By the sounds of things, the whole time Adrian Deutsch was a member of Sydney's tight jeaned indie afficionados Red Riders, he was hard at study. His topic of choice was clean and sparkly pop, learning from the masters on his ipod, or tuning discreetly into 101.7 FM's "Classic Hits" between wowing the masses of teenagers at Red RIders shows. Since leaving the band he has put down an album of solo pop gems, headed to the tailor and traded the stovepipes for a well fitting suit, reinventing himself for a smarter and more studied audience that would appreciate his hooks and cheese (and we are talking the aged Parmigiano, not the Kraft singles). Help You! is the title of his solo debut, and judging from the few songs on his myspace, it will be full of crafted pop, with leanings into easy listening and Bacharach-esque horns, with shouts to Gainsbourg, Elvis Costello and even some of Jarvis Cocker's work. I insist you listen to the title track Help You! as it is a real gem of a pop tune, with a smooth croon and smart arrangement with the production of Deutsch and Berkfinger (Philadelphia Grand Jury) pushing the pop hooks to the fore. It will be interesting to see how he pulls it off live â€" the horns, pianos, layered vocals â€" but I'm sure with his capable band he will do a fine job of interpreting the songs.https://youtube.com/watch?v=EMeA9tfaF6M
The American Dream stretches far beyond its country’s borders. And yet in looking to trade in the Israeli wall for an Illinois white-picket fence, Palestinian Muna (Nisreen Faour) and her teenage son, Fadi (Melkar Muallem) find the dream elusive in 2003 Iraq war America. Writer/director Cherien Dabis’ debut feature Amreeka illuminates the modern immigrant experience to heart warming, pointed effect. Born of Palestinian/Jordanian immigrant parents, Dabis seems keen to tackle the presumptions and pretensions attendant to the migrant experience; not only the rampant racism of Americans towards Arabs, but also the romantic assumptions held of ‘home’ by the Palestinian diaspora. However what sounds like a potential diatribe is actually a lovely, funny film. Carried by Faour’s infectiously enthusiastic performance, whatever ‘messages’ Amreeka seeks to communicate are well couched in authentically written characters. Muna’s rocky American assimilation is balanced by her sister’s (Hiam Abbass) mortgage woes, now patients are abstaining from her husband’s (Yussef Abu-Warda) medical practice. While the teenage experience also features, with Fadi’s plight plotted alongside his cousin’s (Alia Shawkat) rebellion. Only the kindly, Polish-Jew headmaster (Joseph Ziegler) rings a bit false, though it does lead to an edifying discussion about chess. With advanced screenings this week, which marks the 20th Anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, perhaps Armeeka will hold a special significance. In capturing the wall that envelops the West Bank, Dabis’ vérité-style camera includes a shot of graffiti reading Ich bin ein Berliner...if only JFK’s famously inaccurate pledge of solidarity still translated for those coming to Amreeka.To win a double pass to see Amreeka just email us at hello@concreteplayground.com.au with your name, address and 'Amreeka' in the subject line.https://youtube.com/watch?v=0luS4IWZJrQ https://youtube.com/watch?v=_Pjn5E6yOKo
Plundering the depths of Martin Sharp's personal collection, rumoured to be labyrinthian in its documentation, the Museum of Sydney has unveiled an exhibition comprised of some of Sharp's most iconic works. Martin Sharp Sydney artist is a retrospective that spans the artist's life to date through imagery, much gathered from his own archives.With well-known interests in recurring subjects that tend to combine both elements of Pop iconography and a certain kind of sobriety such as Luna Park, Ginger Meggs and his friend Tiny Tim, Sharp's work is instantly recognisable. Having forged a career as an art director and co-founder of the truly incredible "magazine of dissent" Oz with Richard Neville in 1963 (launched on April Fool's Day, no less), Sharp rose to notoriety through both obscenity trials and the prodigious output of idiosyncratic work.Much has been made of the artist's gaggle of friends at that time, the psychedelic offspring of the Sydney Push perhaps, but it's the art that Sharp has continued on with that is the core of this exhibition. It extends further than a simple retrospective of the work of an artist, it is also a retrospective of Sydney and the artist's role in its once counterculture history that is so often overlooked or forgotten.There is also a series of talks to coincide with the exhibition throughout November:Sunday 1: Ace Bourke, exhibition coordinatorSunday 8: Albie Thoms, filmmaker, speaking about his life withMartin Sharp in the Yellow HouseSunday 15: Luke Scriberras, artist and friend of Martin SharpSunday 22: Richard Neville, former editor, Oz Magazine,futurist and writerImage: Film Strip (detail), Martin Sharp
One would be hard-pressed to find an outing more quintessentially 'Sydney' than the Bondi-to-Bronte Coast Walk, its length punctuated by winding markers that give the impression that it may well be endless. Instead, it is merely endlessly beautiful, particularly now that the decking has been extended and refurbished.There is perhaps one time of the year when this coastal stroll manages to outdo itself, during the much loved Sculpture by the Sea which stretches from Tamarama to Bondi. If you can overlook the conservatism of this year's Waverley Council decency police, there are many delights to see. Each sculpture responds to the landscape in which it is situated, offering a kind of site specificity that one doesn't often get to engage with in such numbers.Sculpture by the Sea has been steadily growing in each of its twelve years, and this year features 107 works to consider. So winning is this event, that it needs to be prefaced with a warning: it gets BUSY. Go early!Image: Winner of this years Balnavas Foundation Sculpture Prize, May Barrie with her work 'time and tide granite monolith II'
New Years Eve. It's still two months away but the pressure has started to build. Falls Fest has sold out, the Opera House is selling tickets to their $895 party, and a few people I know have already discussed "just having a quiet one", knowing full well they'll panic on the day. The best option in Sydney if you want to drink and dance and not have the police knock on your door about noise complaints at 2am is definitely the Purple Sneakers party. Held at Sydney University's Manning House (as in, not just the bar but the whole three levels), the festival long line-up is verging on ridiculously good. Playing live are The Grates, The Boxer Rebellion (UK), Ponytail (USA), Baddies (UK), Red Riders, Philadelphia Grand Jury, DZ + more, more, more more to be announced.Early-bird priced tickets are now on sale, and FYI, it sold out last year.https://youtube.com/watch?v=yGpuC5I3jB4
Yes, Newtown, we know all about you. Op shops, music, food, terraces, hairdressers, art, retro furniture, pubs, experimental locals... And oh how we love you. So much so that we will sacrifice a whole day of our time to wander, celebrate and bathe in your atmosphere. Our ears will happily submit themselves to the selection of music you have to offer: we'll get romantically Romani with the Crooked Fiddle Band, shoegaze with Seekae, and tango along to the Barons of Tang. We'll wade through your numerous stalls, armed with all the delicious foodstuffs that you have to offer, and discuss eco-friendly lifestyle tips. Suspending our usually sophisticated exterior, we will watch the dog show and barrack loudly for our favourites. We even promise not to BYO any alcohol in glass bottles. We will offer you the respect and love you truly deserve. And we will even leave a generous donation to thank you, and the Newtown Neighbourhood Centre, for your troubles.Photo by Amy Mergard
Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble, can you do the mutant shuffle? Duke Magazine are giving their annual dance-off a macabre makeover this Friday with the most swingin’ Halloween party in town â€" Duke's Mutant Dance-Off. Slip into your deadliest dancing shoes and do the smashed potato, the jittery jitterbug, the ooga boogaloo or the king conga… pull enough tricks on the dance floor and you could be crowned King or Queen of the mutant monster mash! Dress code is, of course, mutant, so think along the lines of a footloose Frankenstein. DJs Mike Tyson, National Treasure, Sirens and Sex Azza Weapon are on the decks, with cool prizes from Converse, Levis and more up for grabs. You can enter with a partner or go solo… just make sure you’re there by 8pm sharp. https://youtube.com/watch?v=0thH3qnHTbI
