Council for the Advancement of Arts, Recreation and Education

Exhibition of Music Photography at the Foundry review

caareteam — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 20:50:55 +0000

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Gaelle Beri

The Foundry

86 Great Eastern Street

London EC2A 3JL

The Foundry is an ingenuous little space, which offers his humble but amicable walls to the creativity of new London artists free of charge. This surely is a quality that not many pubs boast, and it should be encouraged. In addition to that the prices of drinks are cheap and the staff are friendly.

From the 7^th of October to the 19^th of October The Foundry presents Gaelle Beri’s photography exhibition.

A series of black and white images are the exposé of the last decade most prominent figures in the British music scene.

A portraiture that is more than just iconography, because Beri’s camera captures the emotional moment of the live gig, the pathos of the singer or musician during the act of performance and it entraps the intensity of the sonic experience onto the prints.

The chiaroscuro caresses the silhouettes of the famous musicians, like Winehouse, Albarn and Cave.

Nick Cave is the muse in two portraits and, to put it in his own words, the man from The Murder Ballads indeed appears quite handsome, shot from Beri’s angle and underneath Beri’s light. He is the most dramatic of all subjects and the lens reveals a sort of poetic aura in his dark hair and dark moustache.

The light, in fact, works all figures with atmospheric suggestion and adds vivid energy to the visual pop biography signed by the 24 year old from Marseille. The vivacity in the prints renders more tangible the experience of the live act and evokes a certain sense of familiarity to be shared by all music lovers.

Gaelle Beri’s first exhibition deserves some attention; its artistic potential is remarkably strong. I personally enjoyed the exhibition very much and look forward to see more of Beri’s photographs.

By Liza Adebisi

Review of ´The Establishment´

caareteam — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 17:03:57 +0000

The Establishment

Produced by Crescent Theatre Workshop

The Etcetera Theatre

Camden Town, London

Four women work for The Establishment. Sarah, Rita, Freddie and Elsie discuss the loss of their colleague Nadya.

In the minimalistic set, composed by four desks, four chairs and a telephone, the women bring up issues of female oppression. The themes are the social perception of women roles and their career paths obstructed by pregnancies.

With The Establishment playing the role of the infamous oppressor, the play attempts to show the anxieties and the struggles of womankind…

What I found disappointing is that the performance missed theatricality. By which I mean that the acting was often too naturalistic for the stage. The simplicity of the background and of the costumes (which consisted in plain white shirts and black skirts as work uniforms) combined with the mysterious feel of the plot (because you never really find out who The Establishment is) had suggested a more incisive deliverance. Hence you would have expected a performance stark enough to compensate for what is not told by the plot and for what is not shown in the setting, maybe an expressionistic act. Whereas what you were presented with was some sort of television, sitcom act, which I am not sure suited the minimalistic scenario.

The feminist themes were poignant, but of dubious relevance to the present times. This is not to say that feminist issues should no longer have their voice in theatre, because they should, but maybe scripts should be concerned with more up to date women problems.

Essentially, the piece is a cry for help uttered and repressed within the walls of a patriarchal society, a sort of feminist response to Kokoschka’s Mörder Hoffnung der Fauen (Murderer Hope of Women). The problem with it is that it cries way too softly and it responds way too timidly.

However the audience seemed entertained and the house was almost full, which prompts that The Establishment is receiving some attention and proving to be popular at the Camden Fringe Festival.

By Liza Adebisi

Review of ‘The Would Be Gentleman’

caareteam — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 10:56:55 +0000

The Would Be Gentleman

By Moliere

Directed by Andrea Hooymans

Produced by George Sallis – Giant Olive

Lyon & Unicorn Theatre

NW5 2ED

The genius in Moliere’s comedy lies in the creation of a character or of a stereotype capable of containing all the ridiculousness and all the grossness of an entire society. Tartuffe, The Misanthrope, and The Would Be Gentleman embrace the ludicrous weaknesses of the general public. And though one speaks of weaknesses, one must not overlook the extraordinary force of their universal themes, which challenge every generation from the end of the 17^th century onwards. The Would be Gentleman, like many other works by Moliere, is a survivor through time.

