Crosby Beach

The fading light on Crosby beach provided a great backdrop to the Antony Gormley sculptures silhouetted against almost deserted sands. It was one of those days where the light implied warmth...whereas in reality it was so bitterly cold.

Goya's Witches and Old Women

***** Goya's 'The Witches and Old Women Album' at the Courthauld Gallery is similar in scale to the recent Schiele exhibition and is no less spectacular. Containing 23 drawings from 1819-23, the exhibition organisers present a masterclass in 'lend me that piece of art please' diplomacy. Witches play with castanets and tambourines (the slit in its skin symbolic of a dark eroticism), men and fools are bewitched and old an old woman devourers a child that is all too reminiscent of Goya's 'Satan Devouring his Son' in the Prado. These are unforgettable images.

Goya's technical ability, and deft touches with watercolour, also resonate in every work. Frail figures are thus given an unquestionable vitality. Rojas' Celestina appears in a number of the works, whispering to her prostitutes and symbolic of the depth to which humans might go to to survive; perhaps even finding enjoyment in the depravity of it all. One remembers that, in may ways, Goya's deafness defined his later life. Work however sustained him and here we see images that scream out the unmistakable sound of genius.

***** JOHN at the National Theatre is a poignant study into the highs and lows of a human condition. DV8 have created both a wonderful celebration of physical theatre and a stark social commentary.

The rotating stage draws one into the turmoil of John's existence; a world of family violence, crime and drugs from which there can seemingly be no escape.  The glimpses we are given of John's father rapping both his sister and then the babysitter are enough to make one gasp in desperation. John's narration bombards the senses and the tenebrism of the production pulls one into a dark world that too many children experience daily. When the mother dies she is covered with newspaper, symbolic of a worthless and ephemeral life it seems. At one stage John says to the audience that he wishes for a 'normal life like you in the middle classes'...we all laugh nervously.

But there is also great humour in the production and the early themes of drugs and violence are swapped for obesity and sexuality. John does the laundry and lists the women he has had; hangers descend on string to fill the stage as a reminder of the transient nature of many human relationships.

The physicality of the production exemplifies what can be achieved with minimal props, a strong narrative and lashings of talent, which dance-trained Hannes Langolf has in spades. At one stage his movements simply defy gravity in an exemplary display of an actor's control of his own physical condition.

Yet despite what we have seen of John's life, the is hope. Exercise becomes a drug to combat obesity and the Open University is another means by which John can show his worth. There is a dark side to the time he spends in gay saunas but there is also humour in the dancing to 50s music, mentions of glory holes, STDs and the non-verbal conventions of sauna sex. Ultimately it is the journey by which John discovers his true sexuality and self. 

When the gay narative turned to discussing toilet habits and shitting, two members of the audience left in discust. A middle class dirty protest perhaps...but also bloody rude I thought. I doubt John would like their normal lives.

The Crucible...A thoroughly modern play

*****  There is something wonderful about using chairs to help frame a narrative; be it by Pina Bausch, Cheek by Jowl (Andromache. 2009) or by Ai Weiwei (currently at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park)... or indeed in South African director Yaël Farber's strikingly powerful production of The Crucible at the Old Vic.

Initially, when all of the actors briefly assemble on the chair-filled stage, we are reminded that this is going to be a big production in a small space. Yet the space works perfectly. It is a wonderfully intimate setting and, as Tituba whispers her magic through the smoke, we the audience instantly feel part of the congregation of Salem. 

There is little space, or need, for an elaborate set and the costumes and lighting complement this with a monochromtic warmth; these are bleak times and yet the human spirit still manages to shine as a beacon of resistance. Again there is a simplicity to the staging but also an incredible rhythm to the dramatics. The spectacle of Abigail jumping onto Proctor, before being thrown off again, would not have looked out of place at Rambert, and the chorus of possessed young girls are choreographed to perfection (a quality that is sadly lacking in Medea at the National Theatre). And then there is Richard Hammarton’s beautifully restrained soundscape which, at key moments, still manages to rattle our souls with deep bass driven electronics.