Now in it's ninth year, the Audi Festival of German Films returns to Sydney with 30 features to thoroughly sate your Deutsch-longing while you wait for Oktoberfest to roll around again. Ever more successful each year (last year's drew record crowds), the festival is the kind of two-week event where one really needs to go through the guide with a highlighter (preferably orange). You'll be thankful, then, that the program is split into five threads for easy location: Berlin Based, German Currents, Culinary Comedies and films by Fatih Akin and Sonke Wortmann. Highlights of Berlin Based include the three-part miniseries (originally made for TV) The Wolves of Berlin, which follows a group of teenagers in 1948 over the next 50 years, focusing on the years 1948, 1961 and 1989, all times of upheaval. Another is the new film starring Mads Mikkelsen (also appearing in Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky at cinemas now), The Door, the kind of film that comes with a "don't read too much before you see it" synopsis. In the German Currents section, there's My Words, My Lies for lovers, The Crocodiles for families and The Day Will Come for revolutionaries/terrorists. Also in this section is Michael Haneke's 2009 Cannes Palme d'Or winning beauty The White Ribbon. For those that like to mix food and film, Culinary Comedies boasts Kebab Connection and Tandoori Love, the first European Bollywood production. And then, for the completists, there is curatorial devotion to the films of Fatih Akin and Sonke Wortmann, the latter featuring Pope Joan starring Johanna Wakalek (Baader Meinhof Complex), John Goodman and David Wenham in a film about a woman who disguises herself as a man in the ninth century to rise through the Catholic Ranks (that old chestnut). To win one of six double passes to the festival just visit our Facebook page, click 'Suggest to Friends' and tell your mates about Concrete Playground, then confirm your entry on our wall. https://youtube.com/watch?v=46u7E4DAqkk
Farce: a light, humorous play in which the plot depends upon a skilfully exploited situation rather than upon the development of character. By this definition alone, the Druid Ireland theatre company’s production of The Walworth Farce would not have the intricately nuanced, highly developed characters and rich layers of subtext that it does. More than simply a two-dimensional farce, this play within a play is like watching the World Cup final then being pulled in from the sidelines to run alongside the panting, sweating players. From the outset the performance sets a relentlessly challenging pace, with thick Irish dialogue pelted about with the force and precision of an M15 rifle. Light and frivolous, yes, but stacked with dimensions of light and shade that an impeccably composed script and three highly skilled actors oscillate frantically between. Written by award-winning playwright Enda Walsh and directed by actor-turned-director Mikel Murfi, The Walworth Farce utilises elements of farce, melodrama and black comedy to explore the strange and sinister world of a father (Michael Glenn Murphy) and his two adult sons (Raymond Scannell and Tadhg Murphy). The play opens with the opening of another play, their play, performed not for us but for each other, with the utmost commitment. Throughout the first act we witness the unfolding of what we later discover is the warped story of their obscure past. What at first seems like nothing more than an absurd kind of lighthearted romp, later becomes darkly disturbing with the arrival of a stranger, checkout-chick Hayley (Mercy Ojelade), who unwittingly becomes entangled in the madness. Having toured the world from Europe to the US, one would expect no less than a seamlessly performed, polished production, and these seasoned players don’t disappoint. From the set design to the directorial choices, the details are approached with expert finesse and the material handled with veteran skill that begs the question: how the hell are they doing this? So if you like theatre for the same reasons you like roller-coasters and/or pseudoephedrine, you wont be left wanting with this technically brilliant but stark raving mad production of The Walworth Farce.
For those of us who aren't anthropologists, a 'cargo cult' is a kind of ritual practice that emerges in some tribal societies following contact with a 'technologically advanced' culture. Participants, believing that the 'cargo' (or materials possessed by the foreigners) is actually intended for them by their gods or ancestors, invent rituals to ensure that this cargo is properly delivered to them. Possibly the most famous of these is the John Frum Movement, which is still alive and kicking on Tanna island in Vanuatu. In response to American presence on the island, in the '40s the cult built imitation landing strips and control towers from available materials (wood, tin, bamboo and rope). These were manned and 'operated' in the same way that locals had observed American officers doing and were intended to lure the planes which would deliver their cargo to them. February 15 in Vanuatu is still John Frum Day and religious practices involve (among other things) an enaction of American history through music and dance. All this is rich material for Mike Daisey, the theatrical version of Michael Moore, who recounts his experience of John Frum Day in monologue format. Playing on a looser definition of a cargo cult as an imitation of superficial elements without comprehension of deeper meaning, Daisey links these seemingly bizarre practices with our own 'technologically advanced' faith in a financial system which most of us have little or no understanding of.
One must admit that when it comes to our import/export trade-off with Britain, we trump them every time. I mean, we’ve donated Neighbours, Violet Crumbles, the Minogue sisters, and the list goes on. Meanwhile, what have they given us in return? The Queen? And what has she done for us lately? But now, in what can only be considered a noble attempt at evening out the score, the UK brings us the iconic international electro music festival Creamfields. A virgin to our shores, Creamfields, coupled with the Totem Onelove Group, will be pulling out all stops for this inaugural affair, with a lineup to rival any inflated superclub in the peak of European summer. Headliners include the Bloody Beetroots, who will debut their live show; one third of Swedish House Mafia group Steve Angello; MSTRKRFT, who we all know from their nifty remixes of other peoples music; and oh so many more. Now in its 12th consecutive year, the Creamfields mothership docks in over 17 countries around the world and will commence its tour of Oz on Saturday, May 1, at Sydney’s Hordern Pavilion and surrounds, before jetting off to Perth, Brisbane and Melbourne. With the first and second release tickets already hoovered up by hungry festival fanatics, be sure to jump on the third and final opportunity to revel in the frothy fields of cream for what promises to be a first-class fiesta.
Design in Australia is exciting and enlightening for the myriad of forms it takes. From functional furniture to meticulous modelling and innovative ideas, all manner of contemporary design is on show this month in DesignNow! 2010 at Sydney’s Object Gallery. This year’s exhibition brings together graduate students from design schools across New South Wales, Victoria and the Australian Capital Territory and is impeccably displayed in the main gallery space. Emi Fukuda, for her playful jewellery, and Zaki Arif, for his geographically relevant firefighter’s mask, received the Object Award for Creative Innovation, while Amy Carr-Bottomley received the Living Edge Travelling Scholarship for her dynamic Origamic Textiles. Other striking entries to the competition are Jessica Benhar’s Behind the Stuff, Michaela Bruton’s delicate filigree jewellery, Alina McConnochie and Erik Escalante’s hypothetical extension of Beirut and Hannah Ritchie Young’s quirky exploration into how humans react to built environments. Broaden your definition of design this month with DesignNow! Emi Fukuda, ring from the Childhood Habitat series, 2009. Image by Saskia Wilson.
A vampire should be staked through the heart, decapitated, cooked on a skewer and then served up with garlic bulbs. At least that's the way it was done in the old country. But since infiltrating Hollywood, those bloodsuckers have us salivating for their brooding, glitter-covered cheekbones and six-packs. F.W. Murnau, German expressionist filmmaker and gleeful copyright flaunter, knew the truth. And now, 88 years after its original release, a remastered version of his classic, Nosferatu, is coming to the Opera House. Coming with it is Count Orlok, a filthy, skeletal, bug-eyed freak that would have pretty boys like Edward, Lestat and Angel clawing their dreamy eyes out. Adding sound to this silent masterpiece are chaotic septet Darth Vegas and the aptly monikered Miss Death, of Mu Meson fame. Those afraid of vampiric retribution on the night need not worry: Jay Katz will be introducing the screening and it's usually the guy with the mike that gets taken out first. https://youtube.com/watch?v=lwKIc8kNkRQ
If you’re struggling to make sense of our world after the Easter long weekend, or are simply recovering from overindulgence, check out Satanism by what at Gallery 9. With the statement “I do not work for God, directly. I work for God in mysterious ways. I work for God in the same way that I might work for Satan”, the intriguing artist known as what unwraps the point behind his current solo show. In his exploration of the boundaries of the light and dark sides, and the symbiotic relationship between them, what uses Bach’s Chaconne in D Minor as a framework. Originally written for the violin, the chaconne (the last part of a larger piece of music) was seen as one of the most difficult pieces to play — in its fifteen or so minutes it covers all facets of the violin, as known to Bach at the time. It’s these variations that become a study on Satanism. Small, white, inverted crosses on black backgrounds reveal that one tone is nothing if not undefined without the other.