The protagonist, Monsieur Jourdain, is a middle class, middle aged man, who has accumulated enough riches through the years to afford to aim at something a bit more tasteful and sophisticated than the mediocrity of the life his social status has to offer. In his escalade to refinement and aristocracy, he arms himself with dance and music lessons, philosophy and fencing classes. All that is “of quality” attracts him; he is drawn to the upper class like a magpie is drawn to gold and shiny objects.

Of course, the comedy derives from his inability to be what he wants to be, and from his presumption and blind vanity, which prevent him from seeing the bitter reality of his buffoonery.

Giant Olive’s representation of Moliere’s play, as the company’s first production, was admirable.

Simon Ryerson had jumped in as Monsieur Jourdain only a few days before I saw the show, in substitution of the former lead, who had abandoned the production for personal reasons. Ryerson, though with a script, performed well. He managed to caricature a clumsy and flamboyant character, and he was not the only substitute. Asa Joel in the vests of Cleonte, the aspiring husband to Jourdain’s daughter, had only been rehearsing for a week, as the previous Cleonte had also left the show. The replacements were not a burden, au contraire, their courage sustained by their experience of the trade and good will, gave ripe fruits and on went the show.

The presence of the actual script in itself was not too intrusive, because it was cleverly assigned the role of Monsieur Jourdain’s Guide on how to be a gentleman, a sort of note book containing codes dictated by the bon ton.

Alex Hunter doubled up as the Philosophy Master and Interpreter and was outstanding in both roles. His energy on stage was magnetic and his timing was acute. Simon Mathis overwhelmed us with an exquisitely arrogant interpretation of the Dance Teacher and Dorante.

A gripping and vibrant performance able to deliver several moments of pure good humour, I was very amused.

By Liza Adebisi

Review of photography exhibition ‘CITY OF AMBITION’

caareteam — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 10:54:40 +0000

‘CITY OF AMBITION’ by Ferit Kuyas

Photofusion Gallery

17a Electric Lane

Brixton SW9

1st August – 27th September

“A translator of emotion as well as imagery, Kuyas is no modern day Marco Polo. He’s a poet of an all-but-untranslatable ongoing reality” Bill Kouwenhoven, British Journal of Photography, July 2008

In Ferit Kuyas’ first UK exhibition he takes the changing landscape of Chinas booming economy and the exponential growth of the city of Chongqing, one of the largest cities in the world, as his muse and inspiration for a series of photographs exploring the detailed, surreal and often poetic beauty of man made constructions in this natural landscape. Kuyas’ work in this exhibition allows the viewer to quietly observe the changing nature of the landscape and the prints document a moment in history where nature is encroached upon, mercilessly in many cases, in order to allow for the man made and material to make its mark.

The images in this show often reflect a peace and stillness that belies the noise, dust and upheaval experienced by the citizens of this massive city transforming before them. Kuyas’ colour palette, in the selected prints, ranges from subtle pastel hues, primary colours of bright yellows and blues to the ethereal luminosity of the neon sign. Both Turner and Breughel are brought to mind in this show with the almost painterly eye for detail, the suffused atmospheric light and the contrast of mans vulnerability in the face of the forces of nature. In the photograph titled ‘Yangtse River, Beibin Road 2005′ a tiny figure fishing at the edge of the river leans forward into the vast expanse of the Yangtse River with the towering monuments to growth and expansion beyond him suffused in a mist of Impressionistic, other worldly stillness.

There is an innate and profound sense of pleasure to be taken from the photographs on show in this tightly edited exhibition. From the dreamlike rainbow colours of a floating restaurants neon lights reflected in the murky waters of the Yangtse ‘Restaurant Boats, Yangtse River, Chongqing 2005′ , to the graphic signs lying in wait to be hauled to a position of height and prominence, this show veers from the seemingly insignificant to the grand. In scale and composition, colour and light, nature versus nurture, Kuyas has a masterly and sensitive touch. This is a quiet, peaceful, magical show not to be missed.

