Chanel: Shade Parade

God, i feel ESTRANGED from this blog. still i hope to change that in the coming months. My distraction, in part, has to do with my new love affair with Pinterest, which is siphoning off my interest in posting all things visual. If you haven't discovered it... Do.   It's a series of online pinboards where you can pin things you like the look of. Genius.

Anyway, I digress. this advert is quite simply, amazing. and quite the way to make a re-entrance into the world of my blog after a summer break. think of my fingers prancing about like this as a warm up before they type.

I Heart. Big time.

Nicked: the musical

My dear friend Sam Hodges is playing our esteemed Prime Minister in a new 'urban' musical political satire, NICKED,which premiered at the HighTide theatre festival a few weeks ago. I'm off to see it this week with existing enthusiasm buoyed by this you tube trailer which is hilarious. political rapping: bring it.  

Sea side treats (by way of M&S)

Mini bucket-and-spade jellies and chocolate ice creams from M&S bring sweet beach treats to, well, the office. Bite-sized delights. so dinky, so cute, so cool.

Moustaches: OUT OF CONTROL

 Oh GOD. Practical and affordable (£9). i wasn't expecting that.

 Can't quite say the same for the below. but hey, what they lack in usefulness, they make up for in F.U.N



Moustache badge

£17.50 for a badge?! seemingly so. does my moustache obsession warrant such a ridiculous and unnecessary expenditure? Hmmm. Still, thank you Sam for drawing it to my attention (x).

Ash Cloud

Hopefully this won't stop me flying tomorrow. though it is rather impressive looking. so much so it is currently my sister's screensaver. she's a funny one - fabulously so.

Diver

I have decided to start a fantasy art collection - ie a collection comprised of pieces of art that I'd like to buy, but can't. sort of like fantasy football but, you know, not. Although, in theory, one could start out with a fantasy lump sum and buy art like mad, and see how much the collection had appreciated at the end of each year. or something. Anyway. i saw this today and thought - I'd rather like that. called Diver, it's cibochrome print mounted on aluminium with neon and is part of married couple Rob and Nick Carter's neon 'Postcard from Vegas' series.

Vintage swimming

Good it's been eons since i posted anything. Yikes.

Still, this is where, who and how I wish I were today.

Pencil sculpture

Yet another chapter in my 'book of obsessions' (see moustaches, matryoshkas et al) relates to pencils. more specifically pencils with rubbers on the end, which i steal on a regular basis from swish hotels and with which I write all the time. but when i was sent a link to this post on Sharon Montrose's blog i sort of felt put in my place. writing with pencils with rubbers on the end is clearly too damn fricking obvious when you could, you know, be sculpting their lead into letters of the alphabet, figurines, hearts or shoes...  A big woop for Brazilian born, Connecticut based artist Dalton Ghetti

Wastwater

I came out of Wastwater, a series of three short, tangentially linked plays (an elliptical triptych is what the Royal Court call it), having very much enjoyed them, but really quite foggy about what their point was. which was a bit strange. for some reason beforehand i though they had an eco link. but while watching, nothing of that nature particularly struck a cord. Each story takes place in the immediate environs of Heathrow airport - were the plays about the intimate, minor dramas lost in the roar of international activity? or the flightpath as metaphor for something - emotional journeys? the noise and fear and fright and excitement of takeoff and landing as one chapter closes and another opens? who knows. i'm still wondering. still, all of the above said, it was strangely compelling... 

I am fan of both Simon Stephens (playwright) and Katie Mitchell (Director), and I loved the claustrophobic intensity of each of the two-handers - the dialogue is pacey and has no pre-amble;  thrown into scenes dripping with drama from the get-go you must work to catch on to what's happening in them: who are the characters? where are they? what's their connection to one another? how well do they know each other?

Within each section, one of the characters is pushed to (and beyond) a significant, and potentially life-changing point by the other,  in a situation that is (one presumes) all too familiar to the latter. is it a good  thing? or darkly sinister? the tension is almost unbearable at points (in the best way, as oppose to a boring way) - the mystery being unravelled is teasingly, tantalisingly drawn out even as the dialogue races along.

weird. but in a good way.

Rocket to the Moon

At last, a play at the National Theatre that I've actually enjoyed this year. Huzzah. Clifford Odette's play, set in New York, in the sweltering summer of 1938, in a dentist's waiting room to be precise, is a hothouse of anaesthetised emotion... trapped in a stuffy, humid, small, soulless room the atmosphere is claustrophobic, constrained, stale, uncomfortable - much like the life of dentist Ben Stark, a man pushed one way by his haranguing wife (Keeley Hawes), and pulled another by her exuberant father, with whom she is at loggerheads.It's tiring to watch, let alone experience.