From the opening frame of this starkly elegant familial drama, there is a sense that we are being steered along a fastidiously calculated course by a team of highly trained navigators. Each extravagantly stylised shot is defined by a purpose, each sweeping metaphor glaringly apparent and each subtle nuance carved into a meticulous performance by Tilda Swinton is decidedly done. We first meet Emma (Swinton) gracefully directing the proceedings of an opulent dinner party for her ageing father-in-law, the patriarch of the Recchi clan and founder of an exceedingly successful textile company in Milan. Clearly Emma is well versed in such things, coordinating the event with seamless, almost mechanical ease. We immediately get the sense that this is how she conducts her life and has done since leaving her native Russia to marry Tancredi (Pippo Delbono), who shares heirship to the Recchi throne with his eldest son Edoardo (Flavio Parenti). She is skillfully playing the role required of her as a "Recchi woman" — dutiful wife, mother and honorary Italian — yet nothing seems to land. Her life, like the immaculate art deco villa she and her family inhabit, is a beautifully designed, gilded cage that engulfs her entirely. When Emma is introduced to Edoardo’s new friend and talented young chef Antonio (Edoardo Gabbriellini), we see in her the first spark of what will later become a monstrous flame of passion and the beginnings of a familiar, Shakespearean tragedy-like course of action. I am Love (Io sono l’amore) has been more than seven years in the making and is the collaborative effort of Swinton and Sicilian-born director/co-writer/producer Luca Guadagnino. Its lengthy gestation period is evident throughout the highly polished finished product — each cinematic choice seeming at times a little too deliberate, from the dramatic operatic score by esteemed composer David Adam to the lush, expansive cinematography by Yorick Le Saux (Swimming Pool). The painstaking attention to aesthetic certainly makes for a stunning visual feast — with lingering shots of the seductive European countryside, architecture and cuisine — but, unfortunately, tends to swallow the intimacy between characters and overwhelm the narrative. However, the intrigue and complexity of this film does not lie within the storyline itself, which follows an obvious course and indulges a little too often in bloated metaphor; rather, it is etched into Swinton's delicately nuanced performance. The result: a powerful portrayal of a woman caught between the constraints of societal expectation and an innate desire for freedom and self-expression.
On a recent visit to Paris, I attempted to speak French to a group of locals. Despite the fact I could barely string a sentence together, the males in the group were enchanted and asked me to repeat "je ne sais pas" and "enchanté" over and over again. Apparently, a foreign accent is incredibly sexy to the French, as long as you're not attempting to order an Italian "latte" from an impatient waiter who presumes you're a British tourist. So, this got me thinking: if I were to record an album of French covers in my sexy Australian accent, would it have the same effect on the French as Nouvelle Vague's covers of Depeche Mode's 'Just Can't Get Enough' and the Undertones' 'Teenage Kicks' have on us? Most likely not. Truth be told, no musician has ever quite pulled off a cover version as spectacularly as Nouvelle Vague. This collective of French artists is made up of past and current members including Anais Croze, Camille Dalmais, Phoebe Killdeer, Melanie Pain, Marina Celeste and Gerald Toto. The magnifique news is that Nouvelle Vague are heading to Sydney on June 16 to host So Frenchy So Chic at the Factory Theatre, where they will be performing covers new and old in their unique post-punk-meets-bossanova style. They are supported by Bardot-esque French singer-songwriter Berry, who performs only in her native tongue. https://youtube.com/watch?v=rt8vRmp9iMs
Who hasn't thought about spending an evening with Stephen Fry? Certainly he seems more intelligent than you, dear reader, and me, too. Probably far more charming at least. What would you do that night? Have him discuss how a love of Oscar Wilde helped him attune to this sexuality, or let him tell you about the time he single-handedly saved the only copy of Emma Thompson's Sense and Sensibility screenplay which would later win her an Oscar? No matter what, I'd be hoping at least for a glass of sherry and a couple of in-jokes about his pal Prince Charles. One half of Fry and Laurie (guess which), Stephen rose through the Cambridge comedic ranks and has since turned his dapper hand to film, television and print. He appeared as Lord Snot in The Young Ones, toured America in a London cab (even I thought that was a bit much), panels the quiz show QI currently on ABC1 and appears on that show with Angel and Zooey Deschanel's sister. Just two weeks ago, he schooled me via his television show on the fact that I had been pronouncing Evelyn Waugh incorrectly all this time (Eve-a-lyn not Ev-a-lyn) — and he should know, given that he adapted and directed Waugh's Vile Bodies into Bright Young Things in 2003. If I kept digging through his biography, we'd be here until he promenades onto the stage at the Sydney Opera House on July 27 and 28. That will never do; I must find something to wear. https://youtube.com/watch?v=s_osQvkeNRM
Andrea Arnold may currently be adapting Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights, but the Academy Award-winning director has already etched her own canonical cinematic work. Thematically, visually and viscerally, Fish Tank is a remarkable achievement; a coming-of-age story that puts a contemporary and gendered twist on the Angry Young Men oeuvre of 1960s British Cinema. Fish Tank is the story of Mia (Katie Jarvis), a 15-year-old tearaway rattling around the rusty cage of council estate Essex. A powder keg of attitude and hormones, the only thing that keeps Mia sane is hip hop dancing and drinking cider. But when her pretty young mum Joanne (Kierston Wareing) brings home Connor (Michael Fassbender), Mia is soon warily enamoured of his kindly consideration and driven to distraction by his beautiful physique. In what is tantamount to a dance of young lust and devastating naïveté, Arnold's camera bears witness to Mia's transformation as well as her entrapment. While the symbols of her captivity are perhaps a little overplayed, with Jarvis, Fassbender and Wareing Arnold achieves an utterly mesmerising pas de trois. Indeed, Jarvis is a force of nature in her debut role, while Fassbender effortlessly balances a palpable sexuality with warm, fatherly concern. Combined, it's a potent, unforgettable mix and one that Arnold corrals into her striking and seductive crucible, the fish tank. https://youtube.com/watch?v=a7BFZqQ4ruA
A typically bland, clean-cut suburban family this motley crew ain't. Within the walls of a deceptively serene weatherboard house in the quaint fishing village of City Island on the outskirts of Manhattan dwell a working-class family engaged in a perpetual game of emotional hide-and-seek. Vince Rizzo (Andy Garcia) is a prison guard leading a comfortable but mundane life who harbours a niggling desire to be an actor, a shameful secret he doesn’t dare reveal to his wife (Julianna Margulies). Meanwhile, his wayward daughter Vivian (Dominik Garcia-Lorido), who’s visiting on spring break, keeps sneaking off to her job as a stripper, while the teenage Vince Junior (Ezra Miller) is struggling with an all-consuming fat-girl fetish. But the real secret lies with Tony (Steven Strait), a charismatic ex-inmate whom Vince Snr brings home to stay with the family for reasons that threaten to dismantle his quiet existence. A random but essential ingredient to season the mix is Emily Mortimer, who plays Molly, a fellow aspiring actor who acts as a catalyst and muse for Vince’s pursuit of his true calling and the revelation of his darkest secrets. In keeping with the recent slew of kooky indie films about the contemporary, dysfunctional nuclear family, writer/director Raymond De Felitta revels in the oddness of his characters. An endearingly idiosyncratic bunch, the chemistry between these mottled players and exceptional performances by all create an engaging, entirely watchable 100 minutes of cinema. It’s these detailed characterisations that also give the film its originality and save it from the hackneyed tricks of its genre. City Island is a simple story well told, and like the place itself, holds its own as a jagged little gem beside the billowing force of a larger landscape.