Jennifer Donaghy

Review of ‘The Road Home’

caareteam — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 11:59:16 +0000

A Review of Rose Tremain’s ‘The Road Home’ – Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction winner ‘08

The Road Home is the story of one man’s attempt to better his life and the life of those he loves. We meet Lev, a father and recent widower, in a cramped coach en route from Eastern Europe to London. Sitting next to him is Lydia, a character whom Lev later comes to reject physically but to whom he turns whenever he finds himself in distress. Once he arrives he learns that his friend Rudi, who assured him twenty pounds would last a week in the city, was sorely mistaken and spends his first few nights in a B&B and the yard of a basement flat. Lev is harassed by the police, mugged by youths, left by a younger woman and temporarily disowned by his family and friends in his native country.

After a short spell as a leaflet distributor Lev eventually begins working as a pot-man in an upmarket restaurant where, through the steam and grease of the kitchen he observes the hyper efficient chef, GK Ashe. Lev is sacked after starting an affair with red headed Sophie, a younger woman with celebrity friends. Although devastated by his dismissal, Lev has been covertly learning how to cook; a passion for which he realises may give himself and his loved ones a future.

Obviously this book is about outsiders. Most the characters find themselves outside the pale. Ahmed, a kebab shop owner whom Lev delivers leaflets for when he first arrives, agonises over the recent affect of the terrorist attacks on his business: ‘British people – young and old – look at me like I’m going to poison them…I just wanna stand here and weep’. Then there is Christy, one of the strongest characters in the novel. He is a wiry, Irish alcoholic divorcee who like Lev has been separated from his child. Although a white, English speaking man he empathises with his Eastern European friend: ‘life’s a feckin’ football match to the Brits now. They didn’t used to be like this, but now they are. If you can’t get your ball in the back of the net you’re no one.’

What is so striking in the narrative are the moments of tenderness and friendship that exist in an otherwise vast city of loneliness and marginalisation. Lydia, Lev’s coach companion helps him translate the job adverts and finds him both work and a room. Lev is a thoughtful gentle man, he helps Christy clean the house for the arrival of the latter’s new girlfriend. He cooks them a meal in the hope of making a good impression for Christy. He encourages Christy to fight for access to his daughter and agrees to chaperone them with Sophie, securing a custody visit from Christy’s ex-wife. Lev also befriends a lonely old woman at a care home where he works as a chef. He visits her on her deathbed when he realises her children have probably abandoned her.

However, there is another side to Lev. After their break up, Sophie calls round to the house he shares with Christy. Lev sleeps in the untouched bedroom of Christy’s daughter. Here, among the soft toys and doll houses Lev almost rapes Sophie on the floor, both of their mouths bleeding. Again when confronted with a play containing incestuous rape Lev explodes: ‘Crazy, maybe. But I’m not sick, like this play. At home I have a daughter, Maya, I love this daughter’ to which the famous Howie Preece indignantly replies: ‘Who cares?’ said Preece. ‘That’s so not relevant. Who cares if you’ve got a daughter? This is art. This is cutting edge.’ Lev doesn’t understand how such things can be considered art. He is appalled by the play, but more so by celebrity, celebration of the obscene for the sake of its obscenity. The novel has a satisfying conclusion. Lev raises enough money to return to his village, which in the name of progress is destined to become a reservoir by the building of a massive dam. He realises his Great Idea opening a restaurant in New Baryn, with himself at the helm. He hopes to change the lives of the city’s inhabitant through good food but more poignantly by allowing them the unknown luxuries of choice and experience.

The novel is in contrast to her earlier, historical fiction (as they’ve been deemed). It can’t be doubted that most British people have an opinion on immigration, whether legal, economic or otherwise and often, with the assistance of the tabloids, migrants become dehumanised locust devouring native resources. The Road Home is an example of the pride and work-ethic that many of those from outside Britain possess in their struggle for, as in Lev’s case, consistent electricity and a meal of more than sausage and boiled eggs. The penetrating scene’s of the novel are where this struggle meets the inflated decadence of celebrity London, criminal London and sexual London. Lev asks himself whether the West is any better than his remote Eastern village.

Rose Tremain’s novel shoulders past the familiar war cries of ‘they take our jobs’, ‘they take our houses’ and leaves the inexorable realisation that we are all on a journey somewhere, all dreaming of something whether its in our own or another’s country.

Steven Partridge

Review of ‘The Life and Death of Vincent Van Gogh’

caareteam — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 12:38:12 +0000

The Life and Death of Vincent Van Gogh

by Marcus Dilly

The Etcetera Theatre

265 Camden High St.

June 17^th – 22^nd

The Life and Death of Vincent Van Gogh is a monologue written and performed by Marcus Dilly.

