Birdeatsbaby LIVE

I kept telling myself I'd see these guys. I mean, come on, I know the rocker front-lady and pianist/vocalist Mishkin Mullaly from way back and always said "Sure, sure, I'll be there." So when I heard that they were planning in London-town, in Islington no less, I bought my ticket and jumped at the opportunity.

Upstairs at the Garage is a smallish venue, with room for perhaps 100 or so, but that may be generous. Despite ants-in-the-pants of the next act's lead vocalist, Birdeatsbaby's performance was nothing shy of brilliant. The wanderer from Maleficent and some issues with levels didn't really detract at all from what was an energetic and vibrant show, in which the performers seemed to lose themselves (just a little) in their music.

Let's face it: I'd listened to some Birdeatsbaby tracks before I saw them. Not right before, but in the recent past. I'd enjoyed them, but it was dark cabaret (think punky/folky/rocky/gothy sorta thing...think piano-led dark gypsy stylings) and that might not be my musical cup of tea. But live, the sound was catapulted onto a different plane. The fact was that even with shonky levels and some bad behaviour from the next act, the music was engaging and lost little. It's truly a tribute to a band if one can enjoy listening to the bass line (Garry) or tight, exciting drumming (Philippa) even if that's not what you're meant to be hearing loudest. Three part-harmonies and involved cello and violin parts (Ella and Keely respectively) built a kind of musical tableau that I was happy to let wash over me. Over the top of that, the stylistic range from Mishkin's vocals provided a fitting icing to the rather enjoyable, if dark, cake. As a live show, I loved it; I was enthralled by how together this group were, how explosive their songs seemed and how even with technical glitches I wasn't really concerned or distracted. Definitely recommended!

For images and more info, how about here?

~~~

26 November 2009, with Maleficent & Belladonna, Upstairs at the Garage, Relentless Garage, Highbury & Islington

The Omega Man

I read I Am Legend a little late; it has been reckoned by some as the single most important vampire novel after Bram Stoker's Dracula. Richard Matheson's novella is chilling in its portrait of the conflict a lone man faces after the world is swept by a plague; not only do the blood-sucking humans now wish to kill him, but every day is a battle with his own conscience as he searches for a cure to the virus and tries to overcome the desire to end it all.

Francis Lawrence's I Am Legend (2007) drew upon that aspect of loneliness, of a single man alone against the world. But in my view some of the charm of the book was lost as he transferred the setting from the West Coast to urban New York and turned the vampires into little more than mindless creatures. Will Smith's performance as Robert Neville was admirable, but not remarkable.

The Omega Man is the attempt of a different decade to put I Am Legend on the screen. Charlton Heston stars as Robert Neville, but here Boris Sagal has stayed more closely to the plot of the novel, in some aspects; we get a glimpse of the organisation and intention of the vampires (even if bloodsucking is not really mentioned at all; perhaps that's for the best, avoiding the standard vampire tropes that seem to abound); Neville's isolation is similarly emphasised, and more than once we see his inability to relate to others after his long silence has left him talking to himself and playing games with himself. The drinking is there too and the empty rage at his impotence.

The plot does differ from the novella; in exactly the same way as the later film, the film-makers have decided a love interest is necessary. Certainly, there is an interest in the book; but that interest is central to the plot and continues a strong message about the risk of love. In both films, the love interest only serves to further the bravery of Neville but also tie him down. There's no risk involved to himself except by the sacrifices he chooses to make for a woman.

Cinematographically, The Omega Man is beautifully realised. The desolation and ruinous husks of buildings that surround Heston as he runs around hunting the vampires are striking and intensify that sense of loneliness. The score is also a highlight, as it sets the tone perfectly. A key shift as Neville enters a darkened building and the hairs stood up on the back of neck in anticipation for discovering one of the 'Family'. Heston's performance is strong as well.

But it's badly structured plot and poor performances from the rest of the cast that let the film down. The dialogue between Heston and the love interest Lisa (Rosalind Cash) is stilted and the children he finds are wooden at best. It's entirely frustrating because the dynamism and anticipation that has been built earlier in the film falls flat. There is no sense of a climax. In fact, because the plot has been transposed somewhat, what should be a final set-piece occurs half-way through the film, entirely robbing the ending of anything with as near as brutal as the original's final moments. It's not that this is a poor adaptation of a book; it's not. It's that in making an adaptation some choices and some performances let the side down too much for it to be entirely enjoyable.

