Brand New Ancients, Kate Tempest - Review

In general I am not a fan of spoken word but Kate Tempest in my exception. There is something about her manner, the way she is fierce and timid at the time that makes me want to hear her, to understand her stories and connect with her. One of the first things she says on stage before revealing any of her material is that she doesn’t want to pretend the audience is not there, like they do in theatre. She wants to break down the fourth wall…and my God, she does.

With a four-piece band; tuba, violin, cello and percussion accompanying her, she engrosses the audience from the start with rousing beats weaving through her words, both gritty and humorous. I lost count of the times I could feel myself losing control of my emotions. There are parallels with Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers in Kate Tempest’s tale of two half-brothers growing up in London but even so I found myself needing to know how life panned out for these two boys. Even with the music, the haze effects and fluorescent lighting, Kate’s voice is the central focus throughout. And when she takes a step back to give us a moment to ponder on what she’s told us so far, letting the band fill the room with their sound, it feels as though her voice is the missing piece.

Halfway through there is a shift in mood. The humour becomes less apparent and the performance takes a darker, more gruesome turn. Still, Kate manages to keep this disturbing tale from spiralling into the melodramatic with the rap and sing-song storytelling she does so well. The atmosphere Kate creates is almost other-worldly and when the lights dimmed to black, the auditorium, filled to the rafters with punters, remained eerily quiet. As though everyone was holding their breath, hoping for more. 

Sonnet Sunday at The Globe

With the sky threatening rain and the sun dipping behind the clouds, we pulled our coats tightly around us and cursed ourselves for not thinking to bring another layer. We were after all, about to spend hours on the unforgiving benches of The Globe. Shuffling through the hordes of people, we blinked as our eyes adjusted to the darkness. Our stomachs grumbling, we swept through the exhibition, stopping only to marvel at the Elizabethan instruments. The Underglobe, with its promise of sweet treats and edible goodness drew us to it.

Greed satisfied, we made our way to the Middle Gallery. To see so many people gathered together, to celebrate Shakespeare being spoken in over 20 different languages was a sight to behold. Almost every person was transfixed as sonnets were recited in Swiss German, Tamil, Catalan, Amharic and more. To learn how Shakespeare's work speaks to people from all over the world was so refreshing and it didn't matter than none of us understood every reading as each performance was delivered with such spirit and ardor. The audience was encouraged to voice their favourite sonnet lines in their native languages and to introduce themselves to someone from another part of the world, creating a sense of belonging and joint appreciation for The Globe and their Globe to Globe festival.

Sonnet Sunday was an incredible way to begin what is proving to be an exciting time at The Globe. We came away with a greater understanding and appreciation of Shakespeare's work and how he really did write for the masses. Looking through the festival brochure I am spoilt for choice. Romeo and Juliet in Brazilian Portuguese? Twelfth Night in Hindi? Hamlet in Lituanian? I should really act fast, I don't think the choices will be there for much longer!

All New People - Review

Sitting high up in the Dress Circle at the Duke of York's Theatre, I wondered how drawn into the action I would be. Almost every seat was filled and there was certainly excitement in the atmosphere; I guessed it was because within the next few minutes we would all be watching Zach Braff, the play's own writer, tread the boards. In the opening scene we are met by Charlie (Braff), standing on a chair in a Beach House on Long Beach Island, with a noose around his neck, dressed in a suit, smoking a joint. Powerful, yet it lacked punch somehow. Even as laughter rippled through the audience as the character attempted to, without hanging himself, flick ash into an out of reach ashtray, I found it difficult to relate. There was something too flippant about his supposed self sabotage. Such a heavy topic can lend itself to comedy but too often Braff's writing and Peter DuBois' direction felt painfully farcical. The tripping over beads and throwing crisps across the stage took away from Charlie's self hatred, at one point Charlie is even asked outright, in more of a shout than a nervous question, "Why do you want to kill yourself?" And when the audience finally discover the reason for his attempted suicide, it comes too late and personally, I had passed the point of needing to know.

The characterisation however is stronger; Braff succeeds in linking together four extremely eclectic characters whilst keeping their differences at the forefront of the action.  Emma (Eve Myles), a chatty Real Estate Agent is the first to arrive, interrupting what would have been Charlie's final act, Myron (Paul Hilton), a drug dealer and fireman arrives soon after and finally Kim (Susannah Fielding), a call girl from New York paid to cheer up Charlie. All three misfits succeed in adding humour and layers to the drama that unfolds piece by piece, interspersed by short snippets of film providing a hint of each of their back-storys; an interesting technique and a brave one, but I did feel it disrupted the flow of the action and made it difficult to empathise with the characters.

It is fair to say All New People is a refreshing piece of new writing, though there is definitely room for some tightening up of the script. Would I recommend going to see it? I suppose I would, if only to compare Braff's acting on stage to his on screen performances in Scrubs and Garden State, and as an alternative to the well established theatre available in the West End.

The Artist - Review

Having just won 'Best Motion Picture', 'Best Original Score' and 'Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture' at the Golden Globes and receiving four awards at the Critics Choice Movie Awards, The Artist is proving to be incredibly popular. So if you ever thought the classic movies were dull, then you will undoubtedly feel dubious about the story of silent movie star George Valentin. Be prepared for your skepticism to be erased by this wonderfully crafted piece of work. Marrying the old and new elements of film and entertainment, Michel Hazanavicius successfully unites an otherwise divided audience.

