If Celine Dion was enough to ruin the memory of the Titanic for life, then it’s about time to take a trip to IMAX to forgive and forget. Turns out that after James Cameron broke all the box office records with his love letter to the doomed vessel, he wasn’t quite ready to leave the ghosts to rest. Instead he put together a slightly less photogenic team of scientists, historians and tech heads, and headed far out to sea in order to film the Titanic in her final resting place. The result is a simply remarkable 60-minute 3D IMAX documentary. Cameron fashions the film around Titanic alumnus Bill Paxton, who narrates a rather reverent account of his voyage of discovery, while Cameron and the rest of the crew geek out in the background. It was a wise call to have such a familiar face walking the audience through this underwater experience, however Cameron almost errs too far on the side of caution, including hardly any thoughts from his academic team. Instead he focuses on a surprisingly gripping rescue mission after one of his two camera robots gives up the ghost and must be navigated to safety by its companion. The rest of the film is given over to the majesty of the Titanic herself. There is something quite powerful about seeing the startlingly preserved remnants of the ship after 90 odd years in her watery grave. Cameron uses CG remodelling well, layering the images to give a great sense of context, but also allows the stark skeleton time to speak for itself. The documentary here becomes a respectful and deeply poignant tribute to the 1500 lives lost as well as a chronicle of what human failings brought them under. Made back in 2003, Titanic 3D: Ghosts of the Abyss may be a timely re-release to cash in on James Cameron’s latest producorial effort, Sanctum, but such cynicism is best set aside. Instead just go and marvel at this spectacular piece of visual history; it’s 60 minutes very well spent.
The five contemporary photo-artists of Crossroads show just how artistic the camera can be. Oleg Videnin shoots the people of his home town of Bryansk, about 350 kilometres south-west of Moscow. They are ordinary and their portraits, honest and intimate. Aleksandr Gronsky, on the other hand, also shoots reality but his large-scale landscape scenes seem more surreal than real. In hyper-real focus and detail, Gronsky captures an unbelievable (especially for us sunburnt Aussies) landscape where the line between snow-covered ground and sky is blurred. Side-stepping reality, Gregory Maiofis brings together unlikely subjects, and the historical printmaking techniques he uses provide the dusty, soft aesthetic. This aesthetic is mirrored in Andrey Polushkin's photos, also out of focus around the edges, although the imagery here is much more haunting, using found pictures of people during World War II. This overt political tone is also present in Sergey Bratkov's installation, created specifically for this Australian Centre for Photography show, which fuses images of young men at a 2010 nationalist demonstration in Moscow and images of commercial glamour. Image: Gregory Maiofis, Adversity makes strange bedfellows, 2006
In his eight-screen installation at the Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation, Yang Fudong stretches time, making 11 minutes seem like nearly an hour and a half. The eight screens are concavely arranged so that when sitting amidst them you feel as if you're surrounded by Fudong's delicate black-and-white imagery. What unfolds before you is intriguing — the setting is the West Lake in early spring; there are four men in traditional Chinese attire; four men in Western suits and four women, sometimes in suits, dressed as men, most of the time in exquisite cheongsams and luxurious fur stoles. These characters move silently from screen to screen as they traverse the banks of the lake and the lake itself. To your right, the camera focuses on the rippling water or the sway of a tree budding with the season's first flowers, while to your left four men stalk through the woods and somewhere near the middle the four girls run down the cobblestone bridge, tickling each other and laughing. Fudong says of the characters in his 2006 video work, "as winter fades from them, they yearn to catch one last vestige of the Broken Bridge: the memory of translucent, languid snow". They infuse the work with feelings of both celebration and nostalgia. Image: Yang Fudong, No Snow on the Broken Bridge, 2006.
Emma Davis is an enigma wrapped in candy. The Sydney-sider's sweet music will make even the most hardened Oscar-the-grouch want to hug everyone in sight. Her music is sure to bring people together. The London born singer-songwriter will be launching her self-titled debut album at the Red Rattler this Friday and it is sure to spark off a friendship or two. After having had some remarkable times playing to big festival crowds, Emma has recently teamed up with producer Brian Campeau (Melanie Horsnell, Elana Stone, Cuthbert and the Nightwalkers) to create an album of honest stories that reflect the quiet encounters between us; from awkward opportunities to missed loves. Sometimes they end with sorrow and sometimes with solace but always reveal a gooey centre so sweet she will be a boon for dentists everywhere. The music is acoustic and mellow but is best enjoyed with a side of friends — so make your way to the Red Rattler and join the enigmatic singer with a whole bunch of them.
Liveworks is a crawling, sprawling tangle of contemporary pieces, bundled together into a four-day-long festival extravaganza. There's plenty for punters to choose from. Karen Therese will apply her particular brand of charismatic, confrontational and a-little-bit-crazy performance to Alistair White's 'Comfort Zone' theory. Brigid Jackson's Into/Out Of Me is a solo performance in a dressing room that explores the extent to which our bodies actually belong to us. In manola, Claudia Escobar pursues an "experimental visual journey", swinging between her heritage and popular perceptions of Colombia. And if you should feel the need for a brief moment of respite, don't visit the Clubhouse, where Cinemanic and I Can Draw You A Picture will be busily at work. While a day pass will keep you busy, I'd recommend the festival pass: for a mere $60, you can see as many performances as you can cram into the four days of the festival.
The first time I heard The Paper Scissors was in 2006 at a trendy warehouse art launch in Chippendale where my pal Chris Stracey of the now famous Bag Raiders was playing a few songs. Wow I thought, Johann Sebastian Rach (inventor of the cowbell, 1688) would be waltzing in his grave to this. 'Was ist das?' I asked, 'We Dont Walk by The Paper Scissors dude.. good! right?' he responded (I realise that it only took one sentence for me to shamelessly name drop but its my first Concrete Playground contribution and I wanted to include an anecdote so you will just have to deal with it.) I have followed the The Paper Scissors ever since and have justifiable high hopes for the new album. Wikipedia says TPS are "a combination of garage-punk, rock and soul". I love a good one line band description but that one is weak. I think the most endearing thing about them is Jai Pyne's vocals, I feel like they are telling me there is a party over where he is and I'm invited. So I have decided that they play 'rug cutting-mosh option-inclusive rock'. I am flabbergasted that you can still get to one of their shows for such a modest cover. I have somehow never made it to a live gig but by all accounts they bring fire. In fact if CP don't get me a comp ticket I'm either going to stop writing for them after this, my first post, or just buy a ticket, like you should. https://youtube.com/watch?v=H5EqYCBq0E4
Clare Bowditch is a woman of many skills and pursuits: ARIA award winning songstress, mother of twins, major proponent of the Australian Midwives Association and expert impersonator of Julia Gillard. Earlier this year, Bowditch interviewed Gillard (the real Gillard). The event was casually referred by the press as Ranga vs. Ranga, and it showcased Bowditch as a formidable opponent in the political sphere. Inversely, Prime Minister Julia Gillard is probably not a very good singer, which is why it's good luck for all concerned that it is Clare Bowditch who is soon to play the Metro and not JuGi. Clare Bowditch and the New Slang are on the road for all of October in support of their fourth album, Modern Day Addiction. The record is a shift in pace and style for Bowditch and co. Written mainly on a toy Casio (and later translated for a seven piece band), it's by far the most dance-oriented of Bowditch's records. Thematically, it's direct: concerned with the whims and wants of modern culture. Lyrically songs touch on consumerism, plastic surgery, television. Live Clare Bowditch and the New Slang are utterly brilliant: a little nutso, very cheeky and supremely tight. In fact, Bowditch is such an effusive and compelling performer that even if this 'isn’t your thing' you'd probably still enjoy it. Ladies and gentlemen of the Australian public, Clare Bowditch.