The piece takes us into the depth of the artist’s soul, among his torments, his pain and his desire for expression. Inspired by the painter’s letters to his brother Theo, this work is passionately written. Dilly, in his script, is able to embrace Van Gogh’s anguish and despair, his anger at the strict and merciless intolerance of Christian religion and at the hypocrisies of his contemporary society.

On stage, the images of Van Gogh’s painting are projected onto a white sheet. The paintings alternate from period to period and vary from one mood to another. They are accompanied by photographs and videos. The screen is the inner spectrum of the painter’s mind, the mind of a mad man. It is the mirror of the inner struggle of an artist à la fin de siècle, tied by his guilt to the values of the former generation, yet thirsty for change. In this conflicted spirit, Dilly, is able to discover the painter’s agonizing soul.

All in all, the monologue is a commentary on the paintings of the man whose autobiography had already been signed on canvases. Because all that Dilly is able to collect in his monologue, we had learned from the paintings. The anguish expressed in Van Gogh’s works is not just a personal struggle; it is the reflection of the insecurity of a whole generation, too weary of the past yet too afraid of the future. It is the emblem the of the end of the 19^th century and the beginning of the 20^th century, which art critics have defined as the period in between Impressionism and Expressionism. Thus Dilly does have a point when in his piece he shows the artist’s French experience and his puzzled reaction to the lights and the colours of the impressionist productions, because in this scene Van Gogh is revealed as the very son of his own time.

Although, as I have mentioned, the piece is written with fervour and enthusiasm, its performance left me slightly unconvinced. The lines were often rushed and their pace became somewhat predictable towards the end. At first I thought this could be due to the length of the piece, which is remarkably extended for a monologue (in fact the show goes on for circa one and a half hour). Then it came to me, that it may be caused by the fact that Dilly is both writer and actor at the same time. He appeared to know the script so well, that hardly any room was left for improvisation, hence the somewhat mechanical feel.

Nonetheless, for any fans and admirers of Vincent Van Gogh this is a very fulfilling piece and I strongly recommend it.

By Liza Adebisi

Review of “Le Grand Meaulnes”

caareteam — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 13:29:38 +0000

Le Grand Meaulnes – Alain-Fournier

Every springtime, once the maelstrom of exams is over for another year, I deliberately set aside a day or two of newly free time to re-read a favourite book of mine, Alain-Fournier’s Le Grand Meaulnes. First published in Fournier’s native France in 1913, the novel can be seen as something of a book-end to a simpler, less cynical European age: the final, wistful note of a romanticism that would be steamrollered the next year by the catastrophic advent of the First World War, (a war that would cruelly, yet somehow fittingly, take the life of a 27 year-old Fournier in 1914).

The story is set in a small French village called Sologne, and narrated by the elusive character of Francois Seural, whose father is the headmaster of the local school. Within a few chapters a new pupil – Augustin Meaulnes – arrives in Sologne, becomes friends with the young Francois, and achieves hero-status amongst his new classmates, thus becoming ‘Le Grand Meaulnes’. One evening Meaulnes disappears without word, returning to Sologne a few days later with stories of his fantastical experiences in a mysterious, secluded estate, wherein he witnessed a bizarre masked ball and caught a tantalisingly fleeting glance of a beautiful young lady, with whom he has fallen instantly and hopelessly in love. The novel goes on to recount Meaulnes’ subsequent attempts – aided by the ever-faithful Francois – to revisit this lost domain, to reclaim the unreclaimable.