Everyone is bursting with opinions and passion but Stark himself. In sweeps the beautiful Cleo Singer, a pert, zingy, smiling breath of fresh air oozing energetic, excited youthfulness. The men go crazy, the women - ach, less so. The waiting room is the perfect setting for the waiting game that subsequently unfolds - what we're waiting for is less certain... is this an office romance or something altogether bigger, grander, more interesting...? They both must escape the claustrophobia, but what's the best way? with each other? or through some kind of self revelation?

It's cleverly played out - sinewy with emotion and  beautifully acted - Jessica Raine as Cleo is all  fidgety nubile sexuality,Joseph Millson Stark all twisted, manipulated confusion, Keely Hawes as his wife, strident, pose striking, looking-down-her-nose posturing while her father is a bouncing ball of rebellion and wit. I also especially loved the rather down-on-his-luck second dentist played by Peter Sullivan (so excellent in the Donmar's the Late Middle Classes with Helen McRory last year), who brought out the tragi-comic direness of his lacklustre life with glorious brio.

A tad long, but otherwise A1.

Melancholia

After Antichrist, dare we watch Lars von Trier's latest offering? I think yes....though we'll have to wait until July 1st.

The world beard and moustache championships

Yes people, this is really happening - the world beard and moustache championships. Trondhjem. Norway. May 15th. words ESCAPE me. well, except for: Huzzah!

Russian doll obsession in motion

LOVE LOVE LOVE. about 2 years old. but better late than never, je pense.

Incurable Romantic Seeks Dirty Filthy Whore

Art i am lusting after... Harland Miller's new penguin prints from Other Criteria. What's annoying is when i first saw one of these and loved it, it was £500. now they are selling for £1,250. Fuck, bugger, bollocks.

The Most Incredible Thing

The Pet Shop Boys and Javier de Frutos' ballet interpretation of the Hans Christian Andersen story The Most Incredible Thing is indeed just that; The Most Incredible Thing. or at least i thought so as i sat there grinning manically and thoroughly caught up in the gloriously dynamic innovation of this magical story. The tale itself is a simple one - a king promises  his daughter's hand in marriage to the person who presents him with the most incredible thing. and that incredible thing (made by the simple carpenter you are rooting for who just happens to be in love with the princess, and she him) proves to be a truly knock-your-socks off clock which draws you inside, to its inner workings which are a multifaceted, kaleidoscopic world of pure wonder. there's some too-ings and fro-ings as sinister elements collude to overturn harmony, but it all ends well - with a marriage and the jolly pronouncement that 'no one was jealous'.

This production was conceived by The Pet Shop Boys, and there's a definite pop music cut and thrust to the ballet - it's upbeat and pacey from the get-go and there's no pretentious messing about when it comes to emotional impact - love, anger, danger and innovation are boldly articulated through both the music and movement. It works perfectly on stage; intensely dramatic, moving and punchy. I'm no expert when it comes to things like choreography, but all i can say is this - you feel every twinge of emotion in every sinuous flex as the bodies dance about - the angry tension, the fluidity of love, the resistance, compliance, nerves, joy and fear. It's magical.

The ballet opens with the pulsating ferocity of a video projection - numbers flash, followed by the laborious and intricate cutting of  paper into pretty shapes. when the curtain rises there's a paper castle suspended above the stage. it's double sided as if reflected in a mirror. this idea of two sides of one whole, opposites inextricably linked and reflections is one that recurs throughout the ballet, via the use of mirrors and monochromatic visuals. This theme culminates with the destruction of the clock; which is seen as being incredible as its creation. White goodness is set against the shadowy greys of evil. The stage floor is reflective, a melting pot for the two. This floor later proves the perfect foundation for a hall of mirrors which prevents the hero and heroine from meeting. They are both there, but they see only themselves. Creation is destruction, evil is the other side of good. it's a concept that's arresting, powerful, disturbing and fascinating.

The story is set in a communist-esque Russia... there's Soviet lettering and typeface, the corps de ballet are drone-like workers, moving about with mechanical grace - robotic movements, angular limbs - while the evil henchmen have a Ruski vibe with their collarless shirts and baggy trousers tucked into boots. The feel of the piece reminded me of the Futurists, or Vorticists... the sharp edges and breaks in the dancing and the music like the angularity of their paintings.