Boston boy Ben Affleck returns to his roots for a thrilling, if ever so flabby sophomore effort in The Town. In a keen observation of the loyalty and liabilities of friendships in the close nit Boston neighbourhood of Charlestown*, Affleck's adaptation of Chuck Hogan's Prince of Thieves centres on Doug MacRay (Affleck), a reforming bad guy trying to extricate himself from the family businesses: armed robbery. With dad (Chris Cooper) already doing time, Doug and his ominously erratic best friend Jem (Jeremy Renner) lead a ruthlessly professional team of robbers. But when a heist goes awry and Jem briefly makes a hostage of bank manager Claire (Rebecca Hall), the crew decides she must be watched lest she tips off the FBI, fronted by stoic Special Agent Adam Frawley (Jon Hamm). Predictably, Doug winds up smitten and starts a romance with Claire, but are dreams of a better life enough to escape The Town? The little boy lost routine Affleck trots out here has distinct echoes of his debut screenwriting effort Good Will Hunting (co-written with Matt Damon). So too the wry turns of phrase; Affleck's dialogue is for the most part clever, brash and insightful, but he indulges himself with far too many monologues. Doug's lengthy revelations about his mother and his past come at the cost of any real development of Claire's character. In fact it is only through sheer force of Hall's prodigious on screen presence that Claire comes away as anything other than a sounding board for Doug's existential crisis. Gossip Girl's Blake Lively is given a little more to do in her surprisingly stellar effort as Doug's ex, young mum and local oxy-skank, Krista. Showing up both Hamm and Affleck in her scenes, she brings a desperate humanity to Krista's messy existence. Affleck also calls in the big guns with Pete Postlethwaite and Cooper as two members of the old guard, and living symbols of Doug's fate. The Town sees a lot of action, and here Affleck excels. He's clearly aware of the legacy left by films like Point Break and Heat, but proves himself worthy of adding to the genre with some cracking pace, kinetic editing and high tension. Setting the climactic heist in the Red Sox's Fenway Park is pure gold, though even this is pulled down by a denouement heavy in mawkish sentimentality. Still, as an electric heist film played out with an impressive ensemble cast, and grounded in a believably earnest sense of place, Affleck proves Gone Baby Gone was no beginners luck. It's no The Wire, but The Town has definitely got game. *The credits dedicate the film to the people of Charlestown. A massive backhanded compliment? You decide. https://youtube.com/watch?v=GQL0xnDBx_M
I never imagined seeing pom poms and sequins genuinely used in an art piece after I left primary school, nay, year three. But Troy Emery has a way with craft glue my kindergarten teacher would be proud of. In his first solo exhibition, Emery displays his 'Wild Things'. Creatures like the Emerald Python, or What is Not Commonly Held in Nature or Art are exactly that — animals, exhibits, taxidermied artefacts. You'll look on Wild Things/New Sculpture like the Romans looked upon giraffes and lions in the Colosseum. Justin Cooper's The Avid Spectator/Amused is just as surreal and wild. In this exhibition, Cooper takes images from his day to day observations and explores his subconscious. His liberal employment of juxtaposed faces, colour and subject matter is slightly unnerving and confronting. Beauty is buried deep in these images, despite the bright, conflicting application of watercolour and ink that makes the images all the more striking. Image: Troy Emery, 'Wild Thing'
When it comes to impressing the pants off my folks, kids these days have their work cut out for them — particularly if we're talking about making music. I play them MGMT and they say "It's ok", or Sarah Blasko, "Mmm it's nice", but throw on some Black Keys and they scrunch their noses "It's all just … noise!" Not that my folks are an especially good judge of what we should or shouldn't listen to, but when I play Tame Impala's album, Innerspeaker, there's not a word of complaint. Perhaps they like it for the psyche-idyllic memories it brings back from their days as Flower Children but I'd have to say I like it for its totally mesmerizing riffs and laid-back tone that have me spinning out by the end of an album. And if spun out is how it feels after listening to an album, imagine what it feels like after watching them live! Now is your opportunity to find out. https://youtube.com/watch?v=dEFy0-pThlM
To explore the workings of space-flight, ponder eco-houses or the skirting boards of trams, the Powerhouse Boiler Room is usually the place to be. Once a month, the gears of fertile minds are also put on show in its Mezzanine as part of Vibewire's fastBREAK series. With the sleek morning accoutrements of cheap breakfast and swish digs, you can listen to bright young things from a range of creative industries talk about what they do. This final fastBREAK for 2010 runs along the theme of love, and each of its five speakers loves their field. Jono Fisher's burn-out from the business world lead him to work as a nanny, which lead in turn to the germ of Wakeup Sydney's anti-pyramid of kindness. Vicky Roberts was part of the passion in the 2004 Olympics' Australian Women's Rowing team, Luke Escombe serenades with flippant Flip-Flop hip-hop, while Chris Thé authors the much-adored Black Star pastries spread at the fastBREAK buffet. Also speaking will be the Blood and Thunder-publishing, Rizzeria-loving Kernow Craig. Each will talk for five minutes, then get chatting with the audience. And after that, well — work. But maybe a good breakfast will allow you to love it just a little bit more. Image by learnscope.
There's a veritable crucible of perceptions, emotions and hysterical anticipation to consider when evaluating the penultimate film in the Harry Potter saga. This Global Phenomenon (surely deserving of capitalisation) has claimed the fervent love of at least one generation; come the release of Part 2 in 2011, kids and adults alike will have spent an entire decade with the film versions. This is all by way of saying that the first installment of J.K Rowling's Deathly Hallows tome has undergone an utterly indulgent adaptation — 146 minutes of minutely, magnificently detailed, precisely paced, decidedly dark fare — and the fans wouldn't have it any other way. Director David Yates, who has been helming the franchise since 2007s Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, flexes his muscles with an opening extreme close-up shot of Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour's (Bill Nighy) eyes as he ominously intones, "These are dark times." Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves are unafraid of taking Rowling's story into the markedly more mature realm she outlines on the page; it's one made even more boldly disquieting with the striking visual allusions to the Inquisition and WWII eras, especially with regards to the ethnic cleansing of the Muggles. That said, Yates is not without a sense of humour; in one scene you can spy a hilariously titled piece of propaganda When Muggles Attack. A quick recap (SPOILER alert!): Dumbledore is dead. Voldermort (Ralph Fiennes) is wreaking havoc, and has Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) splashed across the papers as enemy no. 1. After a series of ruthless attacks, Harry, Hermione (Emma Watson) and Ron (Rupert Grint) go on the run, trying to stay one step ahead of the hoards of Voldermort's nightmarish 'Snatchers'. The trio are also on the hunt for the remaining Horcruxes (splinters of Voldermort's soul that sustain his immortality), at which point you can be forgiven for confusing the film with The Lord of the Rings. Even if one can argue Tolkien doesn't have the patent on the quest storyline, the similarities are frustratingly apparent, even including an unearthly apparition that uses the same visual effect as Galadriel's ghostly transformation. Fortunately, however, Yates is blessed with some true geniuses in composer Alexandre Desplat and cinematographer Eduardo Serra, who conspire to create some of the most sublimely beautiful tableaux you're likely to see this year out the plot's relative, derivative, monotony. In fact one could wager Yates wants his audience to experience the tedium — punctuating it as he does with spine-tingling action — as well as the the hormone charged angst and the slow burn build up of tension for what promises to be a staggering climax in Part 2, and in 3D no less. It is definitely for the best that the production halted its mad dash 3D conversion for this installment (Serra's artistry is too thrilling to be ruined by a bad 3D render), but given the actors, director and entire production team are all now playing their A-Game, Part 2 could be absolutely magic. https://youtube.com/watch?v=SuYTztUNWIs
Tony McNamara's new play The Grenade is well paced, competently acted and funny at times, but it's hard to get too excited about a show so keen to diffuse its own narrative tension. Ostensibly about the paranoia that ensues when political analyst and family man Busby McTavish (Gary McDonald) finds a hand grenade left in his living room, The Grenade never makes any bones about its true focus: McTavish's angst over the potential sexual awakenings of his wife and daughter. And in that respect, the basic setup is pretty compelling. Busby's first wife cheated on him repeatedly — a humiliation the play goes to some lengths to emphasise — and his subsequent marriage to a ex-nun Sally (Belinda Bromilow) and encouragement of his teenage daughter's (Eloise Mignon) jaunt down the path of quirky, sexless nerddom both smack of pain repressed rather than healed. Enter suitors for both women and their evident reciprocity, and it seems like only a matter of time before something has to give and Busby explodes. Indeed, if the central metaphor somehow passes you by, there it is on the show's poster: McDonald's head superimposed on a shrapnel pineapple. However, despite establishing a central conflict ripe for exploring ideas of fidelity, betrayal and possessiveness, McNamara does almost nothing with the premise. It's not so much that Busby's paranoia is played for laughs (this is a farce, after all) but that those laughs are overwhelmingly lazy, throwaway gags that swamp any humour the show could extract from the concerns it has created for its characters. There is some incisive stuff about the minutiae of failed relationships and the consequences of desire — but it is immediately smoothed away with a thick layer of unrelated, inconsequential gags rather than building into something genuinely funny or cathartic. This kills what tension the play does build up, deflating its humour and robbing the audience of any investment in the characters. No-one's suggesting that theatre dealing with "weighty" themes has to itself be heavy going, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with inconsequential comedy, but putting the effort in to create an effective premise and not allowing it to play out comes across as somewhat wasteful in the end.