***

1971

Charlton Heston, Rosalind Cash, Anthony Zerbe

dir. Boris Sagal

Scenes From Communal Living

Sketch improvised comedy. I think that's the best way of considering this hybrid. If you're not familiar with the concept, it works thusly: it's standard improvised comedy, drawing upon the audience to get a scene started with an idea for a location / happening / event / conflict / other thing. But the twist comes from the stage; every scene is supposed to be set in a flat share, so we are to witness, in actuality, a scene from communal living. Do you see what they did they?

It's a great breed of improvised comedy, setting up only two parameters (flatshare & idea from audience). The cast rotates, both between Sunday night gigs, and during the show between who comes in to do a scene. They even take turns compering between scenes, encouraging the audience to be inventive and challenge their scenes.

From the first scene (a call-centre worker telling her flatmate about her promotion - with a deliciously softly-spoken American artist played by Partridge) I realised the idea had subtle depth to it, beyond other standard improvised shows. Because the actors aren't exactly playing a game, they're not rushing to score points over each other, each scene was longer than what one might expect from an improv show, and given far more time to develop some sort of plot. That was where I marvelled at the technique of the night. Time after time, a scene might be slowing fading away, but a character could revitalise it in a moment with a sudden announcement, disagreement or even just a sigh and a shrug. Rather than a scene of one part, charging in at the start and building and rushing to some sort of final punch, instead I watched as a comic tapestry was weaved before my eyes, with ups and downs, a veritable pulse, that to me was even more enjoyable than the humour contained.

Partridge's artist was fantastic, but so was his World of Warcraft playing hardman; Parris dazzled, confidently moving between accents and seeming to do no wrong on stage. Meanwhile Broderick, Smallman and Fostekew (and I do so hope I've got the names right) all were on top form too. A Polish woman terrified of racism and a touching scene about growing little goats between Carly and Jess both stick in the memory. Parris and Broderick's final scene, the show closer, about discussing an unexpected event at a party the night before (this time, morris dancing, of all things), was both tender and hilarious. I suppose one could argue morris dancing is itself comedy gold. I'd be tempted to say it was the actors' technique that brought that about.

McCure's master plan is to make something branded, a show that can be packaged up and put on anywhere. He's already had a successful run in Sidney alongside the London run that closes on 20th December, but he aims next year to put together Melbourne and Toronto Scenes From Communal Living. It's a bold ambition, but when it works, as it did last Sunday, it's hilarious to watch.

***

22 November 2009, The Etcetera Theatre, Camden

performed byRachel Parris, Charlie Partridge, Rob Broderick, Carly Smallman, Jessica Fostekew

dir. & conceived by Stewart McCure

The Winter Queen (Fandorin 1)

Can a work in translation retain the charm and style of the original while also being accessible to the foreign reader? Boris Akunin's Fandorin series, or at least this first outing, proves conclusively it can. You may recall my reviews of his Pelagia books (1 and 2); there I suggested that while Akunin might be better known for his Fandorin tales, Pelagia still stood alone as a wonderful series in its own right.

But here I learnt why Erast Fandorin, young detective of the Third Bureau of the Moscow Criminal department, had won over the hearts of fans the world over. This novel, which follows Fandorin's first major case, at the tender age of 21, is thrilling from start to finish. The transformation our erstwhile hero undergoes as he is offered promotion and social betterment alongside danger and deception is marvellous to behold. The story ends with him as fresh-faced as it started, but he's learnt so much one can't help but feel the reader was also dragged along the maelstrom that picked up Erast and took him across Europe to Berlin, Vienna, Paris and London. He nearly loses his life countless times, only to be saved by luck or courage or desperation, or indeed a breathing technique he has been practising for the last few months.

That is part of the charm of the tale. Akunin has deliberately avoided imbuing his hero with a host of skills and abilities. Instead, he has this one breathing technique he works on, and then intuition and bravery, plus a mastery of English and German, and that's it. No super strength or cunning wit or airs or money or anything like that. Not even too much confidence, but a big dose of passion. It's what makes him a thoroughly human character and ultimately likeable. It's also what propels the entire story.