But for me, the performance truly took flight when the story was swallowed by the clock. the whole stage becomes the mechanical turning parts of the clock at the centre of which is the clock face - pared down to an inter play of black and white - a sort of 1960s/70s op art play of monochromatic light. the series of worlds within this clock, rather than being biblical as in the original story, are like artistic movements - surrealist, expressionist etc realisations of worlds - you get a dance routine on a lips sofa while noses and ears wander about. one dancers routine is enturely inside the framework of a piano, in another internal world it's all splishes of colour.

I just didn't expect to be as bowled over as i was. but i left buoyed by the imaginative journey and the brilliant marriage of dance and music and was still completely entranced by the time i arrived home.

The most Incredible Thing is on until March 26th at Sadler's Wells.

Kneehigh's The Red Shoes

Kneehigh's darkly unnerving subversion of the fairy tale The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Andersen was one of their first productions, and given how much of a fan of theirs i've become over the years, it was interesting to see a revival of play (at the BAC) that 10 years ago catapulted them from bucolic creative exile in Cornwall into the mainstream cultural throng of the capital - this year sees their latest production, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, open in the heart of the west end.

The Red Shoes as presented by Kneehigh takes the Christian moral of the original story, which condemns vanity, moral turpitude and self interest and praises religious subservience,  and tweaks it slightly but significantly. In the original the heroine is a vain girl besotted with her red shoes; she wears them continually, shamelessly flouting social and religious convention; she becomes demonically possessed by the shoes, which cause her to dance all the time, never giving her pause for breath so she is forced to have her feet amputated - only in death does she find religious salvation and relief. In this production the heroine is a much more sympathetic figure, a rescued waif who once possessed by her scarlet demon dancing clogs is categorically rejected by the church when she asks for help - the prospect of death after her physical mutilation is less a relief than the ultimate punishment for her sins. God (in a flying cap) seems to drag her kicking and screming into the afterlife. there's no sense this is a good outcome and so she flees - it's an escape that seems to suggest that being different and doing your own thing should not be condemned.

What initially rocks the moral boat is the cast of outcasts who tell the story. The tale is narrated by a flamboyant tranny standing on high - prancing about on a platform above the stage. He's confident, wry, cocky - no morelising authority in the traditional sense. Down below the 'puppet' actors who act out the tranny's words are dressed like members of the lunatic asylum in grubby underwear and with shaved heads - they silently act out the story, accompanied by stirring music, and sporadically don accessories which give a hint of a costume - a pair of glasses and a cape, or a floral headpiece and and an apron. you're never allowed to forget that these characters are really madmen - lost, confused and controlled by a puppet master. Their mime-style performances contribute to a haunting, eerie and unsettlingly dark message, but flashes of humour  light up the stage like strobe lights - it's mesmerising, sinister, disturbing.

The tricks of performance are what maks it so special though - the fishing rod which whips the amputated red shoes about the herione's head, the dances and songs which are links in the chapters of the story, the sound effects which inject the fairy story with real horror (the sawing and crunching of bone as the butcher amputates the feet set your teeth on edge). It's magically sewn together - stitched with invisible thread, you easily follow the episodes of story, but they only really come together towards the end, when forgotten elements suddenly glow with relevance. It's no surprise it's been such a hit.

ContainerPLUS

Last week I was invited along to the first in a series of seven deadly sins salons hosted by art collective ContainerPLUS, of whom i am a MAJOR fan. Held in their very cool offices in Shoreditch, the theme was lust, and racy talks by Coco de Mer founder Sam Roddick and historian Hallie Rubenhold (something of a historical specialist in wanton ladies) both titilated and amused, as did the aphrodisiac cocktails (pomegranite and lavender) and sexily sumptuous nibbles (incuding delicious dense brownies to die for). Before i left, i was blindfolded and led into a lust confessional booth where one of the women from saucily provocative dance troupe the Lady Greys elicited some sensual secrets from me and prescribed a deliciously fruity remedial tincture.  The next event, scheduled for mid-April has the theme of Greed...

Mini Bar for the Mind

The school of life has hooked up with Morgan's Hotel Group - each room now has a mini bar for the mind as well as a chic fridge filled with over-priced alcoholic delights. i love the idea of getting steaming drunk on miniatures and launching into pretentious drunken conversations WITH A POINT. or a purpose. or a direction. or something. very pretty packaging, isn't it?

Grandfather Clock: Maarten Baas

Whilst wandering around the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam this weekend i stumbled across this grandfather clock... it's a video installation by Maarten Bass which appears to have a man inside it who draws the hand s of the clock to mark the time. insanely cool.