Even Books have more ideas for ways that nerds can have fun than the universe has room for. First they combined books, parties and braininess (whoever imagined THAT would be considered fun?). Then they created a Reader's Festival during the Sydney Writer's Festival(!) And now they're taking over First Draft gallery. "But how", you say, “can you simply puts words on walls?!” Enter the artists. Eight artists and eight writers have paired up to respond in their chosen medium to the notion of Twins/Doppelgangers, then swap their work (words for pictures and vice versa) and respond to their partner's response. Dizzy yet? Those responses will deck the walls of the gallery and on *opening night, will be accompanied bunch of nerdy-but-arty party-goers (i.e., you) because what Even Books event doesn't involve a party? In keeping with the theme you will be surrounded by mirrors and dressed-up doubles as you check the work of some of Sydney's finest emerging artists and writers including Rinzen, Sui Zhen, Caleb Lewis, Eddie Sharp and Lee Tran Lam. You'll also have the opportunity to purchase a first (and very limited) edition publication accompanying the exhibition *Launch party: November 10, 6 - 8pm
The more I read about it the more the patriotic Sydney native in me wanted not to like this project. Melbourne designer collaborates with Melbourne photographer for exhibition in Sydney. We don't like to be told how to do things up here. Sadly that is as negative as I can be because the clothes and images are a subtle yet undeniable pleasure to behold. The exhibition is comprised of a series of intimate and honest portraits. Stark visions of subjects handpicked from various walks of life. A model, an indigenous activist, a musician and a sculptor among others, each invited to "offer their own physical or emotional response to the clothing". Mia Mala McDonald is the photographer and Skinny Nelson the label. Through photography Mia McDonald clicks and drags over the forgotten details of life and presses APPLE (or CTRL) +B on her keyboard of artistic expression to embolden the discarded beauty of the world. Jacqui Alexander, designer for Skinny Nelson, who might be a case for DOCS, began her fashion education at age six. While my childhood was ticking away at a nearby Timezone arcade, Alexander's father was equipping her with the knowledge of pattern making and garment construction. By 18 Alexander was something of a veteran and Skinny Nelson was to become be the vehicle for her creative direction. Fashion and photography go together like wine and cheese; in both combinations there is a balancing act and the sum is reliant not just on the individual components but how well they sit together. These two have achieved an unpretentious, thoughtful harmony that is well worth a look.
Taking inspiration from events in the past 12 months such as the (mainly UK-based) media scandals and the digital frenzy that surrounded the Kony2012 campaign, the 2012 Sydney Writers' Festival will get us all thinking, talking, and maybe even writing about the shifting boundaries between what's public and what's private. Featuring profound and relevant discussions on current topics, including gay marriage and media in a digital age, the 15th SWF will include writing workshops, readings, talks, and panels from prizewinning authors, poets, and biographers — as well as politicians, judges, and even a CIA interrogator. The festival will be hosting a few international heavyweights, too. Libyan novelist Hisham Matar, who was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize for In the Country of Men, will be opening the festival. He will be talking about his writing and the harrowing events of his past (his father was kidnapped by Gaddafi's regime in the '90s and is still missing). The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides, is making his first trip Down Under for the festival, and Jeanette Winterson, author of Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, will be here to read from her memoir Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?. Kick-arse writers from the UK and US, including Heather Brooke, who broke the story about the British parliamentary expenses scandal, and Stella Rimington, former head of MI5, are just two from a long list of influential writers who have tackled topics as wide-reaching as the troubled history of Ireland, Vladimir Putin's hold over Russia and western capitalism versus China’s booming economy. Closer to home, Australian expat Kathy Lette will be at the festival talking about raising an autistic child, and Aboriginal writer Anita Heiss and politician Bob Katter will be sharing their views on our nation. And don't forget the 5th annual MCA Zine Fair, where you can spend the whole day perusing, buying and talking about the DIY art. The festival takes place from May 14 to 20 across venues such as the Sydney Opera House, Walsh Bay, Sydney Town Hall and the Recital Hall. And the best part? More than half of the events are completely free. Some events are ticketed, some are not. Go to www.swf.org.au for details of all the writers attending and how to purchase tickets.
You know you are still underground when a writer trying to research you can't plagiarise your vitals from Wikipedia. You know you won't stay that way for long when every man and his dog wants to remix a track on your debut EP. 'Pumped up kicks' has spread through the muso-blogosphere like avian influenza through China. You know why? Because it's infectious. And much like 'Moersch-Woltman Condition', you might think you don't have it, but a remix has probably worked its way onto your playlist and unavoidable rhythmic spasms are on your horizon. LA based Foster The People are touring Australia for some local exposure in anticipation of their debut album, which the band say they are 'close to finishing'. Their electronic pop might not be considered revolutionary but it's got range, swagger and refreshingly decent lyrics. They are clearly having fun; nothing about it feels forced and unlike so many emerging acts, I can tell they have not released anything that sounds unfinished or unsure of itself. If their album is as carefully produced as their releases to date, by the end of the year there will be nothing obscure about them. https://youtube.com/watch?v=SLK7hrRijes
Let's clear up one thing straight off the bat. The word 'cellar' is often linked with the words 'dark' and 'dank'. Spiders typically come to mind. Not so with this cellar — actually, you couldn't get further from the truth. The part you're missing here is 'Sydney'. And if we've learned anything from the recent heat wave, it's that summer in Sydney means sun. This particular event is actually held in the laid back and distinctly alfresco surrounds of Hyde Park, so replace that dark cellar image with something a little more suited to the occasion. The Cellar Door concept has far more to do with content than environment. More than one hundred New South Wales wineries will be bringing along their finest drops, which is an excellent excuse for both experts and the curious to partake. Providores and restaurants will join them, showcasing the best produce that the state has to offer. Add a little chilled entertainment (the words 'laid back jazz' are being thrown around), and you're sorted until sunset. Entry is free, affordable tasting packages are available, and you've got an entire weekend to make the most of it. Image: photo by Dominic Loneragan
With the Amanda Palmer whirlwind freshly passed through town, another ex-label rocker turned successful, self-produced artist is coming to Sydney to fill our stage with sound. Having shot to fame with the Commotions, Lloyd Cole is touring Small Ensemble —the name of his new album and band. Cole has climbed and descended the heights of rock stardom, and he now finds himself in the same thrilling, awkward commercial space as Palmer. Having been eighties Polydor stardom, he runs his CD inventory from a spare room and raises his production funds through preorders. Although the Small Ensemble is acoustic, they're no less electric for that. The new album has a few Commotions tracks like Four Flights Up and Perfect Skin, but most of the songs have a mellower rhythm. Matt Cullen and Mark Schwaber join Cole to make up the group, and they're joined in Sydney by Fred Maher and ex-Commotions keyboardist Blair Cowan. Cole himself has learned web-coding, travel writing and accountancy to keep his show on the road — not to mention his new musical groove. But the only skill you'll need to get in on his act is finding yourself a ticket. Image by Paul Shoul.
