★★★★★

Five Stars

Director Pete Docter has been behind some of the most emotional premises ever cooked up by computer animation veterans Pixar. Remember that scene at the end of ‘Monsters Inc.’ where Sulley leaves Boo in the human world for the final time? The opening ten minutes of ‘Up’? Few audience members can sit through those scenes without shedding a few tears, and that’s putting it mildly. I challenge you similarly to view Docter’s latest offering, ‘Inside Out’, with dry cheeks.

‘Inside Out’ tells the story of twelve-year old Riley. Her role is not so much the lead character, as the setting of the film. Uprooting Riley from her life in Minnesota when her father gets a new job in San Francisco, the film alternates between showing the changes that physically take place on the outside – such as moving into a filthy San Francisco apartment (watch out for a dead rat which looks suspiciously like ‘Ratatouille’s’ Remy here…), and moving schools – as well as the inside of Riley’s mind. 

The inside of the mind is represented in part by ‘Headquarters’, an abstract interpretation of the mind’s control centre populated by five emotions: Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Fear (Bill Hader), Anger (Lewis Black) and Disgust (Mindy Kaling). The film explores the emotional fallout (as rendered through these internal manifestations) when Riley begins at a new school and, simultaneously, Joy and Sadness get stuck in the depths of Riley’s mind, deep within long-term memory. With Riley’s mind left in the hands of Anger, Fear and Disgust, her outward behaviour rapidly changes as these emotions govern without Joy’s firm leadership to keep their influence at a minimum.

This constant juxtaposition between the world in Riley’s head, and the way it affects the external world, both directly and indirectly, is an interesting concept which allows the film to work on two levels. On the one hand there’s the dynamic race back to ‘Headquarters’ which Joy must undertake to resume control. This is a ceaselessly creative and visually mesmerising spectacle which takes us into the depths of ‘Imagination Land’ and ‘Dream Productions’, a Golden Age Hollywood-inspired film studio where a team of mind-workers create Riley’s dreams – Joy’s odyssey gives the film an action packed thread which is sure to satisfy younger audiences. On the other hand, as the film progresses, we begin to catch sight of the bold and thought-provoking message at its core, a message of such sophistication that all audiences will be able to take something away. 

At five years in the making, ‘Inside Out’ is one of the longest Pixar films in development, and Docter has spoken of the difficulty in creating a world which accurately reflects the workings of the human mind. Part of the film’s originality derives from the intricacy with which the mind has been conceptualised. From Riley’s core memories, which power different aspects of her personality (represented in different ‘Personality Islands’), to the storage of countless memory orbs in the depths of long-term memory, and a hilarious sequence taking place in abstract thought; the complexities and mysteries of the human mind have been brilliantly illustrated and integrated as parts of this world. There is even a train of thought, literally. 

Pixar has suffered something of a critical backlash over recent years, with 2011’s ‘Cars 2’ being widely panned, and the studio’s followups ‘Brave’ and ‘Monsters University’ faring only slightly better. Accusations that Pixar had lost its ‘mojo’ and was being co-opted by Disney into a tumult of sequels ensued. Does ‘Inside Out’ mark a turning point for the studio? Can first time feature-film director Peter Sohn’s ‘The Good Dinosaur’ in November 2015 sustain the quality this summer release has set? ‘Inside Out’ certainly shows something of a return to form in the creative culture of Pixar, and judging by the breathtakingly beautiful trailer for ‘The Good Dinosaur’, it will not disappoint either. 

Last but certainly not least, praise must also go to Michael Giacchino’s truly mesmerising score. From the second the Disney and Pixar logos appeared at the start of the film, and Giacchino’s musical cues sprung delicately through the darkened theatre, I was captivated. Known for his work on this summer’s blockbuster ‘Jurassic World’, and the Oscar winning score for Docter’s previous film ‘Up’, he does not disappoint here. There are moments towards the latter half of the film featuring a very special character called Bing Bong (Richard Kind) where the score only serves to amplify some of the most heart-wrenching storytelling the company has come up with. Can you really fail to love this pink-cotton candy, part cat, part elephant, part dolphin creation of Docter’s? You’ll have to see the film to find out.