There's a moment in Jane Campion's (The Piano, In the Cut) latest film Bright Star, wherein Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish) lays on the bed, light streaming through the window, a summer breeze gently rushing up her long voluminous skirt. The camera lingers almost a little too long, and one is left feeling slightly dizzy from Fanny's romantic and rather chaste, adolescent longing. It's a nice summation of the relationship that carries the film.Written and directed by Campion, Bright Star tells the too-short story of an all enveloping love found between the eighteen year old Fanny and her penniless poet and neighbour, John Keats (Ben Wishaw). We know Keats today as one of the foremost of the literary Romantics, a renowned and beloved poet, but as the film unfurls in the 1818 Regency period in England, Keats is, at twenty-three, receiving ill reviews for his work, slaving away in dire shabbiness. As much, however, as Keats or the idea of him is found lingering in every frame, this is the film of Fanny, eldest sister to a younger brother and sister, and daughter to a widowed mother (Kerry Fox). Strong-willed and creative though her love and talent with dress design, Fanny is immediately drawn to Keats and his slightly brooding, troubled artist persona. Their romance takes a long time to take hold, and continues to burn slowly throughout the film, as it did in life. Likewise, it is constantly fraught with danger, threatening to be unhinged by Keats' best friend and writing partner, Brown (the excellent Paul Schneider) and the underlying knowledge that Keats' financial situation does not allow him to pursue Fanny in a respectable fashion. Though Fanny speaks of and defends the importance of amusement, she is a muse to Keats, whose writing flourishes when she is near. Brown, who occupies some of the best scenes, mistakes Fanny's ardent distaste for him as flirty banter, and seeks to both elevate the work of his friend whom he sees (rightfully) as a genius and keep him confined, but is ultimately unable to do so.A languid tale of love and intimacy found within inspiration and affection, it unfolds slowly and beautifully, much like Keats' very prose, and Fanny's burgeoning feminine sexuality (a common thread throughout many of Campion's films). The new, suffocatingly tender feelings of romance are tempered by formal restraint. Kerry Fox as Fanny's mother is both nervous and understanding, knowing of the relationship that is building and its slim chance of survival. Keats, as history states, died criminally young for such a tremendous talent, aged just twenty five. Equal parts a lovely daydream and heaving, lovelorn sobs, Bright Star is something of an intimate masterpiece. Though there seems too few scenes of Fanny and John alone together â€" at least, enough for the viewer to be able to understand the devastating gravity of their feelings as written in their letters â€" it's a sad thing to realise that their time together was actually that scant, away from prying, concerned eyes. As if pulled from the very poem the film is named for, Bright Star is almost "in lone splendour" at the tail end of the year's cinematic releases. The only other film to capture the life and habits of an artist so accurately in recent years was the French film Seraphine from earlier in 2009, both with their moments of ecstasy and tragedy. With Bright Star, it is that rather precise ratio and the combined talent of Wishaw and Cornish, that makes the film such a lingering, resonant delight.https://youtube.com/watch?v=EP4Kn1P8CFw
Bittersweet alt. Country songstress Neko Case is making her way to Sydney as part of the Sydney Festival. She writes beautiful haunting songs about loneliness, madness and generally being a bit of a mess. She’s also an animal activist and famously refused to pose for Playboy after the nominated her as their "Sexiest Babe of Indie Rock". She’s fairly awesome. Like a Shania Twain it’s ok to like. She’s playing at the City Recital Hall in January.https://youtube.com/watch?v=Qclxx4uO0ac
Well kids you know it’s Christmas time when cult indie record label Modular busts out the big guns and wraps the year with some of their finest. This year, Bondi’s illustrious Beach Road Hotel will play host to a line-up as long as Octa-moms shopping list, including live acts from Tame Impala, Jonathon Boulet and The Swiss, and DJ sets from Ladyhawke, Bang Gang, Tim Cutters, Graz and a host of others. Kicking off at big lunch hour, the entertainment will roll back to back in what promises to be “anything but a quiet afternoon at the pub.†And apparently the eggnog's on them so get there early.
A wise man once said that ‘patriotism ruins history’. While this wisdom could be applied to a soup of mistakes, misfortunes and violent actions, it seems particularly relevant to the Cronulla riots of December 2005, in which a mostly Anglo-Celtic crowd took to the beach in order to “reclaim it from men of Middle Eastern appearanceâ€. The result was an impassioned and aggressively chaotic display of territorial assertion. But how are we to understand this event without merely dismissing and simplifying it as a random act of racism?A work collected and organized by Urban Theatre Projects, Stories of Love & Hate is the result of a two-year research and interview project involving those affected and connected with the riots from both the Sutherland Shire and Bankstown. Rather than media infused opinion, the play attempts to grasp the complexities and underlying issues of the riots firsthand, encouraging us to ask questions about communal fear, aggression, and identification in relate to the unsettling event, and whether hate can really be understood without also examining what is loved? Extracts from Stories of Love & Hate will be performed, together with a talk from Roslyn Oades, Director of Urban Theatre Projects. This event is in part a response to the work Nulla 4 Eva currently being exhibited as part of Fiona Foley’s exhibition Forbidden.