As the granddaughter of Italian immigrants, most of my 'Australian childhood' involved working too hard for everything, Mediterranean barbecues (those are aubergines), good ol' D.I.Y wine making and vege growing. I really wasn’t aware of the any other kind of Australian childhood and it wasn't until I experienced the humour, warmth and candour of William Yang's performances that I learnt about the experience of the Asian immigrants who also grew up in Oz. It was a really big eye opener for me. So successful has Yang been at enlightening audiences with his storytelling, that in 2010 Performance 4A asked him to direct, teach and guide a group of Asian Australians in how to tell their stories in front of an audience. Stories East & West is the result of these teachings and Australians from China, Vietnam, Malaysia and India share their tales, along with photographs from their personal collections. You can catch those stories as part of COOLie: Asian Australian Performance Event, along with About Face — a new variety show commissioned by Performance 4a to showcase the tales of our — not other, far-away — land.
Is art the stuff on the walls, or the stuff that drips out of your pen? A lot of the elements of Sydney's Museum of Contemporary Art invite opinion and controversy — although, just as many of the things in the galleries are quite obviously paintings, sculpture or photography. Or occasionally, quite obviously ordinary urinals too. But if you want to make sure that the things you see on the walls or floors at the MCA work for you as art, then you have the option of taking it all into your own hands. Drop in for one of their Weekend Art Sessions and make some of it yourself. Collage, charcoal, pencil, sculpture. The contents of the workshops vary as much the attendees. Similar sessions have included the rent-fabric mentoring of cut-out artist Kate Scardifield, and have explored the US West Coast art scene. The Weekend Sessions are run by MCA educators, they're run regularly and they're regularly running out of space. So if you want to start your art in the surrounds of a big-gallery space, on a weekend afternoon the MCA is your place to be. Image by Charlie Brewer.
The drive towards collaboration and connectivity is one of the biggest shifts in social and professional spheres over the last few decades. Nowhere is it seen more strongly than in the creative industries, with designers daily working side by side to reinvent the way the world looks and works. Object Gallery, the Australian Centre for Craft and Design, is hosting a season of local design talent to spread the word on how companies are shaping our lives in new, imaginative ways. Exhibitions and workshops are on offer to the public, featuring the know-how of Dinosaur Designs, DesignByThem, Cloth, Malcolm Greenwood, Oliver Smith, Mud and a score of others. Workshops take the form of industry insights, showing craft skills, through to pow-wows on how to reboot life through the senses.
Genderfuck and genrefuck are hand-in-glittered palm for Taylor Mac's phenomenal Australian tease tour of The Ziggy Stardust Meets Tiny Tim Songbook OR Comparison is Violence. Following quick-fired comparisons of being Ziggy Stardust (he sings and wears glam) and Tiny Tim (he plays a ukulele) from around the world, drag performer Mac decided to give the punters what they were assuming they wanted. The result is a cabaret performance that combines David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars with some of Tiny Tim's warbling greats. Being Taylor Mac, it's more than a singalong jukebox night. Mac's work is cutting edge performance communication, using outlandish and beautiful methods to wrestle the dangerous myths of modern society to the ground. Blessed with an immense talent, for singing, speaking and reasoning, Mac never preaches his cause, but rather plants wisdom and courage through entertainment. This will be one of the darlings of the Mardi Gras season, and for very good reason. https://youtube.com/watch?v=2G8GR457ZqQ
A lot of people like fan fiction. A lot of people write fan fiction. Typically speaking, I'd say a lot of fan fiction is almost definitely porn. What if Bella and Edward got together in the first book? What did Buffy and Angel really get up to that night? And, most importantly, what if regency era laws allowed Mr Darcy and Elizabeth to more, ahem, publicly display their affections than a simple chaste kiss at the end of the novel? If you were at all curious as to how Jane Austen might write porn, then best you have a look at Steven Dawson's Jane Austen's Guide to Pornography. Imagine what happens when Jane, readying for her swan song, meets 21st Century pornographic playwright Brett as he struggles to write his best work, and that's what you'll get. Combined with another of Dawson's work, Gorgeous Bastard, the whimsical tale of three gay men at a straight man's wedding, and you've got yourself a rollicking good night at the theatre. Both productions are being held in conjunction with the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras- just a small snippet of the cornucopia of events that will be held during the annual festival.
If Avatar was the cinematic equivalent of a brash, hulking show off, then Sanctum is its slight but wiry Australian cousin. Filmed with the same 3D cameras and executive produced by James Cameron, Sanctum is a solid action film and a skilful calling card for cinema’s new dimension. The story is based on producer and consummate cave diver Andrew Wight’s harrowing account of being stranded by a freak storm in the Nullarbor, where he and his unfortunate companions were forced to literally discover a new way out. This account has been fictionalised into a story that centres on a fractious father/son relationship between Frank (Richard Roxburgh) and Josh (Rhys Wakefield), as the life-and-death experience puts their already strained relationship under more pressure (again, literally). If you can get past the cringingly clunky opening act, then the trills and spills of Sanctum make for well crafted popcorn entertainment. Josh and Frank’s familial difficulties are given way too much air time, while the leaden load of exposition about the cave itself is handed to none other than The Chaser’s Andrew Hansen. Once in the depths, Dan Wyllie steals all his scenes as ‘Crazy’ George, the comic relief with the dramatic chops to back it up. Roxburgh trades in his Rake robes for a wetsuit, further anchoring the film with a suitably grouchy gravitas, which allows relative newcomer Wakefield (The Black Balloon) to convincingly shoulder his lead role. The rest of the ensemble is a little hit and miss, with Welshman Ioan Gruffudd (Fantastic Four) in particular seeming to struggle with both his American accent and his pencil sketch of a character. Although Sanctum is hard on the ears, the visuals are much more easy on the eyes. Some truly striking underwater sets are on offer, with some terrifying stunts to match. The 3D succeeds in amplifying the audiences’ experience, and on a visual as well as thematic level, the conceit of fading light is one of the film’s strongest elements. So, any claustrophobics out there can consider themselves warned; this is definitely not the film to see before fronting up to do your PADI course!
Tamara Drewe is the sort of film the British do best. A spry, sassy ensemble comedy, set in an idyllic countryside where everything is not quite as mannered as it appears. Playwright Moira Buffini (Jane Eyre) adapted Posy Simmonds' Guardian comic strip turned graphic novel, which is itself a sexy revamp of Thomas Hardy's classic Far From the Maddening Crowd. The result is a contemporary tale of erstwhile ugly duckling Tamara Drewe (Gemma Arterton), who is forced to move back to the sleepy rural Dorset village of Ewedown in order to sell the family home. There the locals are shocked to behold the stunning femme fatale, with her new septum and even more scandalous pair of denim shorts. Before long, the successful journalist finds herself embroiled in a love triangle with bratty rockstar Ben (Dominic Cooper) and Andy (Luke Evans), an old flame and now the muscle-bound handyman helping her restore the residence. Writers will get an extra kick out of Tamara Drewe — observing all of our heroine's shenanigans are a house full of writers toiling away on a creative retreat. Hubristic novelist Nicolas Hardiment (Roger Allam) and his effacing wife Beth (Tamsin Greig) run the household, which does not escape Tamara's singular charms. And rounding out the ensemble are two local schoolgirls Jody (Jessica Barden) and Casey (Charlotte Christie), who are obsessed with Ben and thus dangerously jealous of Tamara. Brimming with colour, vim and verve, director Stephen Frears (The Queen, High Fidelity) has deftly crafted a clear crowd pleaser. Everyone is in top form both behind and in front of the camera, with Arterton bringing just the right mix of modern seductiveness and old world gumption, although it is the comedic styling of young Barden who steals the show. Spirited, sexy and stacked with laughs — both light and delightfully dark — Tamara Drewe is a must-see modern day period comedy, with smarts.