A visit to the beautiful capital city of France is a visit that many people have undertaken in their lives: and if they have not yet, they hope to do so in the future. There is something about Paris that pleases everyone. The city is undeniably charming with its magnificent history, reputed works of art, and diverse architecture that make it one of the most visually impressive places to visit in the world; so much so that there is a certain level of expectation for tourists who visit Paris. Everyone wants to marvel at the graceful white buildings that line the Seine, sitting on a roof-top bar eating macaroons. Everyone wants to get a picture with the Mona Lisa, buy a book at Shakespeare & company, and practice a few lines of broken French at a ‘typically French’ bistro on the Champs-Élysées. As charming as it may be to spend a romantic week at the ‘capital city of love’, this is a largely idealised misconception of not only Paris as a city, but French lifestyle as a whole. 

Parisians have been aware of this for many years however. The idealisation of Parisian and French culture is something that many have long recognised as a way of selling overpriced merchandise to eager tourists. Yet increasingly, this idealisation of French culture has begun to leave a deep imprint on social mentality within the capital, particularly in relation to art and architecture. There is no better example of this than the unnecessary laser-cleaning of ancient buildings which is becoming increasingly common in France and in other countries across Europe. 

One of the first laser cleaning projects was conducted in Italy on the portal of the cathedral of Cremona at the start of the 1980s. Since then, it has been frequently used to help clear up unintelligible ancient documents and paintings, though the risk of damage remains an ever present problem. The use of such cleaning methods on historic buildings was at first reserved simply for those most badly damaged by centuries of pollution. One recent example are the magnificent stained-glass windows at Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. The restoration work took seven years from start to finish and was completed on time for the 800th anniversary of the birth of King Louis IX. The stained-glass panes, that had previously been covered in a layer of traffic pollution, were restored to their previous conditions and their colours were once more distinguishable.

For 12th century works of art (though already restored numerous times throughout the ages) that had been on the point of being lost to the world for good, laser cleaning was a much-needed treatment. Yet it seems that besides a few necessary cases, the French have begun to take laser-cleaning to an entirely new level. Laser cleaning is now to be the fate of an increasing amount of historical buildings across the capital. The supposed intent: to restore these architectural works to their ‘previous splendour’. The Pantheon for example, at the heart of Paris’ Latin Quarter, has been cluttered with scaffolding for a number of years. That which has emerged from this thorough cleaning process has been transformed from a sandy grey to a beautiful beige colour, clean and undeniably aesthetically appealing. But to what extent is this truly what the Pantheon looked like originally? And how much has it really been redesigned by an increasing desire to mould Paris fittingly to the expectations of a touristic culture?

Yet Paris is not the only area of France experiencing the effects of this deeply saddening modern perception of architectural beauty.  France is famously dotted with some of the world’s greatest gothic architectural masterpieces ever made. Often mingled into the ordinary French landscape, many of these vast gothic cathedrals tower over their native French villages and towns. The French however, have decided that an extensive laser-cleaning project of many of these old delicate works is appropriate even to such structures that are not in any need of cleaning. With the intention of ‘restoring the buildings to their intended appearance’, what they wish to do is transform these aged, medieval structures into polished, dazzling white monuments that fulfil tourist expectations and increasingly, their own expectations of what great art should look like.

Nantes Cathedral, an example of this new cleaning-mania, is an elegant white building in the historic centre of Nantes. Though very beautiful, the cathedral is confusing to anyone with the slightest knowledge on architecture. The building gives the appearance of being entirely new; as if construction was finished only yesterday. In the name of ‘restoring’ the building (which was in reality only completed at the end of the nineteenth century), the extensive laser-cleaning it underwent for a number of years has as a consequence wiped away a layer of the original surface. Many, in an attempt to justify these actions, have claimed that Nantes cathedral amongst other significant architectural masterpieces, was covered in a layer of soot and dirt which had to be removed to attain the work’s original appearance. But why do the French (and at this point it is necessary to add that the French are not the only country to have adopted excessive laser-cleaning) think that restoring a building to its ‘original’ appearance, makes it the ‘right’ appearance? Is a work of art only a work of art in its original birth state? A building has a life, and removing layers of supposed ‘dirt’ or colouring, is removing valuable layers of its history and its life. 

The huge controversy over Duveen’s cleaning of the Elgin Marbles in London, after the Second World War, brought to light some very important issues on the matter. The curators at the British Museum at the time were quite happy to turn a blind eye to Duveen’s ‘cleaning’ of the Elgin Marbles because they knew the outcome would fulfil their idealised perception of what classical sculpture should look like: pure and flawlessly white. The press and the majority of people, then as now, were outraged at this shocking removal of the surface of the ancient Parthenon sculptures. Yet there is not a huge difference between this supposed ‘horrifying cleaning’ of the Elgin Marbles, and the present-day laser cleaning of already perfectly satisfactory historical structures. 

