you’ll find him sitting on stage, picking at imaginary lint, and fidgeting like a heroin addict. If you saw New in Weekend you know what a talented actor he is, but you’ll be wholly unprepared for the depths of character he mines here.

Nathan Stewart-Jarret as Cosmo Disney and Chris New as Presley Stray

The other half of this demented, drugged and lost duo is Mariah Gale as Haley. Her tormented soul is all too real here, leading to her brother’s constant need to protect her, against what all we’re never sure. Both twins are prone to slip into discourse for long soliloquy on real or imagined trials and travails, trips to the shops for chocolate which end with packs of rabid dogs and religious upbraiding; apocalyptic dream worlds which are somehow more comforting than the reality, absent their parents, who are missing why?

Into this tortured maelstrom comes Cosmo Disney, played by Nathan Stewart-Jarret with such graceful movement he rather dances the part. He slithers across the stage, seducing Presley, and us along with him, but with his eyes constantly on the slumbering Haley. Cosmo is an apparition, isn’t he, from Presley’s fevered mind, right? And Pitchfork Cavalier, Cosmo’s driver all done up in full-body latex bondage wear, played almost as Frankenstein’s Monster by Italian actor Steve Guadino, lurches about the final scenes, throwing abject fear before him like he is casting jacks in a children’s game.

I can’t even begin to describe the plot here, nor am I sure I even understand it all. “Curse Arcola for last night’s dreams!” said X upon awakening this morning.

Nods must go to the entire production staff, from the phenomenal direction of Edward Dick to the pitch perfect sets and costumes of Bob Bailey and the exceptional lighting of Malcolm Rippeth. This production team has moulded a fantastic and thoroughly believable space for their actors to perform an out of this world evening.

This is the first show I’ve seen in this new Arcola space, and old artist’s paint factory between Dalston Junction and Dalston Kingshead stations in Hackney. The Reeves Paint factory on Ashwin Street, dating back to 1766, seems to have taken over nicely from the Arcola Street location Arcola were forced to leave after a decade, back in 2010. So far, aside from the fact that every door in the place seemingly must slam, it does just fine.