Watching a Bangarra production is to stand in a whirlpool; a point of confluence where past and present blend. It may be an overused image but it is important to recognise the influence of tradition in any form of art, especially when the traditions are as ancient as those of Indigenous Australia. It is a mark of artistic excellence that Stephen Page and the company, now in their third decade, do not allow their conversation with the past to become a kitsch token of cultural consumption — their work remains unique, enthralling and world-class. Spirit is a focused moment in Bangarra's unity of past and present. Amongst moments from previous works sits Kathy Balngayngu Marika, whose story-telling powers weave a celebration of family, spirituality and nature. What you will see occupies that space between theatrical and ritualistic. It is the border between our world and something that is both of and bigger than us. On February 5th, Bangarra are presenting Spirit for a single fundraising gala before the show embarks on its European tour. Of the ticket price, $120 is a tax deductible donation that will go towards training new Indigenous storytellers and theatre-makers, ensuring that the grand ancient remains in resonance with the shifting now. Book by emailing rsvp@bangarra.com.au or calling 02 9251 5333. Image by Danielle Lyonne
Singaporean artist Ho Tzu Nyen gets around. His experimental film Earth — designed to be accompanied live by the music of Yasuhiro Morinaga and Stefano Pilia — has toured the world. It made appearances at the Venice Film Festival and Cannes, and more traditional art shows at Fukuoka and São Paulo. After these exotic excursions, Earth is coming here too, to be part of the Sydney Festival. A kind of painting translated to the page, Earth works in the tradition of Nightwatching or other transitions from canvas to film. Chocolate shades of light and dark are drawn out of Italian tenebroso and into the moving image, in a 45 minute film shot in three long takes on a set made up like a dark rubbish dump. Designed to sit with a musical score as much as to be projected on a wall, the Woolloomooloo installation of Earth at Artspace has arranged to have the music come to the shadowy art. Melbournite instrumentalist and composer Oren Ambarchi will perform live pieces to accompany the film tonight (Monday 24) and tomorrow at 7.30pm. So if you want to find out what backing music might have pleased Carravaggio, come down to Earth and check out the soundtrack. *The unaccompanied exhibition runs Tuesday to Sunday
This documentary comes with a warning label straight out of Fight Club: the first rule of Catfish is that you don’t talk about Catfish. Of course this makes reviewing Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost’s provocative and strikingly poignant documentary rather tricky, but it’s a cracking marketing campaign! To skirt around spoilers, Catfish is initially the story of 24-year-old New York photographer Yaniv (Nev) Schulman, who is affectionately bullied by his brother into sharing the details of his budding online friendship with an eager young painter, Abby. What begins with a few watercolours in the mail ends up with Nev becoming Facebook friends with the whole family and, 8 months later, as a pretty full on virtual romance between Nev and Abby’s 19-year-old sister Megan. The relationship is conducted through flurry of phone calls and flirty text messages, before a few curious inconsistencies see Nev travelling cross-country with Ariel and Henry to meet Megan face-to-face. In the wake of feted and infamous mockumentaries like Exit Through the Gift Shop and I’m Still Here it seemed inevitable that Catfish would face similar scrutiny. Queries about staged scenes on the one hand, and concerns about exploitation on the other will no doubt continue to dog the filmmakers, who, at this stage at least, are resolutely sticking to their guns. So your best bet is to give them the benefit of the doubt, and let any questions that the film might raise mingle with the reflexivity it evokes in every Facebook fanatic viewer. The true, almost nightmarish beauty of Catfish is the all too crystal clear mirror it holds up to its audience. In what could easily be called The Social Network 2.0, this documentary questions the nature of friendship in the digital age and the lengths we go to for tangible human connection. And for all the filmmakers’ youthful bravado, the answers Nev finds are an all too human jumble of awkward, uncomfortable and deeply affecting realities; truths that will leave you pondering just how fragile and fragmented we are in this small, virtual world of ours.
I kid you not when I say, my knees started shaking in their boots when I read that The Big Fashion Sale was debuting in 2011 so soon after Christmas. It's not visions of swarms of hungry sale-scavengers, or even the fear and disappointment that arise when you realise that the sample isn't in your size that had me worried. No, it was the knowledge that The Big Fashion Sale only happens two times a year and I thought I wasn't ready for it yet! How wrong could I be? In a world where 'designer' is not nearly chic enough, TBFS promises 'cult designer' bargains from St Augustine Academy, Ebony Eve, Rittenhouse, Elke, Milk From a Thistle, Maurie & Eve, Shona Joy, Fernando Frisoni and a very, very long list of other local designers, who you can check out here. There are clothes, cossies, sunnies and more for all the boys and girls in your shared house, you should all check it out and style each other, like they do in the movies! Image: Ellery SS10/11
Hybrid art is an exciting byproduct of our shrinking planet. As cultures detach from their geographic origins, they slip like quicksilver between one another to produce fascinating happenings. In The Folding Wife, the merging of different practices — poetry, physical theatre and shadow play — are as much content as they are form; they are material evidence of the trans-cultural experience of many modern families. Writer Paschal Daantos Berry draws on her own experiences and anecdotes to present the tale of three Filipina women, Clare, Dolores and Grace, who are each compelled to strike out and seek a new homeland. Produced by Urban Theatre Projects, The Folding Wife crafts space and time, like folding and creasing paper, to shape a tale of our ever-shifting, hybrid world.
It's only been a few months since it was announced that Icelandic band Sigur Rós had thrown in the ol' towel, also known as "indefinite hiatus", so the tears might still be fresh enough to wipe dry with the news that lead vocalist Jónsi is coming to town. Having formed Sigur Rós after playing in a '90s grunge band with the straight-to-the-point name of Stoned (true!), Jón Þór Birgisson became well known for his post-rock musical sensibilities and delicate falsetto. For the past couple of of years he has collaborated with boyfriend Alex Somers under the name of Jónsi & Alex on publishing and music projects, releasing the instrumental album Riceboy Sleeps in late 2009. As tender as it might have been, Jónsi's recent solo album Go is more akin to the Sigur Rós dreaminess, garnering whooping reviews as he takes his cello bow to guitar and sings once more. With composition and arrangements by rising star Nico Muhly, it's a sweeping baroque pop record, begging for a tour. Having recently wowed crowds at Coachella and across North America, Jónsi will play Splendour in the Grass, and, lucky for those of us who missed tickets, will be playing a side show in Sydney at the Enmore Theatre. https://youtube.com/watch?v=UBgPmw3JCN4
Strange but delectably true: just a week ago, if you looked in the front window of the right three-storey terrace in Surry Hills at about 4am, you would have seen several twenty-somethings dancing intoxicatedly (it was a word then, at least) to the vintage-warm strains of Midlake. Now, while this is the only recorded instance of such a happening in recent times, it would not be a gigantic surprise to this writer if in the early hours of Sunday mornings everywhere, young, hip things could be seen lolloping about their low-lit lounge rooms to The Trials of Van the Occupanther and The Courage of Others. Midlake have that thing about them that encourages dorkish, retro shape-pulling from otherwise appropriately self-conscious youths. It's a heady nostalgia, best consumed after several gin and tonics, with your blinds half-drawn and seven or eight of your bestest friends. You listen on vinyl (obvs). < Of course, if you have no window dressings and no record player, you could always go and see the Midlake sideshow this July 31. It's bound to be *almost* as good, and if you find the right dark corner you can probably boogie down a little too. https://youtube.com/watch?v=P7YnE2Lv2Tw
While it is possible that Even Books might be wrong about this being a 'first', they've definitely gotten everything else right. This well-timed weekend extravaganza focuses on the essential element in all writing: the reader. Friday kicks off with a loving home, in the Clubhouse at Performance Space, for your unpublished creative genius. In the tradition of Richard Brautigan’s The Abortion, all sketches, notes and stains are accepted into the Library of Unwritten Books, where tequila will also play a role in getting the creative juices flowing. Saturday night shifts into film format, as FBi host and Playground-writer Kate Jinx curates an evening of flicks, pillows and BYO popcorn to be remembered, in the cosy confines of CuriousWorks. On Sunday, readers reclaim the streets of Redfern in a wandering read-a-thon. Bring along plenty of pillows, blankets and books — this could be a long ride. Ongoing features include another killer Even Books zine and reader installations, to be published on the blog. Write, read and get involved!