Indeed both have removed layers of supposed ‘dirt’. Both fulfil our modern societies’ expectations of a ‘beautiful’ work of art, without the necessary regard for the work’s history. Both have rendered the works a product, no longer of the past, but of the present. 

So, which are better: e-books or paper books? Chances are you – and everybody else on the bus – has an opinion. You only need to type the words ‘kindle debate’ into Google to be overwhelmed with over seven million hits. Somewhat ironically, a lot of ink (or perhaps keyboard keys) have been used over this question. 

Ever since kindles emerged in 2007, they’ve sparked controversy and galvanised thel book community into action. But is this debate even worth having? Does it matter in what form people are reading books? In a world where literature has to fight tooth and nail (or should that be spine and cover) against countless other avenues of entertainment and media, surely it’s important to encourage reading in any form. A way to read literature anywhere, and to carry thousands of books in one slim tablet, looks from this angle like the answer to every bookworm’s prayers. And yet there is such animosity against the humble kindle. There is even a National Indie Book Day (March 21^st if you’re planning a boycott of Amazon.com) where people are encouraged to eschew electronic books and celebrate local independent bookshops and their physical, paper progeny.

So what’s the argument championing the paper form? Only a cursory glance at Google will bombard the amateur researcher with so many justifications for the incredible value of physical copy, the unending mental benefits of books and the vital perfection of paperbacks that the reader is left wondering how humanity could possibly survive without them. Just six minutes of reading a physical book, we are told, reduces stress by 68%, keeps the brain functioning on a high level, and staves off Alzheimer’s. This is not, apparently, true of the e-book: a Norwegian 2014 study found readers of Kindles were ‘significantly worse’ at remembering the order of events in a novel than those who read it in paperback. Anne Mangen stated: “the haptic and tactile feedback of a Kindle does not provide the same support for mental reconstruction of a story as a print book provides”. And then there’s the emotional attachment the public have to their dear old paper Penguin pals. Countless childhood memories of bulging shelves, bright covers and hours spent searching fondly for ‘that specific book’ means it is incredibly difficult to abandon paper copy completely. E-books also contribute significantly to the death of independent bookshops: sales of print books fell by over 6.5% in 2013, and the trend has continued. Although ‘indie bookshops’ have recently made a comeback on the highstreets, e-books are undoubtedly a threat to this endangered breed.

But if e-books are really ‘sans teeth, sans eyes, sans everything’, why do we keep on using them? Why are there so many enthusiastic kindle-ites extolling their fully-charged literary virtues? Well, Kindles are incredibly easy to use, to store, and to carry. You can purchase a huge amount of literature through them for almost nothing (the complete works of Dickens is 2p), and explore new writing that might not have otherwise been discovered. It can enlarge text for the hard of sight, it has a light to read in the dark – it even contains a dictionary.  Who wouldn’t want the entire book-world right at their fingertips, at the touch of a pad?

It is at this point that I have to admit that I am biased – I work in an independent bookshop myself, and have been indoctrinated to shun e-books. Yet, despite my rigorous toeing of the party line, I can see their appeal. Yes, I cannot imagine ever finding a fond message penned into the front of a kindle cover or finding old train tickets amongst its non-existent pages, but I’m still envious of my friends who have entire slim, sexy, personalised libraries that they can carry around in their pockets. And surely, as mentioned earlier, the point of these different approaches is simply to encourage and enable reading in any form? I’m convinced e-books and paper books can work together to make the world a more literary, and happier, place. Just don’t drop either in the bath.

First of all, I apologise. 

Sorry.

Heretical as the title sounds, let me assure you I am no apostate from the church of the Cumber(batch). I think Benedict Cumberbatch is a good actor. But I think even he should not be free of scrutiny…

Sorry.

Cumberbatch is currently taking on British theatre’s holy of holies: Hamlet. Outside the stage door following a now much discussed preview, Cumberbatch’s inquisitorial gusto made headlines when he condemned a scourge of social media venerating heathen. Apparently they had committed the sin of filming the production. Mr Cumberbatch explained “It’s mortifying, and there’s nothing less enjoyable as an actor on stage, experiencing that…”  The transgression in question was the forsaking of the proper (indeed self-prescribed) adoration of our blessed Benedict.

This moment of controversy raises two questions. The first is specific to Cumberbatch; does he have a right to tell people how they should experience the theatre they pay for? More specifically, is his outcry a legitimate artistic statement or just another case of petulant celebrity narcissism?