The novel is as a masterpiece of mood, and its evocative, indefinable essence is often described of as ‘untranslatable’. Such a description highlights the critic’s conundrum when trying to convey the uniquely wistful sensibility of Le Grand Meaulnes in rational explication. Any attempt to define or to categorise the novel inevitably places intolerable emphasis on the finite, and consequently fails. It is true that the book is not perfect: some of the plotting is awkward, and it’s second half is somehow less engaging than the first; but Fournier’s great success in Le Grand Meaulnes was to capture an ethereal, almost mystical landscape in delicious prose, not to create a watertight literary organism. An impossibly affecting magic imbues place, event and theme: the picturesque setting of the Auvergne school; Meaulnes’ almost visionary experiences in the lost estate; the unreclaimable Arcadia of youth. Such magic cannot be adequately illustrated by an admiring critic, only the text itself can do this. Even the title exemplifies such critical pitfalls, the ‘grand’ broadly corresponding to English terms such as ‘great’, ‘big’ or ‘important’, yet none of these words satisfactorily evoke the particular sense of ‘grand’ in the original French. Likewise, it is impossible to do justice in a few hundred words to the subtly evocative contours of Alain-Fournier’s great novel, all that one can do is to implore others to seek it out and experience those contours for themselves.

By William Armstrong

Review of ‘Urashima Taro’

caareteam — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 10:33:31 +0000

11 June 2008

Urashima Taro

Presented by Rouge28 Theatre

Camdn People’s Theatre

58-60 Hampstead Rd,

London, Nw1 2PY

Urashima Taro is an old Japanese legend about the life of a fisherman.

According to the story one day Urashima drowned deep into the ocean. He was saved by a mysterious lady, in whose house he found love and shelter. Here he was hosted in the oblivion of his past, of his old mother and of his old village.

It is a tale of the kamishibai tradition adapted by Rouge28 Theatre with Ningyō jōruri (Japanese puppet theatre) techniques.

There is an irresistible and mystique charm in the kamishibai story telling. Kamishibai stories are somewhat similar in their moral and pedagogic purposes to Aesop’s fables. Though the Japanese tales have a more accentuated dramatic tone, they present darker themes, reveal a taste for the enigmatic and the unknown, and are more evocative of remote peoples and landscapes than their Greek counterparts.

The charismatic power of this style of story telling lies in its ability to stimulate and revive the spectator’s imagination. In fact, as the plot unfolds through the naïveté of the illustrations in the e-maki (picture scrolls), you make an active effort to gaze and wonder through the imagery represented in a tiny screen, and because you make that effort you become more involved. It is all very manual; you get to see the puppet being moved by the puppeteer and the pictures being slid by the storyteller. The animation is not dynamic, nor sophisticated or technologically advanced, yet the rougher the quality of the effects, the more real the show feels and the more tangible its impression is on the audience.

Urashima Taro is told on the Camden People’s stage by a solo performer, Aya Nakamura. In the Ningyō jōruri show she is the story teller, the chanter, the mysterious lady and the puppeteer. Urashima Taro is represented by a puppet.

Nakamura is delightful in all roles.

I especially liked her when she was interacting with the puppet. She managed to create a magic parallelism between the ongoing action on the stage and the story plot. Whilst Nakamura was physically manipulating and controlling the puppet, her character, the mysterious lady, was maneuvering Urashima’s soul, feeding him sweet potions and nectars and luring him with her warm caresses. The actress gracefully swayed across the stage, bringing her puppet to life, like the mysterious lady had done with Urashima’s drowned body.

Nakamura is a capable puppeteer and a refined actor. As I saw the puppeteer direct her instrument with skill, I admired the actress react to the puppet’s every movement with meticulous attention.

Thus this legend is told: by a forthright storyteller who hides no tricks and by an intriguing player who creates the illusion of a second presence on stage. In a scene, where the lady dances with the puppet, you really wonder who is leading whom…

Like Urashima, I was fascinated and captured!

by Liza Adebisi

Review of ‘Pygmalion’

caareteam — Thu, 29 May 2008 14:29:50 +0000

Pygmalion

By G.B. Shaw

Directed by Peter Hall

The Old Vic Theatre

Running until 9 Aug 08

Last Sunday I went to the Old Vic to see Peter Hall’s production of Pygmalion.

I confess that this is the first time I have seen Shaw’s play, as I have always refused to watch the more popular musical version My Fair Lady.

My abstention was due firstly to the fact that musicals do not appeal to my personal taste, and secondly to the fact that I had read this version ends in a happy marriage between Eliza and Higgins.

Pygmalion is a play about social distance and division, and please forgive me if what I am about to say may sound irreverent to happy endings, their good nature and optimistic intentions, but a wedding fails to impress me as the very plausible and honest coronation of any division.