Not quite the weekend but clearly you're going to go out? The Thursday dilemma. A good festival assuages a great deal of school-night guilt purely on grounds of participation in the rich cultural life of your city or whatever, but when your event of choice is definitely educational, too, there's pretty much an obligation to get your midweek on. This year the Biennale is providing really strong motivation and justification for heading out, with festival club SuperDeluxe at Artspace holding Pecha Kucha sessions every week, the first one being an all-star lineup of artists who are part of the festival, as well as artistic director David Elliot. For 20 slides for 20 seconds at a time, presenters "chit chat" (the title is Japanese onomatopoeia) about whatever they're really really excited about right now. There are snapshots of projects and introductions to pet topics, with speakers selected on the basis of a bio, sample pictures and a rundown of their otaku-dom/geek-out. A program limited only by what you can get pictures of, the nights will be a creative forum, social space and awesome for those with short attention spans. The nights are free, but bookings are recommended — and the topics are a surprise.
Many a love letter has been written to Manhattan, but producer Emmanuel Benbihy has managed to pen one more. Or, more accurately, eleven — for the man who worked on Paul Haggis' Oscar-winning Crash has taken a similar ensemble idea and fashioned it into eleven filmmakers' eight-minute shots that tie together into a (mostly) cohesive narrative called New York, I Love You. Benbihy's first attempt was the whimsical Paris je t'aime, but this time he has limited his filmmakers to two days of shooting and seven in the editing suite. The result is a journey into different areas of the Big Apple through a variety of 'love stories', with some markedly more tenuous than others. There's Bradley Cooper and Drea de Matteo appearing in Allen Hughes' segment as a pair nervously meeting up in Greenwich Village after a passionate one night stand. And there's a touching vignette with legends Cloris Leachman and Eli Wallach as a New York old married couple, doddering and bickering their way down to the boardwalk at Brighton Beach. Then, more opaquely, is Shekhar Kapur's study of the Upper West Side, personified by an aged opera singer (Julie Christie) and her curious connection with a hunchbacked, Eastern European bell boy (Shia LeBouf). Though all the stories may not appeal, it's hard not to be drawn to the talent involved. The actors include Orlando Bloom, Christina Ricci, Chris Cooper, Robin Wright Penn, Iffran Khan, Ethan Hawke and Natalie Portman. And while New York has been so ironically captured by the likes of Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen and Spike Lee, it's fascinating to see what directors such as Fatih Akin (Soul Kitchen), Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding), Joshua Marston (Maria Full of Grace) and, er, Brett Ratner (Rush Hour) will make of it. The film also marks Natalie Portman's directorial debut, with a sweet if strained story of a little girl and her father. Benbihy's ambitious project resonates with audiences already innately familiar with the cinematic cities of New York and Paris. It will remain to be seen if the same magic will translate for future 'Cities of Love' stories, with Shanghai, Mumbai and Jerusalem all set to receive their own heartfelt declarations. https://youtube.com/watch?v=r8LK8Rl8h0E
When the Biennale of Sydney announced they would be transporting Tokyo’s SuperDeluxe to Artspace in Wooloomooloo, we weren’t sure exactly what they meant — but when we finally saw the program, we squealed like Japanese schoolgirls. There’s UJINO’s noise sculpture, Toydeath’s toy torture, the tangled sounds of Hair Stylistics and the street fight dance of contact GONZO. There’s some of Japan’s best new sound and performance acts alongside locals like Wade Marynowsky, Rosie Dennis, Alex White and Gail Priest. There’s even butoh, for chrissakes! It’s all very exciting, and free, people — but you must get booking. The original Superdeluxe basement bar around the corner from Mori Gallery (founded by the Biennale director David Elliott) in Tokyo was set up by a bunch of architects and designers as a space for them hold gigs, exhibitions, performances, forums, screenings, etc — and to brew their own beer. It blew up big time, with stuff now on virtually every night of the year, and one of the most popular events has been the Pecha Kucha talks series, which has spread its “20 slides for 20 seconds each” model around the world and will also be a part of the program here. The other super thing that will be bringing people together at Artspace for the Biennale is a fine film program on Sunday afternoons from 3 to 5pm. The gallery and cafe are open from 11am to 5pm, and the nighttime performances, events and bar kick off at 7.30pm and go until midnight. Let’s move to Woolloomooloo. Image: Ujino, The Ballad of Backyard, 2008, Wood Furniture, Household Electrical Appliance and Mixed Media, photo by Koo.
Finders keepers, losers weepers ... it’s a childhood taunt that still has the power to make me plunge towards the asphalt like a deranged Olympian diver in the hope of finding something shiny. The Finders Keepers Market held biannually at CarriageWorks is probably less likely to end in tears and an almighty knee scrape — but you will come out the other end with some sweet, shiny things. This season's lineup beefs up the edgy over the cutesy — and I must say, I am rather relieved, as there are only so many pouty, moon-faced softie dolls I can fit on my bed. Standout newcomers include Bugs & Megs, who specialise in German-style wool felt products; the fresh tees of fashion darlings Das Monk; cheery pom-poms dangling off chains courtesy of Dreamers and Believers; silhouette cushions from Me and Amber; most ladies’ favourite mysterious creature, Secret Squirrel Clothing; the disturbing animalia of Stupid Krap prints; and scratchie cards you always win from thanks to stationery kids TMOD. If those haven’t got you on the edge of your springboard, there’s plenty more on offer — around 80 stalls in fact — along with a bar, cafe and live music. The markets stay open until 10pm on Friday and 6pm on Saturday. Just remember, snooze you lose.