Plot-wise, having read some of the Sister Pelagia novels, I was well aware that Akunin was the master of a twisting tale. Here he excels as well; one can easily understand why this outing won him support and acclaim. In true form to a proper detective novel, the nemesis (or nemeses) hide in plain sight and the clues are available for all to see, should we so choose. There's a delightful discrepancy of awareness between characters internally, and between Fandorin and the reader that maintains suspense without becoming frustrating. That's part of the mastery here - a fresh, exciting plot that doesn't get revealed in plodding increments, but with a varying and engaging pace. Suddenly Fandorin will surge ahead with his realisations; at other times it is slower going as he searches for one clue that will suddenly illuminate a whole new area of investigation.

There's humour here too, and pathos. It got me thinking that I should recommence my Russian studies just to be able to read the rest of the series in the original. I'm also looking forward to the film of The State Counsellor, one of the later Fandorin titles. I chomped through this at such a rate that I know it must have been good, to not even notice turning the pages. Thoroughly recommended. Quick, light, fun and moving. All you want from a good detective novel.

***

1998

Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield

Transamerica

If you're one of those people who gets unsolicited text messages from me at odd hours, you'll know I just watched this film. If you're not, and you're dying to know what the messages said, I believe they read something like "Is it weird I just cried twice at a transexual?". For those that don't know, Transamerica charts a cross-country journey undertaken by Bree (aka Stanley aka Felicity Huffman), a pre-male-to-female-op transsexual, who is asked by her therapist to reconnect with the son (Kevin Zegers) she never knew she fathered as a final test that he is indeed ready to be a she.

The film generated a great deal of awards buzz, including a nomination for Huffman for best actress at the Oscars. No doubt the hype surrounding the film was in part indirectly encouraged by the Christian Right in America's outrage that a film could not only depict a transsexual and a male prostitute in a positive light, but in fact almost glamorise them. So it was with a fair bit of apprehension that I approached the film, aware that it had polarised critics and wary of anything that is so inflated with hype.

My first, and lasting, impression remains one of surprise. Surprise at how deftly and movingly the topic is handled, surprise at how un-shocking much of the material is, and surprise that a film that in my view did not set out to pull the heart strings caught hold of them so convincingly and rendered me blubbing, not once, but twice.

It all belonged to Huffman. I knew of the transformation she had gone under to get into the mind first of Stanley, and then of Stanley dreaming to be Bree. Meticulous attention is paid to the surgeries that he has had up to the start of the film, including cheek bone movement, skin lightening, pigment removal and breast augmentation. I read that Huffman went so far as to wear a prosthetic penis so as to feel what Stanley/Bree must have felt, and loathed, every day. But the performance was softened and tweaked to perfection by the great display of conflicting emotions that surged through Bree on discovering, and finally coming to admire and love, her runaway son.

The dynamic between Toby and Bree was excellent throughout; mutual disgust and barely veiled disdain slowly give way to grudging trust and appreciation. Perhaps the Christian Right took offence most at the fact that Bree claims to be from a Christian outreach programme as a cover for why she is escorting Toby with her across the states to his home. Of course, it might also have been the neat role reversal offered by these two: Bree yearns to be a woman; Toby makes his money by prostitution, by offering himself in a way that disgusts Bree yet also suggests something more passive and feminine than her surgeries have hitherto allowed Bree to be. Is that where the outrage stems from? A boy homosexual and a man seeking womanhood? Perhaps.

It's a tricky one even to write about; he/she dynamics for Bree are handled well in the film. Her first meeting with her therapist, over the phone, has the therapist reminding Bree that she shouldn't talk about Stanley and her past life as something separate. Stanley remains a part of Bree, no matter how hard she wishes to flee it. The meeting late in the film with Bree's family, the mother that claims Stanley is dead and the father who gladly welcomes his newly discovered grandson, is perfectly stage managed to the level at which it happens so organically that I found myself marvelled at how one could take offence at this understated gem when all it made me do was grin and cry in turns.

Truly, that's the secret to why this is such an excellent film. Its very excellence remains elusive, difficult to describe and ultimately personal. It's the biopic of an extraordinary struggle, but never glamorised or glorified, but portrayed simply, movingly and completely endearingly. Heart-warming.

***

2005

Felicity Huffman, Kevin Zegers

Written and directed by Duncan Tucker

High Fidelity

Where did I get so confused? Wait...that's the codeine talking.