Obviously the above is an uninteresting question with an obvious answer. For how could any true believer deny Benedict’s right to dictate the reception of his art or indeed the integrity of this art…? Elementary, oh ye of little faith.

But a second more general question remains; is it true that it is better to watch theatre in the flesh than through a lens? An exegesis from Cumberbatch’s revelation gives us the following reason for preferring the flesh: “I can’t give you what I want to give you, which is a live performance that you’ll remember, hopefully in your minds and brains whether it’s good, bad or indifferent, rather than on your phones.” 

Mr Cumberbatch thinks that if his performance is mediated by a smartphone, then the audience will not properly appreciate his vision for the part. But it would seem this state of grace does not extend far beyond Benedict. After all, Mr. Cumberbatch has no qualms about backing a production that disregards Shakespeare’s own vision by placing ‘to be or not to be’ at the start of the play. Seemingly only the elect receive the salvation that safeguards their artisitic vision. Shakespeare is good, but evidently, he’s no Benedict Cumberbatch.

Aside from this hypocrisy, Cumberbatch makes the more fundamental mistake of believing that what he thinks he communicates to an audience, is what they receive. The notion that the conveyance of his art may be jeopardised by mediation, assumes that the artist can and should have ownership of the public’s experience. On this logic, there can be a correct or proper reception of a work defined by its semblance to the intention of the author. Given that ideas of a ‘correct’ reception of a work of art are hazy at best and reactionary at worst, I don’t think we can dismiss the smartphone experience as a perversion to what is already an intrinsically imperiled concept: total artistic control. Indeed Cumberbatch’s fury at the lens of the camera is shortsighted: ultimately the material lens is a stand in for the fundamental lens that is the distorting influence of each and every audience members’ subjectivity. Perhaps those condemned filmers should have responded with #CumberBarth.

So what other cause might Benedict have to complain? It might be said that regardless of how we receive the play, we receive it better in the flesh than through the screen. This live experience is therefore superior as it would be “one that you’ll remember, hopefully in your minds and brains”. A purely live performance is therefore ‘better’ because our response to the play would be stronger or more intense. Presumably this is why it would be remembered not only in the mind but also in the brain.

If we say materiality (seeing the actor before you instead of on screen) is tantamount to intensity, then Cumberbatch is right. Like many, I would rather watch him live than watch him on a recording. But that was not the situation when he addressed the fans. The fans were not watching Benedict on the screen after, but watching Benedict through the screen during. This is important.

Now before you accuse me of iconoclasm, bear with me. The live smartphone image is not an unholy derivative of the divine original. So far as we mortals are concerned, the godlike Benedict is a god… on screen. The important point to draw is that the divine original is confined strictly to the screen. As much as it pains me to say it, he is just a good-looking, self-important actor lucky enough to have his pretensions made credible by association with the intelligence of the characters he plays. In short, the flesh and blood Benedict is nothing compared to the one on screen.

Ironically because this Benedict is human – all too human – the audience probably won’t actually remember much of the performance in their minds or brains. They came to see Sherlock, they got Benedict. In a stroke of genius however, this audience hit upon salvation. By watching through their smartphones, they got what they paid for; Sherlock in all his resplendent glory.

Neither does this mean audiences were conned into buying a DIY version of a night-in with the Sherlock boxset. For at a certain level Benedict is right, the live experience is better, it does give you something the screen can’t. What the screen can give you is a distance between the image and the thing. This space between reality and its representation is filled with the fantasies and desires that elevate the image to a beatific height far in excess of the thing. It is for this reason that Benedict the man could never hope to reach the intensity of reaction that the presence of Sherlock the character would. And yet this is what the punters ultimately wanted to see. 

There is however one drawback with the screen; ultimately you can dismiss it as fiction and turn off the TV. In theatre this disavowal is far more difficult once the story has you in its clutches. This is what you pay for.

And this is why Benedict’s Hamlet may offer a borderline religious experience to the camera-totting pilgrim. This production is an opportunity to mediate the material Benedict through the restraining lens that allows us to project our fantasies. But crucially, unlike television, there is something behind the screen whose presence we cannot dismiss. Put your hands together and raise your smartphone up to the (foot)light….

The trick is to remember that the real Benedict you know and love is not the man, but the image. Now for the first time you can believe, unconditionally, that there is a reality to this illusion. In an age where every day we seek to consolidate reality and its representation, it would seem that the scourge of filmers realised the ideal of our age. The theologians have a word for this, substance: the reality behind the appearance. Perhaps the real question is therefore not whether the filmers missed out on the substance of the play, but whether there was ever any substance to have missed out on. In this regard the fault is certainly not on the side of those behind the screen. Get over it Benedict; it might actually be nobler in the mind (and brain) to put up with those likes and shares that will make you an outrageous fortune. 