With the patience of a nine year old (that is to say, none at all), it feels that the world has been holding its breath for Spike Jonze's screen adaptation of Where The Wild Things Are. Finally, it's time to let it out with a mighty howl. Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation) with writer Dave Eggers, has adapted Maurice Sendak's much loved 1963 children's classic (banned from many school libraries at the time) from a scant nine sentences to a feature length film. It opens triumphantly, as the main character Max, played brilliantly by newcomer Max Records, hustles and hoots and hollers, a boy aged nine doing what it is that kids do. He builds an elaborate fort of sheets, carves an igloo and you see his ecstatic self-accomplishment fade when his mother (Catherine Keener, bless her) and older sister don't pay him the attention he so craves. Manic emotion races across his face, glee and loneliness tumbling one after another, setting the tone of the rest of the film. "You're out of control!" yells his mother when Max takes a stance against the injustices of both being a kid and unwanted frozen corn, and off he races into the night to sail away to the island of the wild things. It's perfect.It's at this point, unfortunately, that the film takes a turn. The wild things, beautifully realised in their bulky three dimensions, aren't just a little lonely or in need of leadership from their new ruler, Max. Rather, they're in need of mood stabilisers. Their angsty issues of loneliness and jealousy supposedly mirror the inner turmoil of Max â€" and, by extension viewers â€" but they step too far in "bummer" territory. "I'm a downer" says wild thing Judith at one point but she's not the only one. It's not an issue of being too mature for a children's film (it never purports to be one or the other, and nor should it), it's an issue of a too emotionally weighty screenplay. Having spent an hour and a half with the wild things on their island, one realises it's not a king they require, it's a therapist.Aesthetically, Where The Wild Things Are is gorgeous. The Australian bush lends itself to a place where the creatures could be found roaming (they may as well be bunyips), as light filters in and out of the camera, capturing the action so vividly. The soundtrack (by Yeah Yeah Yeah's Karen O) is a little clumsily inserted, but right on in spirit, and the tone of the Max character is a complete delight. The film has the handmade quality and intimacy that Jonze so clearly was after, but it lingers too much in a kind of dragging, adult sadness that feels too overwrought for the film's inner child.https://youtube.com/watch?v=Rhfywi5Y8TM
Welshman Hugh Hughes' life took an odd turn back in 1982 when his home town, Anglesey, detached itself from the Britain and drifted out into the Atlantic Ocean. Sadly, no-one took much notice because of the Falklands War, so once the homestead was firmly reattached Hughes developed a performance that would tell his tale. This was the hilarious and magical Floating, produced with the helpful talents of British theatre company Hoipolloi, which toured across five continents.Now back in Australia, Hughes' new stage tale returns him to his childhood haunts in an effort to forget about "growing up". Before your very eyes he and his old mate Gareth will climb Mt Snowdon - or at least attempt to - all the while uncovering the dirt on some of life's crunchy topics: friendship, fantasy and letting things go. Definitely a show for those in need of a good charming.Image by Geraint Lewishttps://youtube.com/watch?v=33n6nrK6h9s
Hearing someone talk completely candidly without a speck of pretence is always treat, even more so if they are speaking about their life as pioneer of Aboriginal theatre, drug addict, cat burglar, regular jailbird, fine sartorialist, actor, musician and homosexual blackfella. Filmmaker Amiel Courtin-Wilson followed Jack Charles with a camera through his ups and downs for over seven years, showing him to be one of the most optimistic, charismatic, hilarious and honest criminals ever captured on film. Bastardy is without a doubt one of the most memorable and moving documentaries of recent years, and this week our friends at Pigeonground Records and Clothing are launching the DVD and 7 inch vinyl, with a live musical set from Jack himself! They are also promising free drinks and food, something many are partial to, so we suggest arriving early to get a spot. https://youtube.com/watch?v=bpVta4CrRzY
Gymnasts and circus-people are freaky. So are beatboxers. And drummers. It's all that weird coordination that they have going on. The Tom Tom Crew out-freaky the freaky by combining all of the aforementioned into a single show. It's Aussie hip-hop meets Aussie circus minus the mopey-looking elephants and bearded ladies. The crew - world renowned percussionist Ben Walsh, mix-master Sampology, beat-boxing whiz-kid Tom Thum, graduates of Australia’s famous Flying Fruit Fly Circus â€" Ben Lewis, Daniel Catlow, Shane Witt - and elite gymnast Karl Stock - are fresh from an international tour, including an off Broadway debut and 21 sold-out shows at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Ever seen a punchfront stepout roundoff backflip full twisting layout at the Opera House? A collision of acrobatics, beatboxing, scratching, drumming and bravado, the Tom Tom Crew are definitely worth catching.https://youtube.com/watch?v=BpTpDIud3IA
The unique bond between twins is compassionately realised in Armagan Ballantyne’s debut feature The Strength of Water. Set in the Hokianga, a beautiful, remote region of far north New Zealand, the film is a Maori story of family, loss, love and acceptance. When Tai (Isaac Barber), a troubled stranger trudges into town, the tiny rural community is indelibly affected by his presence. Precocious fraternal twins Kimi (Hato Paparoa) and Melody (Melanie Mayall-Nahi) are wrested apart from each other in the physical world, yet set about renegotiating their bond across a spiritual plane. This is a contemplative, ambitious and at times lovely film. Ballantyne and acclaimed New Zealand playwright Briar Grace-Smith movingly display Maori funeral rites as well as conveying family life with a light, humorous touch, while all is captured in its stunning setting by Academy Award winning cinematographer Bogumil Godfrejow. And yet the luscious surrounds and brooding themes can’t quite rescue The Strength of Water from sagging under the weight of inexperience. Not only is this film a debut feature for Ballantyne and Grace-Smith, but also for all of the main characters. Paparoa and Mayall-Nahi do a fine job as bickering siblings, but the film lays heavy themes on such little shoulders. Similarly Barber and his love interest Tirea (Pare Paseka) can’t carry off much of the dialogue, giving the film a halted effect. 
There is however much to take from The Strength of Water. As an insightful glimpse at Maori culture and the mysterious ties of twins, the film resonates with warmth and dedication. The film may not reach the heights of Whale Rider, but Ballantyne, Grace-Smith and producer Fiona Copland nonetheless represent an exciting new Kiwi collaboration. https://youtube.com/watch?v=1-n748hplH0
Crowded House, Jane Campion, Russell Crowe. Any time a New Zealander does anything noteworthy we wander over like the swaggering older siblings we are and claim them as our own. Now, finally, it seems that the Kiwis have claimed one back in some sort of covert sting operation. Shaun Tan is an Australian citizen with immigrant parents. He writes and illustrates children’s books about the migrant experience. He is one of those rare childrens book authors who share a space with legends such as Maurice Sendak (Where The Wild Things Are) and Raymond Briggs (Fungus the Bogeyman). Authors who create picture books of such complexity, emotional depth and originality that they are more like graphic novels. The Arrival is his most ambitious and successful work to date. It’s a surreal story of a foreign man who arrives in a strange land looking for work. And now those crafty New Zealanders have turned The Arrival into a play for children of all ages. It tells Shaun Tans classic story of the migrant experience without dialogue but instead through music, movement, puppetry and shadow-play. In unrelated news we’ll be waiting at the opening of Peter Jacksons’ Lovely Bones with chloroform and a duffle bag.https://youtube.com/watch?v=zs_rXxi0zhM
If you were a child of the 90s, there’s a good chance you'll hold fond memories of Aladdin’s magical carpet ride. It is in this mindset that you should head to the Chauvel for Rug Trip, an adventure through the crème de la crème of Flickerfest short films. The evening is in support of Carpets for Communities, a charity that aids child education by helping mothers produce and sell their handmade carpets. The program boasts award-winning shorts from around the world. Audiences will journey from the heated border between India and Pakistan to Fiji; from New Zealand to, er, Chinatown. And for that extra does of nostalgia, the line up also includes Deborah Mailman's Ralph, a story set in 1984 featuring a schoolgirl with a huge crush on The Karate Kid’s Ralph Macchio.