I don't think I was that thrown by High Fidelity. On the one hand, I could understand why a caring friend gave it to me on discovering I was newly single: it's a film about break-ups, and the way in which a change in relationship status might force one to re-evaluate all that's gone before. On the other, did I really want to weep over the spilt milk of a failed escapade when in fact I should be celebrating my new opportunities and shot at being happy? Is it worth dwelling on that which we can't change?

According to Rob Gordon (John Cusack), it is. The only way forward is to tear back through the past, throwing up questions and answers in equal measure about his suitable as a mate and inevitably hitting that age old stumbling block: "Will I always be alone?". The girl in question that's left him is Laura (Iben Hjejle), and while we don't get an immediate insight into what went wrong, in turns we do discover that in all probability, both of them have acted badly and pissed on their relationship in their own searches for happiness (whether that's through job satisfaction, other partners or just trashing what they know to be 'good').

Rob's erstwhile companions and poor comforters are Dick (Todd Louiso) and Barry (Jack Black), once part-time employees at his Championship Vinyl record store, now full-time loafers and music geeks extraordinaire. One wonders if their dialogue, at times self-mocking in its propensity for pedantry, was in fact the writers' own musical snobbery expressed in ironic terms. Then again, it could just have been marvellously well-observed.

The strength of the film lines both in these two secondary characters, the humour that they provide, and the fact that Rob's internal monologue (delivered throughout directly to the camera by Cusack), while at times pained, never really takes itself too seriously. That's the real clincher: actually to believe what Rob is saying is to accept that by twenty-six you really do need to be settling down. Of course that's not the case, and it struck me as a remarkably dated attitude. In addition, Rob's own lack of insight into his affairs suggested that we should not take everything our narrator says as gospel.

The only really irksome detail of the film was the ending. A reunion between Rob and Laura, while unwished for, was to be expected, but the circumstances surrounding it are decidedly morbid and pathetic. The suggestion was that they wouldn't find anyone better, so may as well settle for just 'ok'. But while in Brief Encounter that might be plausible, and indeed laudable, as settling for family is both a noble and loyal decision, here there is no nobility to their actions. In fact, it just seems that they are giving up; Rob's realisation that the other women he has eyes for are merely fantasies does not come across as something momentous. Rather, it appears to be a disappointment; the bubble has burst and he is accepting that life won't get better than Laura. Perhaps he's right; perhaps he has come to a conclusion that might be right for him; but it was not a decision he made that inspired any confidence in the viewer, especially having seen him moan and mope in the pouring Chicago rain.

A disappointing ending to an otherwise enjoyable film.

***

2000

John Cusack, Iben Hjejle, Todd Louiso, Jack Black

dir. Stephen Frears

based on the book by Nick Hornby

Kind Hearts and Coronets

There's always a certain risk in approaching a 'golden oldie' that it will prove to be dated beyond anything that my feeble, modern mind can connect with. As I settled down to watch this recommendation from a well-established film aficionado, reviewed by him as "Britain's second best film, after Brief Encounter", a quick glance at the trailer had me in stitches. Was it the ever-so-perfect RP? The contrived looks of 'shock' and 'horror' on the actors' faces? Or even the fact the trailer goes on a little too long?

I dove in, and the rewards were nearly instantaneous. A young man, estranged from his rich, landed family, decides to get his own back by earning the dukedom by any means possible. He sets out to bring about the deaths of the 8 heirs to assure his own place in the nobility.

The performances were scintillating. First, Louis (Dennis Price), with his delusions of grandeur and calm exterior masking his murderous intentions. Then Sibella (Joan Greenwood), all dripping with allure and... massive hats. Or Edith (Valerie Hobson), pristine and glamorous in what must surely have appeared to be fashionable, modern dress (and I wish I could find a better image - this outfit was just dazzlingly chic). And of course, on hats and attire, it's worth noting the sartorial excellence of this film. As Louis gets closer to his prize, we see his clothing develop and smarten up, as his income and style seem to increase incrementally with his malicious intent. It's subtly managed but marvellous to watch. Perhaps I have a weakness to fashion of the period. I'd like to think it's just good taste though.