Richard Armitage's John Proctor exhibits both a fury and a frail humanity that leads one to question contemporary politics and society. The blinkered authoritarianism set against the good and the downtrodden are as relevant today as ever. Make no mistake, this is a thoroughly modern play despite its appearance. But Armitage aside, there are stand-out performances all round. Samantha Colley's Abigail Williams makes one shiver, Danforth and Hale are wonderful, Rebecca and Francis Nurse are magnificent, and Mary Warren after failing to faint on demand, ramps up a performance that ends with a her raging in a symbolic but simple green dress. O...it has come to this we think.

In the end Proctor's suggestion that his wife has 'an everlasting funeral marching around her heart' is turned on its head when she says, 'I can not judge you John', and their love is forever reconciled. When we hear of the boulders arranged to crush Francis Nurse because he refused to answer to his accusers I think of a man standing in front of a tank in Tienanmen Square. And just as the man refuses to move, Francis refuses to to be judged. The only thing Francis wishes from this mockery of justice is 'More weight'...yes this is certainly a modern play.

And finally, just as chairs came and went from the stage, helping to frame the narrative, they also framed our reception...in unison we all left our seats to stand and acknowledge something rather special and timeless.

Medea at the NT. If only they had...

***1/2 This was one of those productions where one thinks, 'if only they had...'. The concept of a twentieth century chain smoking Medea was good, Tom Scutt's split-level set was potentially very good (although the lighting failed to do it justice), but Carrie Cracknell's direction and Ben Power's text simply left too much out.

Medea might be 'wrenched in two' but her character shouldn't be; at one point she transforms into this incongruous figure and one is left thinking, 'who's this, has dropped out of character?' - one has to blame the direction again. Jason also lacked emotion and Creon seemed but a walk-on part. On the whole Helen McCrory's performance did however, hold the production together. Other things wrangle too; Creusa's poisoning (and Creon's too) was all but ignored and the final spectacle of Medea being 'borne away in a chariot' was dropped. Yes, many directors do this, but not to replace it with an alternative ending of substance was criminal.

A final thought must be made regarding the chorus. When they started their 'jerky' dance like possessed maenads one thought 'wow'...only to quickly realise that they failed to move in time with the music (let alone each other) and also couldn't dance. Bringing in Australian choreographer Lucy Guerin seems yet another aspect of this production not to have worked. If only they had...

So good to be back in Firenze

After a last chance to experience the delights of the Grande Canal it was time to hop on the train and return to Florence. Ilria Borletti from the Italian Department of Culture is suggesting selling tickets to enter Venice in an attempt to keep the tourists and day-trippers away. How sad is that?

Yet, after a five year absence, seeing Florence was like returning to a old friend who beckoned one initially to the Piazza della Repubblica and then down to the scaffold-clad Ufizzi. 

I think Venezia is a place to paint, whereas Firenze is where one goes to see paintings (and, of course, those wonderful sculptures of the quattro and cinquecento). Secretly, I also can't wait to get my teeth into another bestecca alla Fiorentina.

A quart into a pint pot

Yesterday the Accademia proved in many ways to be the jewel in the Venetian crown of museums. It can't rightly be compared with the Uffizi as a world class gallery but nevertheless there are splendid and varied examples of works by Bellini, Piombo, Georgio, Vechello, Tinteretto and especially Veronese. I was especially drawn to Tiepolo; one forgets the quality and the painterly technique.

Today however was a case of trying to fit too much in before a trip south to Florence. The Ca' Rezzonico is well worth seeing; not too over-powering in its content and some great seventeenth and eighteenth century works by the likes of Vecchia, Pellegrini and Ricci on the top floor. O yes....and certainly worth visiting for wonderful Venetian scenes by Guardi and Canaletto.

The Palazzo Ducale was incredible in its opulence (especially the ceilings), but is a case of Venetian bureaucracy gone mad. The council chamber, the chamber of the great council (some Tintorettos to die for here), the hall of the full council, the antechamber to the council, the senate chamber, the chamber of the council of tens and on and on and on...by the end one thinks take me to the armoury, run me through with a blade, and let me die in the prison below. Joking aside it is an interesting concept that laws are made, trials conducted, justice dispensed and incarcerations all happen in the same building.

And finally the Museo Correr has some great Flemish works in addition to the Venetian. But at this stage I would have preferred to be on the ground below, scoffing at the delights of Florain's caffe whilst bathing my weary feet in the partially flooded Piazza San Marco.