Is this like the recent divorcee who lets everyone know he's in a band, clinging onto the one interesting thing about himself for dear life? Is that what this is? Because book tours and gigs don't normally sit together. Each on their own could be a meal in itself — could excite enough. Maybe not. Bret Easton Ellis doing a book signing at Oxford Art Factory, supported by Australian new wavers Models kind of works. There's a synergy there (I've always wanted to use that word). It's just strange — almost as if there isn't much to say about his latest novel, Imperial Bedrooms. "Now twenty-five years later, Ellis returns to those same characters [from Less than Zero] and follows them into an even greater period of disaffection: their own middle age," says the press release. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe it is a result of Bret Easton Ellis's sometimes one-note writing. A natural segue out of an awkward smattering of audience questions about violence, beauty and affluence that could conceivably peter out with "Hey Bret, models are pretty cool, right? Have you slept with many models?" Or maybe I'm just bummed that he's not going to be here with Huey Lewis and the News. Admit it, we’re both giddily excited that he might throw shapes to Cut Lunch, Brooks Brothers trench coat kicking out behind him. *Limited tickets still available on the door
Throwing westerners into a chaotic foreign landscape of stark cultural contrasts will inevitably provide compelling ready-made drama, but can be precarious territory for a filmmaker. There is almost always the looming risk of over-exoticising, which can result in blatant cultural 'othering', stripping the endeavor of its authenticity. Fortunately, Australian writer/director, Claire McCarthy, navigates this rocky terrain with sensitivity and astute cultural awareness in her second feature film The Waiting City. Fiona (Radha Mitchell) and Ben (Joel Edgerton) are a young Australian couple seeking to adopt a young child from Calcutta, India. They've been waiting to collect her for two years. They have her name, they have her photo, but they don't have her — a fact that will test their already tenuous relationship to its limits. The longer they are forced to wait in the rambling, frenetic city, the more we see the seams of their marriage begin to fray. Fiona is a driven, successful lawyer who finds herself increasingly frustrated with her musician husband's laissez-faire way of life. Equally, Ben finds fault with his workaholic wife's inability to put her professional duties aside and surrender to circumstance. As red tape impedes the adoption process further, Ben and Fiona are forced to confront the real issue: that a baby may not provide the antidote to their fractured relationship. Based on McCarthy's personal experiences in Indian orphanages and countless interviews with couples in similar situations to her characters, The Waiting City has the kind of raw authenticity that can only come from a true understanding of its subject matter. Cinematographer Denson Baker does a great job of tempering the stunning locations with earthy grit, endowing the film with an almost documentary feel. Edgerton and Mitchell are equally convincing in their roles, delivering layered, nuanced portrayals of two starkly different people attempting to find unity. The Waiting City deals with themes of spiritualism, motherhood and the issue of international adoption, but is ultimately a film about intimate relationships and the stuff that binds them when all else falls away. https://youtube.com/watch?v=_3kEH2ITVdI
Chippendale is a former underbelly of Sydney with a sordid past of crime, drugs and prostitution, once home to a slaughterhouse and brewery — a brewery where the owner encouraged all manner of fun and games, including the unexpectedly dangerous sport of catching a greasy pig. Continuing the fun and games in July, Chippendale will be home to 100 of Sydney's emerging creative talents as the new digs for Underbelly Arts: Public Lab + Festival. Expect to roll up your sleeves and get your hands greasy as 15 new projects unfold from July 8 to 17. Ella McInnes and Natalia Ladyko of Umbrella Theatre invite the curious to F*&K Rhianna — Come Under Our Umbrella, Justin Harvey lures you in for a potentially perverse game of chat roulette, Reef Knot rely on your arty skills to create a series of modest, sustainable works along Kensington Street, and other visionary projects abound. In the lead up, FraserStudios is running free tours of the Lab at 6pm and 7.30pm where you can watch and learn as the projects emerge, transform and bubble toward boiling point. Or, if you fancy drawing and game-playing, join a free public session and help I Can Draw You a Picture create an on-site, souvenir publication. Saturday, July 10, is the halfway point for artists and audiences to cross paths in a wild, free day of art-making and debate. Finally, July 17 brings on the Festival from 2 to 10pm, a choose-your-own-adventure day of exciting performances, installations, burlesque, theatre, puppetry and sound. Don't let the greasy pig slip through your fingers; pre-sale tickets are available now.
Federico Garcia Lorca, the king of magical realism, isn't exactly your most typical of writers. So when a performance event claims to "smash open" one of his texts, you should be guessing that you're in for something extraordinary. The Rabble, who are responsible for this work, crack apart Lorca's The House of Bernarda Alba like an egg and play around in the goo that emerges. The highly visual and visceral performance that results is a little like The Virgin Suicides on acid. Sexuality and repression, queens and monsters, tradition and savagery clash, mingle and create all kinds of weird offspring. Yet somehow this abstract and challenging performance is also irresistibly compelling. I suspect it has something to do with the way it assaults all senses at once: the visual design, the choreography of lighting and sound and the performance of the actors could all stand as works of art in their own right. Another possibility is the potency of the story at the heart of the action. Lorca's tale is excruciatingly tragic and beautiful, the kind that makes it hard to sit back and watch. Cageling is implacable, passionate and exceptionally vivid.
Young Israeli-born, London-based choreographer/composer Hofesh Shechter has been hailed as a revolutionary "set to do for dance what the YBAs did for art". Critics were reaching for all manner of superlatives after the premiere of Political Mother, his first full-length contemporary dance piece, describing it as "a work of galvanising, challenging power", "like a roar of defiance", "a fine, excoriating work" and "very, very exciting". Dance that looks almost like you could do it yourself, Shechter’s choreography is a collision of movement styles that draws on club dancing, militant street revolutions and contemporary dance, all set to a self-composed cinematic score played live on stage. The Opera House has some very canny programmers. I suspect they foresaw Gillard’s crushing of Rudd last week and so, cashing in on the mood of the occasion, scheduled Political Mother in the week to follow (by this time, a taste of blood still lingers, but we've tired of watching Julia and Tony flirt and Kevin shed). Fortuitous timing for a revolutionary dance piece. An audience Q and A will follow the 1.30pm show on Sunday, July 4.
Australia's premier cultural event devoted exclusively to exploring human rights issues through creative media is back in May and June for its fifth year running. The not-for-profit Human Rights Arts and Film Festival — championed by patrons Margaret Pomeranz, the Hon Michael Kirby AC CMG, Isabel Lucas, Warwick Thornton and Geoffrey Robertson QC — will be showing first in Melbourne and then across Australia, coming to Sydney from May 29 to June 1. The festival uses a variety of media, such as film, art and music to celebrate awareness, participation and inspiration by telling the stories of people around the globe who are facing and triumphing over human rights issues. This year's selection includes a heartening doco about two girls embroiled in Thailand’s 30,000 child boxing tournaments. Buffalo Girls (7pm, May 29) shows the exploitation of the children involved, plus the adults, even their own family members, who take pleasure in watching the so-called sport, betting on the gory outcomes. On May 31, the Chauvel will host an evening of international shorts from countries as diverse as Germany, Singapore, Lebanon and Cuba. There will be documentaries, dramas, animation and musicals. Among the handpicked selection is Barking Island. Winner of the Palme d'Or for best short film at Cannes, the animation is based on the real events of Constantinople's stray dog problem in 1910. And on June 1 there's a screening of enlightening and moving short films by Australian filmmakers. The eclectic collection will explore issues from race and equality to stories from behind bars, an adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood, and the life and times of a much-loved transgendered icon (Carmen Rupe, directed by Lucy Hayes). It's also a chance to see films like The Chicken Hawk and the Crow, an animation in the Yanyuwa language with English subtitles, and Unity in Diversity — a documentary featuring children from the Springvale community talking about their journey to Australia. The full programme in Sydney and across Australia's major cities is available on the Human Rights Arts and Film Festival website. Image from Baldguy (Skallamann) dir by Maria Bock, screening in the International Shorts program.