But of course, the show stealer, the centre piece and foil to Louis, is, of course, Alec Guinness. It would be unfair to say he shines in his role, because he doesn't have one. Or at least, he has more than one. Eight, in fact, as he plays every one of the heirs ahead of Louis in line for the dukedom. And he pulls it off with such glee that it is just a marvel to watch. Some of the characters get very little screen time, but others require no little characterisation, but it's done in such a well-thought-out and enjoyable way that you really can't fault him.

Enjoyment really lies at the key to why this film is so rewarding. The characters seem to sparkle, the plot twists and turns with intrigue and counter-intrigue, and the story-telling devices perfectly complement the nature of the tale. Accents and fashion combine to produce a coherent picture of this noble, failing family, and the love triangle that forms provides a perfect foil to Louis' murderous ambition (or ambitious murders?). Where the film is slightly dated (Sibella's simpering, or Louis' look of perplexity at the destruction of young Henry's dark room), it only adds to the humour of the film.

Darkly comic, thoroughly enjoyable and commendable, and a certain must see. The kind of film that placed Ealing Studios firmly on the map....

***

1949

Dennis Price, Joan Greenwood, Valerie Hobson, Alec Guinness (x 8!)

dir. Robert Hamer

adapted from Roy Horniman's novel by Robert Hamer.

Vier Minuten (Four Minutes)

It's rare that one is given the opportunity to watch a film that combines the satisfaction of a happy ending with the sensitivity of handling fairly convoluted issues without skimming over or over-simplifying. Vier Minuten managed to merge those two things in a manner that was both wonderful to behold and intensely moving.

The film focuses on Traude (Monica Bleibtreu), an aged piano teacher who has come to teach at a prison. There she discovers one of the most disturbed and unreachable inmates, Jenny (Hannah Herzsprung), is in fact a piano virtuoso. To the dismay of one of the guards in particular, Mütze (Sven Pippig - also shown in the link above), Traude decides she must mentor Jenny and wants her to practice and compete despite resistance within the prison. So far, so simple. Is this just a film about the good in everyone, no matter what their past or failings?

Well, no. Not really at all. Because the plot thickens delightfully. Through a series of flashbacks we discover that the prison used to be a Nazi hospital, and a young Traude worked there during the second World War as a nurse; suddenly the halls and avenues are filled with loaded significance for us. Every time Traude is shown shuffling from her home through a set of gates, or resting on a bench, one can't help but feel as though she is really seeing another time, and living in another time entirely. So important to her are the incidents recounted in the flashbacks that a brilliant discrepancy of awareness develops. The viewer becomes a party, with creeping dread, to the awful trauma that Traude has experienced, while Jenny remains unaware and unsuspecting. We are even forced to re-evaluate Traude's relationship with Jenny in the light of her own past: can she really be drawn to someone so violent, so dangerously unhinged, and interact with her genuinely with affection? Was there always a darker motive behind her tuition of Jenny?

The musicality throughout the film is beautiful. What is most impressive and left the greatest impact was that although this is a film about classical piano, Jenny's own love of what Traude calls 'negro music', and the sounds from radios and popular shows, filters into the soundtrack. It is all the more affecting when we see Jenny play Schubert when we've just heard the grating of rock music from a warden's radio. It's carefully managed as well - silence is as important in a film about music as sound, and the moments of stillness as Traude shuffles past, or Jenny sits practising her finger movements on a fake piano she has made, are as loud as any section soundtracked.

I am wary of giving away too much plot; one of the thrills of this film is that it fails to follow a conventional path in setting out the narrative, even though it is easy to imagine a route this tale could take. By about half way through I genuinely did not know if Jenny would compete, or even could, as forces within and without the prison range against her, and her relationship with Traude becomes more and more strained. But that relationship between them is perhaps more important to the viewer than anything else, and in a way I did not mind how the film ended, just that I would see some sort of development of the bond between them. And as with watching any sociopath, the story was laced with the tension that comes with knowing that she might lash out at any moment. Traude knows that too, and yet she takes the chance to be near her. It is well worth the viewer taking that chance too.

A delight, dark, moving, wry and beautifully shot. Interwoven histories bring depth and engagement to wonderful imagined characters in a simple and involving plot.

***

2006

Monica Bleibtreu, Hannah Herzsprung, Sven Pippig

dir. and written by Chris Kraus