A German comedy about food? Given that the nation is not exactly renowned for its culinary prowess, or comedic cinema for that matter, I was certainly curious about Soul Kitchen, the latest offering out of Germany from filmmaker Faith Akin (The Edge of Heaven, Head On) and winner of the Special Jury Prize at the Venice Film Festival. Zinos, played by co-writer Adam Bousdoukos, is the hapless but utterly lovable owner of Soul Kitchen, a restaurant in a decrepit area of Hamburg that serves greasy, subpar fare that his regular customers happen to love. When his girlfriend, Nadine (Pheline Roggan), accepts a job in Shanghai, Zinos is faced with the dilemma of what to do with the restaurant if he decides to join her. Enter the recently unemployed, hotheaded chef Shayn (Birol Unel), a culinary purist who promises to bin the sloppy servings and whisk Zinos's menu into a peak of sophistication. The mass exit of his regulars, outraged at the disappearance of the deep-fried stodge, begins a string of calamities for Zinos and his staff: Untimely visits from the tax and health departments, his dodgy brother Illias's release from prison on parole and harassment by a slippery developer itching to snatch the property all build into a comedy of errors that threatens to send Zinos and the restaurant into the red. Lightly spread with cheese, Soul Kitchen has a predictable narrative arc and at times indulges in tired comedic cliché, but it's all forgivable — Akin and his cast are having way too much fun to begrudge them any of it. On a lighter undertaking than his previous projects, Akin manages to imbue Soul Kitchen with a kind of gritty European sensibility and genuine warmth often lacking in typical Hollywood offerings of its genre. Besides, the quirky characters are so endearing and skillfully portrayed by an accomplished ensemble of actors, one can't help but become invested in their story. To win one of five double passes to see Soul Kitchen, email your name and address to hello@concreteplayground.com.au https://youtube.com/watch?v=Ua86x-J4ubA
Honor (Wendy Hughes) and George (William Zappa) have been married for 32 years. Honor, an accomplished (and published) poet when they met, gave up her career to support George’s ascent into journalistic glory and to raise their daughter, Sophie (Yael Stone). When Claudia, an attractive, 28-year-old journalist and would-be novelist (Paula Arundell), is commissioned to write a profile on George, Honor and Sophie find themselves at the mercy of George’s mid-life crisis; he up and leaves his wife for hot sex and creepy-replacement-father-like adoration from Claudia. Honor, although devastated, finds truth in the lie that became her life and resumes her career as a poet (apparently all the more able because of her hardship). Joanna Murray-Smith’s Honour is either an expose on the brutal inevitability of middle-class, heterosexual womanhood or a series of cleverly written cliches (that elicit in young, middle-class, heterosexual women a mortal fear of their inevitable future). The Sydney Theatre Company’s production sits in this ambiguity, being neither highly stylised nor wholly naturalistic, leaving me slightly confused as to Lee Lewis’s directorial intent. Is this real-life in the theatre or dramatic cliche? This ambiguity is apparent in the lack of continuity between the performances. In the opening scenes Arundell’s Claudia seems painfully over- or under-rehearsed, dialogue and character appear rote learnt. As the production progresses, however, it becomes clear that she has perfectly and stylistically drawn Claudia into the narcissistic, man-loathing (come on, we’re not fooled, it’s Honor she’s really after) careerist that she is. Her staccato performance is then, perhaps, purposeful. The actor stands outside of her role in order to best highlight the contrivances of the character; this is not a real person but a caricature of one. I’m convinced this approach could work, however, the other performances are too steeped in naturalism (at times brilliantly so — Yael Stone has some lovely moments) for it to work here. Both Hughes and Zappa are solid as Honor and George. Michael Scott-Mitchell’s wooden set is beautiful (likewise the costuming from Alice Babidge, lighting from Damien Cooper and sound design from Paul Charlier), and Lewis’s staging around it bespeaks the interconnected intimacy of the tragedy/triumph of the situation. Honour has all the slickness everyone expects from the Sydney Theatre Company. In the end Honor is rewarded for her wifely service, Claudia is punished for her self-serving seductiveness, Sophie — too pampered to know true heartache (and thus creativity) — is destined to remain a disappointment to her father and George remains just another sorry old man. Murray-Smith has no doubt observed her characters in life many times (who hasn’t these days?) and her play, and this performance of it, is funny and evocative. While she is never cruel, her sharp tongue and quick wit cloud her compassion and I, for one, remain more hopeful about human relationships. But maybe I am just naive. See it and make up your own mind. Tickets are $30 if you are under 30.
Had the team behind Glow lived during the middle ages, they'd have been burnt at the stake for extreme witchcraft. There's no way that such a visually-engaging, magical show can be anything but the result of a pact with the devil. Glow is the story of a "loser": an ordinary man living a boring life that, behind the scenes, is peppered with all manner of whimsical fantasies. As you can imagine, he ends up meeting the love of his life, overcomes oppression in the form of his nasty boss and discovers that he's a hero through and through. While the story itself is fairly straightforward, the major draw is the amazing technical puppetry that creates a world very reminiscent of Avatar (minus the blue aliens and Pocahontas overtones). https://youtube.com/watch?v=OPVUPPcub_c
“Anon, Anon! I pray you, remember the porter.” And so you shall, if you chance to find your butt affixed to a seat in the Darlinghurst Theatre before May 10. Danielle King’s triple turn as the Porter/Lady Macduff/gentlewoman in their current production of Macbeth is worth buying a ticket for. And, honestly, she’s not the only reason. This is a solid and coherent production that captures the vibrancy and colour of Macbeth’s rise and fall — twisted tragedy that it is — even when individual performances come up slightly off-kilter. The strength of this production lies in its ensemble work and props go to director Christopher Hurrell for effecting it and to the cast for pulling it off. In an attempt to undermine our modern-day scepticism/complacency towards the supernatural, Hurrell decided to cast the entire cast as the weird sisters (Brisbane company Zen Zen Zo did this brilliantly in the 90s — to different effect). The result is a raspy, energised opening scene that sets the tone for the whole production. Thirteen actors lined up around a suitably dour set (Justin Nardella) hiss, screech, drop and twitch in all their witchy glory. In repetition, it is quite mesmerising. And it goes a long way towards revealing that fate had its designs on Macbeth long before the ambitious, cold-blooded tyranny of his character bubbled to the surface. Movement director Mackenzie Scott’s choreography is simple and effective and it enlivens the final battle scene to hair-standing-up-on-neck proportions. That said, where the ensemble succeeds, individual performances do fall. There is a decided hangover of witchiness in most of the cast as they switch to their other roles — too light on their feet and skittish. The soldiers carry neither the weight of battle nor the heavy jubilance of victory and it makes them seem too contemporary (or unaffected by war) and decidedly unwarrior-like. Nicholas Eadie and Margot Fenley give nuanced performances as the Macbeths but, again, come across as too contemporary and lacking in regality. I like my kings kingly. Nonetheless, this Macbeth is elegant in its simplicity and on the whole a most worthy production.
The word 'meteoric' is bandied around quite liberally in the music industry, but the Temper Trap's upward trajectory definitely deserves the term bestowed upon it. I remember seeing them play in the little bat cave known as Candy's Apartment: they were noticeably good. Singer Dougy had a very unique voice that stood out from the average indie-rock belter, and the rest of the band were great to watch, with songs beyond run-of-the-mill pop/rock. They polished all the good bits on the debut album — Dougies voice, Lorenzo's chiming guitars, stripped back bass and drums — until they sounded like a huge band. They must have been listening to U2 or Simple Minds — big 80's New Romantic stuff — and, like Kings Of Leon, stumbled upon the reverb box. It sounded like they were destined to play stadiums. Fast forward a bit and now they are playing stadiums. After whipping up a frenzy in the UK, they are about to come back to Aus to do their first 'we are a massive band' tour. They have sold out their hometown Festival Hall, so get your arse to the cash machine and get your tickets for the Hordern. https://youtube.com/watch?v=vN7HQrgakZU
Hands up who likes contemporary art? Put ‘em down. Put ‘em up. Down. Up. Sorry, stay with me. The 17th Biennale of Sydney is almost upon us. Three months of glorious wanderings through room after room of contemporary art, hand selected by David Elliott, famed curator, broadcaster and museum director. Elliott’s biennale, The Beauty of Distance: Songs of Survival in a Precarious Age, is poised to unfold as a revelatory experience. It already boasts all the right ingredients; an extensive list of big-name, not-so-big-name and not-yet-big-name international and Australian artists (to name a few: Paul McCarthy, Yayoi Kusama, Isaac Julien, AES+F, Mikala Dwyer and Newell Harry), a collision of contemporary visual art, performance, film and music (watch out for the premiere of Cockatoo Prison (2010), the Tiger Lillies’ ‘post-punk’ neo-Brechtian opera) and great locations (Cockatoo Island’s awesome Turbine Hall will host Inopportune: Stage One (2004), a nine-car installation by Chinese-born, New York-based artist Cai Guo-Qiang). Definitely a biennale to get amongst. And while you’re at it, it might be worthwhile contemplating Elliott’s articulation of the theme of his biennale. An accomplished cultural historian, Elliott has long argued the equal value of all cultures in relation to each other (a radical view among an establishment that has predominately seen Western culture as superior). In The Beauty of Distance: Songs of Survival in a Precarious Age (and the five sub-themes: First Peoples and Fourth Worlds, Panopticon to the Wunderkammer, Of Gods and Ghosts, A Hard Rain and The Trickster), Elliott offers a non-hierarchical cross-section of contemporary arts from many cultures that simultaneously, through his elucidation of 'the beauty of distance', seeks critical engagement with the cultural act of making/producing contemporary art. Thought provoking, no? Image of Inopportune: Stage One by Cai Guo-Qiang. Photograph by Kazuo Ono.