★★★★☆
Four stars

Since their self-titled 2006 debut, fans of Beach House have learned what to expect from their albums, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Depression Cherry, the latest album from Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally, is a comfortable showcase of what the duo does best: silky, immersive dream-pop. They have perfected a soothing melancholy that is showcased in the album’s opening track, the lush, wistful ‘Levitation’.

Scally and Legrand move into more unfamiliar ground on ‘Sparks’, the album’s single and standout track. Overlapping murmuring gives way to a fuzz of electric guitar-lines that recall (even more than usual) the warped force of My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Loveless’. The track feels unusually visceral; with more space for noise and abrasion than the duo usually allow themselves. That soft-edged chaos is present in the song’s lyrics, which speak of urban destruction,

“We drive around this town/houses melting down”

Although it would probably be a mistake to draw real-world conclusions from Beach House’s eerie and ambiguous lines, it’s hard not to wonder if they had in mind the state of emergency that was declared earlier this year in their hometown of Baltimore.

‘Sparks’ is an outlier rather than a pattern in ‘Depression Cherry’ and the rest of the album doesn’t quite live up to its promise. Songs like ‘Beyond Love’ could fit comfortably on their previous album, 2012’s ‘Bloom’. Like that album, it’s pleasant but not particularly memorable. The unexpected sour notes in ‘Sparks’ disappear as the album progresses. That may feel initially disappointing, but by the time the minimalist rhythm of ’10:37’ kicks in, Legrand and Scally have drawn you back into their mesmeric, complex yet careful world. No song exemplifies their delicately contained sound better than the album’s closer, ‘Days of Candy’. The track begins with an intro that could be taking place inside a cathedral- no coincidence, given the band’s reliance on the organ as their instrument of choice- before giving way to a fuller, sweeter melody.

 ‘Beach House’ has always been an absurd misnomer for a band that acts as the perfect soundtrack to staying awake and driving around alone at midnight. When Legrand sings “it was late at night” at the beginning of ‘Space Song’, it feels almost unnecessary. Beach House have a knack for songcraft that mark them apart from some of their shoegazy predecessors. Rather than just making appealing vowel-sounds to complement their melody, the duo’s lyrics, and Legrand’s distinctive voice, form an integral part of their appeal. In the same song she double-tracks the refrain ‘fall back into place’ in such a way that the second voice is out of synch but not quite an echo; the result is a strange and effective sense of motion, one that suggests that the song was built around that line, rather than vice versa.

Listening to ‘Depression Cherry’, you could legitimately complain that the duo could have pushed into more ambitious territory, but when Beach House make introspection so absorbing and satisfying, it feels a little ungrateful to ask them to change.

★★★★☆

Another One is the mischievously self-aware title of Mac Demarco’s latest release. We all know what to expect before we hear it – and sure enough he’s given us another album of laid-back rock and roll tracks. His sound hasn’t developed significantly since it reached its apotheosis in his second album, 2, but can anyone honestly say they mind?

 I’m dancing enthusiastically to ‘Ode to Viceroy’ amongst the several hundred other Mac Demarcos that make up the audience, and the answer seems to be no. Clad in denim, plaid shirts and baseball caps, we sway, smoke and sing along to this paean to nicotine addiction. It’s pretty clear that it doesn’t need to change, Mac’s sound totally hits the spot.

The set’s a bit disappointingly short, but he plays a good mix of new and old material. As you can imagine if you’ve heard anything about Mac, his stage presence is awesome, and he and his band chat a lot of pretty funny shit. The show ends with an unstoppable performance of ‘Still Together’, in the middle of which Mac goes off stage for a good five minutes while his band fire off some rock and roll guitar-solos, before coming back for one final chorus, accompanied by the shrill screams of the crowd struggling heroically to hit those high notes.

Unusually, the night continued for the writer when he unassumingly sat down for a pint with a couple of friends on a roof garden in a nearby pub, and one hour later found himself in the midst of the VIP afterparty. A couple of rounds of karaoke with Mac rounded off the evening nicely. By the end of the night it wasn’t just about the sound: the goofing off, the denim and caps, the smooth guitars, warm synths and crooning vocals, Mac Demarco is about an aesthetic. What Mac makes is a Gesamtkunstwerk, and it works for me.