The theme of a rigid class system, with its victims and consequences so well displayed in Shaw’s works, is still poignant to British audiences today. This is why this play overcomes the proof of time and I believe that its bleak impact, enhanced by the original non-happy ending, should be preserved.

Peter Hall’s Pygmalion, unlike the musical, is courageously faithful to the harshness of Shaw’s realism.

Shaw’s opinions often find an aisle to freedom in Higgins’s lines. The phonologist criticizes and derides his contemporary society in all its aspects and at all its levels.

Tim Piggot-Smith flaunts to a delighted audience Higgins’s decadent enjoyment in picking on the rigorous mannerism of a shallow society.

His character is never apologetic for his almost tyrannical behaviour and he rarely shows remorse for offending or provoking. Listening to Piggot-Smith erupt into the most outrageous and hilarious comments is an absolute pleasure.

All characters are beautifully and adroitly interpreted.

James Laurenson plays a genteel Colonel Pickering, Una Stubbs is a lovely Mrs Pearce, and Barbara Jefford interprets an austere and elegant Mrs Higgins. Tony Haygarth gives the audience memorable comic moments as a cunning and colourful Alfred Doolittle and Michelle Dockery is adorable in the role of Eliza.

By Liza Adebisi

Review of ‘Checkhov’s Farces’

caareteam — Thu, 22 May 2008 10:05:35 +0000

Chekhov’s Farces

By Anton Chekhov

Produced by Act Provocateur Int., www.actprovocateur.net

Lion & Unicorn Theatre, Kentish Town

2 May – 25 May

Act Provacateur presents Chekhov’s less famous one-act farces and short stories. Chekhov used to describe them as vaudevilles and regarded them as mundane, written only for lucrative purposes. Their comic element appeals to a more puerile sense of humour: their characters are more grotesque, and less solemn, than the sarcastic Solyony, the cynical Vanya and the tormented Konstantin, whom we meet in the writer’s major works. Their dialogues never rise into existential philosophising.

Chekhov’s Farces are staged by Act Provocateur as a series of episodes, with the actors alternating their roles. The short stories are brilliantly adapted for the stage by Victor Sobchak, and the scripts are funny and witty. The cast showed talent and flexibility in most scenes. Alice Fernbank’s performance was outstanding, as noted by a member of the audience, who in response to a direct approach by the performer, commented “you are a fantastic actress”. Fernbank delivered her lines with acute comic timing and cleverly employed the German accent (when playing the German wife).

Less clear was the purpose for the Russian twang used by Leander Pittis as Khirin in The Anniversary. Of course, one could argue that the accent is only there to add to the comic effect, but it is only Khirin who speaks with a Russian intonation, the other three characters in the scene don’t. This makes the exchange of lines slightly disharmonious. The choice of accent is often a debatable issue in Chekhovian representations, a dilemma of which the causes remain completely and utterly mysterious to me. If the story is set in Russia, I can’t help but wonder, why would its characters speak English with a Russian accent? They simply wouldn’t, they don’t, and they never did. Chekhov’s characters are Russian from head to toe, and it is Russian they speak. So when translated in English, only the non-Russians, like the French servant in The Foreigner, should have a foreign accent. Accents often serve to define stereotypes or to inform the audience about the characters’ social and cultural background, but when misused they veil the show with an amateurish gusto.

Chekhovian drama usually struggles to find completeness on a small stage. When you think of Chekhov’s pieces you automatically associate them with large stages with rich naturalistic backgrounds, literally crowded with actors. A vastness of setting designed to evoke the vastness of the Russian landscape and a multitude of actors to represent the multiple faces and aspects of Russian society in its heyday. The Lion and Unicorn theatre is hardly a palace and does not inspire grandiosity in any form. Yet the nostalgia for all this pomposity last Sunday failed to make its mark on me or the rest of the audience, because everyone was enjoying the cosiness in the room above the pub in Kentish Town. As a spectator you did not feel like you were peeping through the balcony of a Russian country estate or gazing through the fence of a summer garden seeing life unfold. It felt more like those light-hearted days in childhood when you were reunited with your peers to listen to a great story being told. You might have been sitting on the harsh pavement or on the wet grass, you might have been feeling claustrophobic because your neighbour might have been chewing or laughing aloud, and yet you wanted to stay and listen.

By Liza Adebisi