There is not enough time to look at everything, so we have to choose. This choice can arrive arbitrarily (a magazine in a waiting room for example) or it can be orchestrated with agency, effort and that wonderfully hominid ability to ‘make time’ for something. So the question that concerns us here becomes apparent: should we make time for this particular arrangement of things? Simply put, in the opinion of this compromised contributor, the answer is yes. Darren Knight Gallery currently houses the work of four artists, Robert Kinmont, Kenzee Patterson, Charlie Sofo and Ronnie Van Hout; all artists whose work works for our attention in subtle, unassuming, clever and considered ways. Intelligently curated to include Kinmont — a textbook-worthy conceptual artist who has been arranging stuff since the 70s — alongside national artists such as Van Hout, Sofo and Patterson, the exhibition finds a happy peculiarity that wriggles out from an understated manipulation of materials. This curiousness is seen in Patterson’s Type 70, a geometric cube that at first appears like any other self-serious minimalist object but then, on closer inspection, surprisingly reveals that its structure is made out of spirit levels. A similar reaction occurs with Sofo’s Wood Ideas, which displays a table of familiar and prosaic objects (Paddle Pop sticks, pencils, a roll of toilet paper) all shaped from wood, presenting a fantastic patience for mimicry and joyful deception. Although there are many things you could look at instead (a kettle, a picture, a tree, a dog, a television), this too may be worthy of your precious time.
Every so often, a film transcends the extent of its putridity and transforms into a beloved 'so bad it's good' cult classic. Such is the case with The Room, a film written, produced, directed and starring the truly terrible talents of Tommy Wiseau. Sure, there's an ensemble cast and some semblance of a story-line surrounding relationships (the trailer totes it as "a film with the passion of Tennessee Williams" — right …), but it's Wiseau who has the audience in (unintentional) fits of raucous laughter, clamouring for more. The Room (a location never explained, by the way) is definitely a film all about the audience participation. Like The Rocky Horror Picture Show days of old, so much of the entertainment is derived from the group experience and shared hilarity. Thankfully, the Chauvel is giving pundits their chance, every Saturday night at 10pm during April and May. It remains to be seen if Wiseau will ascend to Ed Wood's throne as the 21st century's king of B-movie kitsch, but at the very least he's already given the world a classic non sequitur: "Oh, hi Mark." https://youtube.com/watch?v=ISXiFJS9D5A
A lot of strategies exist for vintage shopping — closing your eyes and feeling for fabrics that won't give you hives, going to wealthy suburbs, having a good tailor, saved searches all over the internet, pure persistence — to which can be added: getting a collection of inner-city fashion kids to drag the spoils of their curated closets into the top floor of a graffiti-stairwelled, warehouse-apartment hipster-hideout and rummaging through it. Hibernian House, host to art spaces, film nights, pop-up sales and parties you don't remember, now has a regular vintage sale put together by SixOhOne, the occupants of the top floor. The eyrie roomful of racks of mens' and ladies' clothes is replenished daily, tagged for provenance so you get extra anecdote value and gently priced at an average of $20 or so with single-figure accessories. Given the multiple contributors, you get all the disparate styles, periods and sizes of op-shopping, alongside the coherence and elimination of hopeless pieces that pricier vintage affords. The homey venue has a musical selection that encourage sashays in your items of choice/ridicule and a couch for the paraded-out to flop on. It's cash only (but close to an ATM) and use of public transport is encouraged.
Thank the Gods of urban planning for Surry Hills, without which Sydney’s only claim to a hub of cultural diversity, decent culinary haunts, urban grit and faux-artsy yuppiedom would be … um … Melbourne. It gives credence to our posturing as a sophisticated metropolis, it grants us a filament of pride on an international stage, it supplies us with an adequate rebuttal to “there’s more culture in a tub of yoghurt than Australia". So how can we show our appreciation for one of Sydney’s most valuable patches of credibility? By doing what we do best: throwing a festival. Thanks to Surry Hills Neighbourhood Centre, the annual Surry Hills festival is on once again. A more compact affair this year due to the renovation of its usual Prince Albert Park home, the event will take place across two smaller venues, Ward Park (Devonshire Street) and Shannon Reserve (Crown Street). The festival will therefore be a more intimate gathering with a "community picnic feel", but will still put on quite the spectacle with live entertainment, DJs, over 60 market and food stalls, rides, free activities for the kiddies and the famous Surry Hills Dog Show. So go ahead, paint a banner (we know you’re dying to), step outside the square (yes I’m talking to you, Bondi) and explore Surry Hills’ neighbourhood delights on Saturday April 10.
Tucked away in a quiet corner of Chippendale, the White Rabbit Gallery is impossible to miss: just follow the bicycles of Sydney's cool kid art crowd which constantly flow to and from its doors. Filled to the brim with celestial and provocative treasures, this four-level art space is currently the largest private gallery in Sydney. Plus, the library and tearoom both feature delicious treats. If that's not reason enough to make an excursion, the first Sunday of every month features a film club in the gallery's theatrette, showcasing the best that Chinese cinema has to offer. April's is Hero, the hugely expensive film that took almost two years to appear in English (courtesy of Quentin Tarantino). The colour-based cinematography of the film, which helps to trace different character versions of the plot, is singularly perfect for a gallery space, while the fight scenes are completely out of this world. Not to mention the screening is free; Perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Look out for: To Live (Zhang Yimou, 1994) on 2 May Eat Drink, Man Woman (Ang Lee, 1994) on 6 June Farewell, My Concubine (Chen Kaige, 1993) on 4 July https://youtube.com/watch?v=hv3u8-Mq08Q
This year the annual exhibition carriageARTworks is the venue for the closing celebration of Sydney’s inaugural Art Month. Curated by a panel that includes last year’s Archibald winner, Guy Maestri, the show brings together artist-run initiatives and galleries — including Black & Blue Gallery, Factory 49, May Street Studios and NG Art Gallery — to present “original and evocative works of art from Sydney’s fringe”. See artists like Anna Tow, a Sydney-based animator and artist at Lennox Street Studios, present the creepily sweet How Happily I Ride My Bike, while Jane Gillings turns the ordinary into the extraordinary with her coat hanger–constructed chandelier, Falling From Grace, and Yiwon Park, represented by Sheffer Gallery, deconstructs the body Frida Kahlo–style in My Beautiful Pelvis and other works. The show makes fantastic use of the converted rail carriage space and will be supported by a program of talks and panel discussions. For an exhibition walk and talk, head down to CarriageWorks on 3 or 15 April, and to find out if contemporary art is ingenious or irrelevant join the panel discussion on 17 April. Image: Jane Gillings, Falling from Grace.