The Mother Road itself might have morphed into a rather redundant stretch of highway since its 1930s glory days, but you can still rally into the depths of wild Americana thanks to Goodgod and Sydney’s very own Route 66. For this Wolf Call, Goodgod’s danceteria will be transformed into a clangin’, bangin’, swampy blues and country paradise reminiscent of moonlit nights in a pine-log cabin, chasing spit-roasted animal with cans of PBR, and engaging in banjo combat with an inbred redneck à la Deliverance. Assisting them in this endeavour will be the mad garage swamp surf of Mother and Son, some instrumental 1930s Chicago blues from Wailing Wall, EmmyLou Harris numbers sung by Madelaine Lucas, and more rare and classic American 45s than you could spit a wad of chewing tobacco at. Australia Day will provide plenty of excuses for knocking back beers in the name of national pride, so sink a few in the name of wild Americana this Friday. Image: Mother and Son
There might be nothing more than pure nostalgia that takes you to see The Muppets, and for the younger readers out there nostalgia might not even be it. It might just be the vague familiarity of Kermit the Frog. Or just the desire to see that guy from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Whatever the reason, it's a good idea to get down to see it. The Muppets might rehash a whole bunch of jokes from back in the day, but surprisingly enough they're still laugh-out-loud funny. Add in to the entertainment some incredibly clever songs, including 'Party for One' and 'Am I a Man or Am I Muppet?', and it's a giggle fest all round. The film follows Gary (Jason Segel) and Walter (a muppet) as they journey with Gary's girlfriend Mary (Amy Adams) to LA to see the home of the Muppets. They discover that the evil Tex Richman (Chris Cooper very much enjoying himself) has plans to knock down the old theatre and drill for oil, and so together with Kermit they set out to get all the old Muppets back together. Throw in a bunch of spectacular cameos (funny enough alone for the many unexpected faces that pop up), some maniacal laughing and good old slapstick humour, and The Muppets makes for some very entertaining holiday fun. https://youtube.com/watch?v=-WWWTW1P8rQ
It's tough not to like George Clooney. Some might envy the guy, maybe even resent him a little, but few could deny his genuine and diverse talents when it comes to movies. As an actor, writer, director and producer he combines faculty with flair in a manner that feels like a nostalgic Cary Grant-esque throwback to the movie stars of yesteryear. If any criticism (excluding those of jilted ex-girlfriends) were to be levelled, it might only be that despite having appeared in over 30 films, he rarely strays from his entirely comfortable (and hugely profitable) comfort zone. Having established himself in the mid-'90s as ER's impish yet charming Dr Ross, Clooney quickly embarked upon a succession of films in which his characters seemed entirely 'same song, next verse'. In essence, he'd become the go-to loveable rogue, the charismatic scoundrel, the 'George Clooney just playing George Clooney' guy. But then in 2005 everything changed. Clooney took on the role of disenfranchised CIA field officer Bob Barnes in Syriana and received the Academy Award for his efforts. Since then we've seen a whole slate of films in which he’s sought to extend himself as an actor and The Descendants is the finest example yet. In it he plays Matt King, a Hawaiian-based lawyer whose life is upended when his wife suffers a waterskiing accident and lapses into an irremediable coma. Pursuant to her wishes, she's to be taken off life support, and so Matt must travel between the islands informing family and friends and asking them to say their final goodbyes. It's an emotionally taxing and thankless task made all the worse by having to break the news to his two daughters, 10-year-old Scottie (Amara Miller) and 17-year-old tearaway Alexandra (Shailene Woodley), along with the bombshell discovery that his wife had been cheating on him prior to the accident. Directed by Alexander Payne (Sideways), The Descendants is a beautifully personal and nuanced story about love, loss and family. It's also terrifically funny at times, with almost every character gifted at least one laugh-aloud moment. Most notable, though, is Clooney's performance. Firstly, he's in every scene of the film aside from the opening shot. That's worth saying again: he's in every single scene of the entire film. But what really impresses is how un-Clooney it all is. There are no expensive suits, no beautiful women to charm and no lavish casinos to rob. If you can believe it, Clooney doesn’t even do 'The Clooney' (verb: to tilt one's head forward, look up through one's eyebrows and waggle one's head like a dashboard Elvis). Instead he plays a vain, vulnerable and altogether unassured parent grappling with grief, betrayal and responsibility. While The Descendants could very easily have regressed into a heavily cliched absentee-father/disgruntled daughter story, it instead serves up an intimate, thoughtful and endearing classic that's a must-see over the summer.
The year opens at Firstdraft with four solo artists who skillfully sidestep any accusations of navel gazing. More accurately, the focus of these exhibitions is in notions of the beyond. Each artist delves into subject matter which is almost out of their reach, extending themselves in the process. Laura McLean navigates the High Seas, using international waters as a cipher for autonomy. In seeking to negotiate this expanse beyond landscape and law, McLean draws on the romanticised pirate - a character that carries the additional weight of much recent news. The use of both large scale and detailed forms points towards the broader and more intimate implications of the works. In I got confused with the t'shirt, Elizabeth McCrystal documents the everyday routines of her subject over a two month period. Using these banal repetitions as a building block, McCrystal is able to delve into some big ideas, like existentialism, in an intimate and touching way. Jorge Araujo's TRANSAUSTRALIAN paintings focus not on a singular narrative generated by the artist. Instead, Araujo has worked from found photographs, transforming them into a consistent body of work through the application of his own style. Similarly, Tarron Ruiz-Avila has generated The Fall of Grace from glossy, preferably discarded, magazines, relying on intuition to create a new narrative. Image: 'I got confused with the t'shirt', Elizabeth McCrystal 2011
There are some people whose music feels like honey pouring through your ear, gradually dripping into your brain and warming up your insides. You start to feel the honey dripping down behind your face and moving your expression into a broad smile. You can't help it. It's almost as if there's a collection of cartoon music notes floating through the air ACME style, encouraging you to appreciate their music. Cat Power is one of these artists. Her soulful tunes are restorative somehow. They're beautiful, slow and intimate. Don't expect to rock out to Cat Power, but do expect some peaceful swaying. Don't get me wrong though, that doesn't mean that some of her music doesn't have an edge to it. She can be quite gritty when she wants to be. That's when she infuses the honey with chilli in some awesome, Jamie Oliver style combination. Basically, don't miss Cat Power at the Opera House this month. She's there for one night only and if you fail to hear the American songstress weave her magic, you'll be wondering why everyone around you has developed a sudden, goofy, lopsided smile. Join the club and develop your sweet tooth.
For some, life without boundaries is mortifyingly restricting - those (hypothetical) lines that blur between imagined, created and real can really freak you out if you're not careful. You might not call Fleur Elise Noble 'careful' but somehow, she manages to skirt around imagined, created and real with incredible fluidity and sanity. It's tempting to call 2 Dimensional Life of Her an ensemble piece (for all the lead drawn characters that come to life in it) but this family-friendly performance is art from Noble's imagination only. Using real-time 2D and 3D tricks (puppetry, animation and inventive brilliance), Noble plucks the characters out of her mind and interacts with them on stage. But who controls all the action in 2 Dimensional Life of Her? And who can deny the existence of these characters from Nobles imagination? As part of Sydney Festival's 'About an Hour' program, you'll only have a limited amount of time to find the boundaries… https://youtube.com/watch?v=1WO9EXwog2I
Downsizing has negative connotations. It puts one in mind of people in sweat-stained white collars carrying boxes filled with the few bits and pieces they hoped would make their office lives bearable. But for the theatre-maker, it suggests something a lot more interesting: a chance to switch from the grandeur of the expensive stage and play in more confined spaces. Canadian writer-performer, Anthony Black, takes on the challenge of presenting Invisible Atom in a four feet square shaft of light. Within this tiny space he is able to unfold the life of Atom, a stockbroker, happy boyfriend and fresh father whose life is too perfect. Black and director, Ann-Marie Kerr, have produced an intelligent work that links very human situations with the often confounding complexity of economics and physics. Moreso, they have proved how little we actually need to evoke an affective theatre experience. Image by Nick Rudnicki https://youtube.com/watch?v=qYFmwdOK-vI
For anyone who was a bit of a fan of Carnivale, and likes their circus performances to be just a little bit kooky and, dare I say it, off the wall, then Legs On The Wall is the theatre company for you. For the uninitiated, Legs On The Wall create spectacular worlds within your imagination, using acrobatics, amazing aerial displays, music and lights. For the Sydney Festival this year, Legs have put together a multimedia sensory overload complete with, and inspired by, the fortunate discovery of a collection of Federation era films featuring the travelling troupe of turn of the century performers, the Corrick family. To the backdrop of these familial entertainers, My Bicycle Loves You brings these characters back to the present day. Combining music, acrobatics, multimedia and the spectacle of the theatrical, you will be transported to a magical world where the pictures on the screen come to life and the heroes you see flip and tumble their way into reality.
