“There’s no room for cynicism in the reviewing of art”
One might equally say there’s no room for cynicism in my reviewing of Mike Leigh’s work, such a fan of his oeuvre am I and the laidback, gruff charms of Mr Turner are no exception, confirming the iconic director in the full flush of his prime. Timothy Spall has already been deservedly rewarded for his wonderfully harrumphing performance of the last 10 years of the life of this most famous of painters and it is a compelling portrait, of a man established in his world as a bachelor, a master painter, and later a lover. Leigh’s episodic style fits perfectly into this biographical mode, dipping in and out of his life with the precision of one of Turner’s paintbrushes, colouring in a captivating collage of his later life.
Spall is excellent but around him, the women in his life provide some of the most hauntingly beautiful moments of the film. As Sarah Danby, the mistress and mother of the two daughters he would not recognise, Ruth Sheen is piercingly vivid, her barely contained fury resonating deeply. As Hannah Danby, her niece who was Turner’s long-suffering and long-serving housekeeper, Dorothy Atkinson is painfully brilliant as a woman subjugated and subdued by his wanton sexual advances, the psoriasis that afflicted her, and her deep love for the man. As “self-taught Scotswoman” and scientist Mary Somerville, Lesley Manville near steals the film in a simply beautiful self-contained vignette. Continue reading “Film Review: Mr Turner (2014)”
“Where others had a soul, he had a corkscrew”
Mark Gatiss seems to have had a golden touch of late at the BBC which makes one wonder if he was allowed to pursue this adaptation of MR James’ ghost story as something of a vanity project, free from a more discerning critical eye that might have asked why bother. The production values of The Tractite Middoth are beyond question and the acting of a good standard, but the overall is let down by a complete clunker of a story, a nonsensical series of contrivances and convolutions that flail around ridiculously.
Young librarian William Garrett is pulled into a bitter family feud over a hidden will when a stranger arrives at his premises looking for a particularly mysterious item and as he is sucked further deeper into the intrigue, supernatural influences make it an ever-more terrifying experience, for him. Because for us, it is just silliness piled on silliness, the quest set by a wicked uncle for the two relatives who would inherit his vast estate becomes pointless in the end, there’s convenient chance meetings which keep the narrative clunking on and scary noises aplenty to remind us this is a ghost story. Continue reading “TV Review: The Tractite Middoth”
“It’s a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy at the same time”
I’ve had this film on my Lovefilm list for ages – I love Maggie Gyllenhaal so I knew I’d get round to it one day but I have to say it has never really grabbed me as a must-see. When a play about the invention of the vibrator was announced, it seemed as good a time as any to compare and contrast the two. A 2011 film directed by Tanya Wexler, Hysteria quickly loses points by teasing us with Anna Chancellor in its opening scene, only to never feature her again. That aside, it is actually quite the enjoyable watch as a good-natured and good-intentioned take on Victorian innovation.
Here, the vibrator is invented by Dr Mortimer Granville, a young forward-thinking doctor reduced to assisting a Dr Dalrymple in the treatment of female ‘hysteria’, basically inducing paroxysms in ladies’ private parts with his nimble fingers. His reputation for…hitting the spot, shall we say, soon means he is much in demand in society but as his arm grows overtired, his mind seeks for alternative ways of scratching the itch. Against this, is Granville’s interactions with Dalrymple’s daughters – the quietly permissive Emily and the one-woman suffragette movement Charlotte. Continue reading “DVD Review: Hysteria”
“The whole gay thing, is it still an issue any more?”
Part of Channel 4’s 2007 gay season, Clapham Junction was written by Kevin Elyot showing the lives of a number of separate but interconnected gay men over 36 hours in the Clapham area of London. So we have civil partnership ceremonies with the groom shagging one of the waiters at the party afterwards, dinner party guests meeting inopportunely at the local cottage before a ghastly middle class gathering, a teenage stalker finally meeting the handsome neighbour unaware of his troubled past, and guys prowling round the common for anonymous sex, little aware that a violent psychotic is amongst them.
Phoebe Nicholls’ delightfully overbearing mother with her monstrous prejudices, Samantha Bond’s blithely unaware party guest, Luke Treadaway’s sweatily intense teenager Theo desperate to offer himself up to Joseph Mawle’s lithe mystery man, Rupert Graves’ confident out television maker toying with James Wilby’s closet case (a neat nod back to Maurice), there are undoubtedly performances aplenty to be savoured in here. But the construction of the whole film is just generally too weak, Elyot’s writing uninventive and heavy-handed in the message it thumps home. Continue reading “DVD Review: Clapham Junction”
“‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before”
To celebrate his 80th birthday, Sir Peter Hall returns to the National Theatre which he directed for 25 years, with a production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night at the Cottesloe. It features a rather starry cast including his daughter Rebecca Hall and Simon Callow and given how well done last year’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Kingston was, this has been an eagerly anticipated production for me for a fair few months. This is a review of a preview, the penultimate one as it opens on Tuesday, but still a preview nonetheless though I stand by my comments here.
This is just a production that is lacking, lacking in almost every department and there isn’t even a particular aspect that shines above the others that one could excuse weakness elsewhere for. It feels proficient rather than inspired and though performances may improve and the pacing can be tightened up, the whole approach to this production is unspectacular. Worse than that, it is often boring and the first half in particular is currently far too languid and dull as attested by a fair few walk-outs at the interval. Continue reading “Review: Twelfth Night, National Theatre”