Beautifully shot and magnificently capturing 1920s Hollywood, Hazanavicius transports his audience into a world of glamour, fame, humour and heartache; without an actor uttering a single word. And yet this film is not entirely silent, there are two moments where Hazanavicius uses sound. I will not tell, but both are carried out with such elegance that the flow of the film is never broken, but merely enhanced.

Hazanavicius carries the theme of old vs. new throughout the film, with it being the major conflict faced by the protagonist (Valentin). Jean Dujardin does well as the lead male; without his comic timing and impeccable facial expressions the film would not be nearly as lovable as it is. The chemistry between Dujardin and leading lady Bérénice Bejo (Peppy Miller) is faultless, giving this film a charm and energy not to be missed. So if you are looking for a film that will make your eyes tear up with pity, make you laugh out loud and make you hide behind your hands, then make sure that this is the film you go and see this month.

Pigeon English - Review

For those who read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Stephen Kelman's writing style will be familiar to you. Written from the point of view of 11 year old Harrison Opoku (known to his friends as Harri), Kelman's debut novel is honest, fresh and at times, amusing. It is fair to say that Kelman has taken major risks with his first book; a talking pigeon, a child detective and London gangs to name a few. But despite its weaker moments, the book works. Based on the real life story of Damilola Taylor, it is essentially a murder mystery, told through the eyes of an innocent boy, recently moved to England from Ghana. At times the narrative is clunky and this may be down to the infusion of Ghana slang throughout, "Asweh" (I swear) and "hutious" (frightening) feature often. There is nothing new by way of Kelman's literary style, but what he may lack in originality he makes up for with a realistic representation of life in many criminal 'hotspots' around the globe. This lends itself to the innocence and tragic naiveté of the story, which will have you thinking about the book long after you've turned the final page. 

We Need To Talk About Kevin- Review

I now also write for The Flaneur online arts magazine, find this review and many others here: http://flaneur.me.uk/11/we-need-to-talk-about-kevin-review/

We stepped into the cinema and already the atmosphere was heavy. There was no chew of popcorn or crackle of sweet wrappers, just the steadily increasing noise of expectation. I could almost feel the unanimous tight-chest sensation as the lights dimmed and I had the feeling that everyone in the room shared with me a sense of foreboding. They had read the book.

Lynne Ramsay has done a remarkable job of adapting Lionel Shriver’s text for the screen, capturing the evil in Kevin from the moment he arrives in the world to the incident in which he ends everyone else’s. Tilda Swinton plays Kevin’s mother and protagonist Eva Katchadourian, and is believable for the entirety of her screen time. Not for one minute did I doubt that she had raised, and battled with Kevin. Swinton’s ability to convey raw emotion through her facial expressions and body language means that although the film relies on visual characterisation rather than dialogue, the viewer understands her on a vastly more intimate level.

Ezra Miller plays Kevin and is every bit the ostentatious, challenging son. Miller’s good looks mixed with his unsettling stares and callous manner succeed in creating unease that does not shift for a long time after people have gone home. And despite many of the scenes featuring a teenage Kevin squeezed comically into his child self’s T-shirts, Miller exudes such control and supremacy that this is turned on its head and we are lead to respect his, be it warped, choice. Ramsay’s use of red throughout the film may seem obvious, and its links to blood may appear unnecessary. However, they offer a consistency throughout the film whilst a time continuum is played with, juggling with the viewer’s mind to the point where the colour theme may be the only constant. The scene of the incident itself may come as a disappointment to those who have read the book. It is not done in nearly as much detail but merely suggested at through a series of shots on various characters. This however, lends itself to the imagination of the viewer, which in turn, makes the scene all the more powerful. The wide eyed expression from Swinton outside the school is haunting to say the least.

This film, on its most simplistic level, addresses the nature versus nurture debate. From even before we see Eva staring at her heavily pregnant reflection, we can tell that she is separated from the ideas of parenthood despite her efforts to unearth her maternal instincts. But does this detachment cause a child to become evil, or is the evil something already part of them?

Whether you have read the book or not, We Need To Talk About Kevin is a film worth watching. It is not one for those looking for entertainment or a happy ending. It is far from an easy watch. But this film gets down to the fundamentals of characterisation and offers an alternative to the typical Hollywood movies screened night after night.

Too early for Christmas?

Ok, call me Scrooge but with the growing number of Christmas decorations appearing in shop windows and "Christmas trees for sale HERE!" signs greeting me every time I pass a DIY store, I can't help but think that things have got a bit ridiculous. Since September, adverts mentioning the 'C' word have become more and more frequent, as have people's Facebook status'. I remember when, even in the many years after learning that Santa Claus didn't wriggle down our chimney each year, feeling warm and fuzzy thinking about Christmas. There was still a magic to the season and I associated it with frosty air, cinnamon scented candles and sticking cloves in oranges. This all happened after the first of December, it was a family tradition. That was when advent (and of course the chocolate advent calendar) started, and when all the festivities would begin. But over the past few years my eyes have opened up to the commercialisation of the festive season and it has begun to put a dampener on the excitement. For the past few years I've come to measure when is acceptable to start getting into the Christmas spirit by the Coca Cola advert. I grew up watching that advert year after year and as a child, it always seemed to mark the turn of the weather and the excitement that suddenly engulfed London, and indeed our family home. But I fear it's being shown earlier and earlier. This said advert appeared on our screen for the first time last week, in mid-November, and so I am having to wrestle with my childhood self and ask, is it Christmas now, or not?