This French film about atrocities committed by the State during World War II can be best summed up by a German word: Vergangenheitsbewaltigung. There is no French or English equivalent, but essentially it means 'struggling to come to terms with the past,' which goes right to the heart of Sarah's Key (Elle s'appelait Sarah). Lead by a deeply compassionate performance from Kristin Scott Thomas (I've Loved You So Long) as an American journalist in Paris, Sarah's Key brings to light the horrors of the Vel'd'Hiv Roundup in 1942. Though based on Tatiana de Rosnay's bestselling fiction, the film revisions the actual events of the 16th and 17th July 1942, when the French police rounded up over 13,000 Jews and interned them in an inner city velodrome. 67 years later Julia (Scott Thomas) begins researching a story on the event, and discovers a terrible truth that literally extends right into her home. Julia's emotionally charged journey in present day Paris is interlaced with the fate of the eponymous Sarah (Melusine Mayance), a plucky young girl whose family is wrenched apart during the roundup. The scenes are agonisingly realised; director Gilles Paquet-Brenner (UV) achieves a devastatingly visceral experience, which pivots on the impressively honest performance of Mayance. The present day scenes were always going to be tricky by comparison, for doling out a serious lesson in 'Lest We Forget' needs to be extremely careful to stave off any bleeding hearts. Mostly, Sarah's Key succeeds, particularly in communicating the vital importance of bringing such stories to the surface before the war generation disappears completely. Paquet-Brenner was also the first feature film director to shoot at the Paris Holocaust Memorial; a stark scene that he does well not to overplay. But while Scott-Thomas lends her marvellous gravitas and keen empathy to the film, even she stumbles through some overwritten moments, including the film's cloyingly sentimental final scene. Paquet-Brenner had a tough row to hoe in balancing the past and the present. His decision to spend more time in the modern day comes at the cost of really getting to know Sarah, however it does a fair bit to interrogate our contemporary conscience: "What would you have done?" Julia demands of her co-worker. This is a worthy question, and indeed a worthy film. https://youtube.com/watch?v=omvs7F1Pb9o
In the future there will be a giant super tortoise crushing cop cars in Times Square. It could happen. For its fourth and final Visual Response competition for 2010, Australian INfront went with the theme 'The Future'. Guaranteed to provoke imagery of all manner of shiny, pre-apocalyptic gadgets, post-apocalyptic wastelands, robo-machine-zombie-cops and witty word play, The Future is a gold mine for 2D visionaries. Or a minefield. Over 100 entries were received for this Visual Response from artists, illustrators and designers (James Jirat Patradoon, MASH Studio, Mark Gowing, TOKO, Rhett Wade, Debaser and Synapse — to drop some names). The top twenty, as voted by the people, will be on exhibition at Roller for one night only. Get along, grab a beer and celebrate the year that was.
One of the artist statements for Global Gallery's current Russian Artists show proudly proclaims painter, Leeka Gruzdeff, as the "winner of over 100 first prizes in local and country exhibitions." That's a pretty good summation of this show, with most of the five artists' work displaying the sort of technical competence that would fare well at a smaller exhibition, but not necessarily producing much in the way of emotional impact. There's a good deal of fine draftsmanship on show at this small Paddington gallery, with Gruzdeff's musical scenes being one example. A more striking one being Helen Kosenko's finely detailed, vaguely pop-art pieces, which make excellent use of limited palettes and fine detail. But few of the artists have applied their skills in a particularly moving way, with beach scenes, fairly unimaginative collage and some decent but unamazing abstract art making up the rest of the show. Arguably one exception is Edward Galkin. The most stereotypically "Russian" of the artists being exhibited, his series of ostensibly crude paintings of the uniquely snide (or perhaps retarded) East European interpretation of court jestery easily stand out in their concern with more difficult experiences. The stupid, lustful, or (maybe?) cunning wide-eyed grin of Petrushka, the paintings' protagonist, accompanies him on a series of escapes alongside such dour and absurd captions as "I have no mummy," "Death takes Petrushka" and "Petrushka is mocking Malevich." It's vaguely unsettling stuff, which is definitely a plus, but without much in the way of context these mildly sinister scenes lose some of their power, coming across a bit like Itchy and Scratchy's iron curtain counterparts Worker and Parasite. I'd be letting my own East European heritage down if I didn't suggest that this show is still worth seeing — Petrushka's good company, no doubt — but maybe not at the top of your list.
This Wednesday night, the Australian Centre for Photography on fashion-happy Oxford Street hosts Tea with the Fashionistas, a panel event populated by industry insiders poised to debate the eternal question: does fashion merely play into our consumer cravings, or does it represent a more significant role? Panellists include photographers, designers and fashionistas and before you let them do all the deciding, consider both sides of the argument. For the consumer-driven fashion market side, we have money-driven crimes of fashion like the seriously questionable Texas Tuxedo from Levis', which in its two tones of denim demonstrates all that is wrong with too much of a good thing; the blatantly populist Material Girl range from the inimitable Mads and her pre-pubescent daughter Lourdes, fronted by Gossip Girl star and serial-badass Taylor Momsen, which seems all the more about celebrity than clothes. And if you're not convinced that current fashion reeks of consumerism, think CanCan by Paris, Fantasy by Britney and Lovely by Sarah Jessica, the tritely-named troupe of celebrity fragrances. However, you may believe fashion is more than a fleeting trend, the view I think the panel may well be advocating at TWF. Cementing your argument in this corner is the continuing ability of fashion to transgress borders (follow pyjamas as they drift from the East's opium dens via Coco Chanel in the West, then onto the Antipodes to become the staple of an Australian label), eras and classes (those low-slung panted, lace-less shoed boys you see roaming the streets mean more than they seem, with fashion borrowed from inmates of the US prison system). Also, the fact that fashion is the sole creative outlet engaged with by everyone, everyday in some way, and the close link between fashion and the world’s political history — if lace-makers were being killed in Revolutionary France for their product’s association with the royalist ancient regime, how then can fashion be meaningless to society? So, armed with all you need to know to make an informed decision, make haste to ACP. Seats may sell out and they make no promises for latecomers. Image: After Guy, The Birthday Suit 2009
Across the first two levels of the MCA things are being re-rendered, repositioned, re-presented and reduced. Banal snapshots from Flickr and Google Image are finely replicated in watercolour by Jackson Slattery who forms new narratives with found images. A soccer ball finds itself made of polyurethane resin and automotive paint in Akira Akira's room of achromatic exercises in form and texture. Agatha Gothe-Snape records days of her life as studies in basic geometry and colour, and turns elemental human emotions into PowerPoint slides. A highlight of the 2010 Primavera is Sydney artist Emma White who reshapes the real with her polymer clay renderings of stationary, art supplies and other every-day tools of representation. In one new work on display here the structures and layers of representation are further complicated with a clay copy of a Hassleblad camera displayed next to a photo of itself. These simple, self-contained works are not quite trompe d'oil because central to their experience is that we are not completely fooled by them. There is always a moment of revelation when we get close enough for the illusion to collapse. Video didn't end up killing the radio star but it wasn't very nice to painting, which had terrible trouble being looked at let alone liked during the reign of new media. So it’s nice to see this year's curator Katie Dyer include such out-of-vogue art forms as oil paint and watercolour, as well as a strong overall element of old school craftsmanship. Image: Agatha Gothe-Snape, 'Wrong Solo 1'
Well, well, well, Brand New Heavies you deliciously soulful things, it sure is about time we heard your jams again. The celebrated British masters of all things boogie, misfortune and mamma-lovin' midnight trunk-funk are finally heading to Australian shores, as their reformation gets hot and heavy in the August cool. With an acid jazz toxicity to burn a hole through the nearest stuffed shirt, TBNH are one helluva struttin', rhymin', grindin' groove — a warm reminder that it don't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing. With the return of Grammy-nominated songstress N’Dea Davenport and her smoothly gunning vocals, this regroup sees the addition of four original members of the funktrust, with Simon Bartholomew rolling guitar, Jan Kincaid gettin' loose on percussion and Andrew Levy slappin' that bass like thurr. With humble beginnings in 1985 in Ealing, London, this collective crew has seen a quarter of a century together, as their RandB unity even saw their killer track Jump 'n' Move feature in the 2006 penguin film Happy Feet. With a ten-year break proving absence makes the heart grow funkier, the title of a recent album re-release really says it all for this soulful bounce of a crew: We Won't Stop.
