The term ‘cosmopolitan’ may seem rather cliché, particularly within the realms of design. Yet the interior designer Alessandra Branca is certainly the embodiment of a cultural melting pot in her approach to and inspiration for interior design.  Melding a cocktail of influences, from a childhood in Rome to her current life in America, Branca is a venerable menagerie of innovation when it comes to decorating your abode.  Her work has been described as incorporating \’the comfort of the British, the chic of the French, the passion of the Italians and the wherewithal of the Americans.\’

 \’It’s interesting that each of those places is somewhere someone in my family came from — my father’s mother was French, my father English, and my mother is Italian.’ Her background as a dealer in antique prints, which she had collected since the age of 14, alongside her Italian roots, clearly comes through in her work.  It is classic — but the inevitable twist comes with an injection of vibrant personality and enthusiasm for life.  Visiting the Branca store in Chicago I was struck by layer upon layer of beautiful antiques and objects —it has a certain Wunderkammer feel — yet also by some of the intriguing curiosities placed amongst splashes of vivid colour.  African headdresses and riding boot trees reinvented as lamp stands particularly caught my eye.  Despite such talent for design, a sense of humour doesn’t fail her.  Laughing, she muses on her sartorial display – \’as my husband would say, it looks like I feel into a cubist sofa!\’

 Discussing her past work as a fashion buyer it becomes clear that interior design is a platform through which to explore other areas of human life.  She notes an example of such interconnectedness in the influence late 18th Century fashion had on furniture design in Europe. \’As women wore more comfortable dresses, without hoops, people started making sofas that were deeper and thus more comfortable.  This started way back with the Romans — people lay down all the time on divans, so clothing had to be soft and able to move.  Everything is connected, fashion and furniture are about living and both of them are very important to each other.\’

 Such influence of interior design on human social life also comes through in a more direct way in her role — ‘I’ve become the best marriage counsellor you’ll ever meet!’  Mediating the intricacies of as large an investment as a home is an emotionally delicate one. As a designer she aims to locate the ‘common ground’ — some people struggle to articulate the visual, in which case her role as a psychoanalyst comes to the fore in essentially reflecting on ‘how they feel when they feel best, memories from home and from travels when they felt completely comfortable, happy and excited.’  For others keen to indulge their own styles she is more of a ‘portrait artist’ — ‘if I don’t show a home that is an extension of them rather than me, then I haven’t done my job.’

 She cites moving to America as key to developing her work philosophy — ‘you do learn to problem solve and to organise information from the Americans — i mean the work ethic is unbelievable.’  The land of Bernini and espressos has remained similarly fundamental however — ‘Italians do show a bit more — but really in the end Italian homes are about architecture, space, colour and light. The Americans are not as comfortable in their homes. Comfort is the one thing that I make a huge effort to bring to a home.’  A black and white house plan morphs into an approach to design ‘like a business plan’ — taking a temporal view to how the house will be used — which is then ‘organised by subject, not by room.’  Colour and form are then explored within the context of the space to see what is going to work — ‘good design has to work, it can’t just look great.  It’s like healthy body/healthy mind — you’ve got to have both.’

 Continually reading and learning is key to maintaining a flowing current of ideas — ‘the more you educate yourself the better.’  Discussing the trials and tribulations of the potential of stylish studentdom, she again exudes characteristic optimism — ‘student living is a fantastic place to practice making the most out of very little space – realising yourself, your needs, and your interests. I think the fun thing is that this is where so much is born — it’s the best time of your life, it really is.’ Champagne studentdom — reign on!

 New Classic Interiors (Stewart, Tabori, & Chang) is out now, RRP £34.99; All sales proceeds are donated to inner-city educational programs.

Lemons make you pull a face.

Lemonworld, the new short play by Matt Fuller, a product of OUDS\’ New Writing Festival running this week at the Burton Taylor, won\’t. It does, however, share with its namesake its shape; far from turning out pear-shaped, this production is competent and assured in every aspect of the production, but takes a while to get into.

The main body of the play is engaging and thought-provoking, and rounds off into a nicely redemptive concluding point. The story, which concerns itself with the dynamic between a young man struggling to come to terms with the death of his mother (Adam Scott Taylor); his dependent brother (Dylan Townley) who aspires to become a playwright and his troubled lady friend neighbour, tempestuous tempress Ada (Sarah Perry), asks questions of art, of grief, of human relationships, and is reassuringly hopeful in its outlook. It seems to lack, however, a real sense of pace and scope; the omnipresence of the boys\’ dead mother and Ada\’s abusive partner, neither of whom appear onstage, feels a little tired, and the dialogue at times veers toward the mundane. The play\’s meta-meditation on the nature of theatre, and its humorous analysis of the life of the playwright, is a particular highlight, and is refreshing in its consciously naïve and light-hearted self-reflexivity.

The low-key, this-could-be-happening-in-the-house-next-door mood of the piece is affected well by the ‘well-lived in\’ (messy) set of the boys\’ apartment, and by Scott Taylor\’s understated embodiment of the everyman, trying with the best of intentions to find his way in the world. Townley\’s portrayal of the awkward, childlike playwright-to-be is touching in its simplicity, and Sarah Perry\’s Ava brings to the play the urgency and humour which really propels the plot and engages the audience. Archie Cornish\’s direction captures the reality of the situations within the play, and walks nicely the line between everyday experience and the theatrical extraordinary, encouraging in the performers a vodka-and-lemonade blend of humour and poignancy. The audience travelled along with the characters on their respective journeys perfectly well through their dialogue and action, and the choice of musical accompaniment between scene changes felt a little extraneous, but would doubtlessly would appeal to those with a taste for soul-searching singer-songwriters.

Altogether, Lemonworld makes for an enjoyable and worthwhile experience; it won\’t leave the bitter taste in your mouth which I am not sure as to whether or not was its intention, but is certainly theatrically refreshing, and well deserves its place in the thespian fruitbowl of the New Writing Festival.

 

Ramin Sabi’s The Tea Party will no doubt divide audiences into two camps: those who think it is a profound and harrowing vision of our absurd metaphysical condition, and those who think it’s pretentious drivel. I’d put myself firmly in the first camp.

The play centres around six not-quite-real, formally dressed characters trapped in an eternal hell of tea and banality. William, Charles, Duncan, Lucy, Victoria, and Lydia sit around sipping tea, pouring tea, talking about tea, and spouting inane but pleasant-sounding sentences (a number of which are to do with tea). Think Through the Looking Glass meets Importance of Being Earnest meets The Trial.

The Tea Party starts off feeling like a bizarre and disjointed dream, but as the characters ‘crack’ one by one and stop playing their parts in the grotesque comic saga of their existence, the play takes on an altogether more sinister vibe. Beneath the mindless chatter, there is a terrifying emptiness about which no one dare speak. Everyone but Lydia slowly realises the awful secret, and their collective anguish is eventually crystallised in William’s desperate cry of ‘why the fucking tea!’ Gradually the volume of the light-hearted inanity dies down, and we are left only with the haunting sounds of Lydia’s demonic cackle and the clinking of cups. I’m not sure what is more discomforting: the plain terror on the faces of the characters as they see for the first time the pointlessness of their lives, or the utter equanimity of Lydia, who seems completely dislocated from the world.

The script is a self-conscious homage to Oscar Wilde, with enough empty aphorisms and nonsensical witticisms to keep you scratching your head for days after.  At one point Lord Duncan triumphantly declares that ‘up can indeed mean down’, whatever that means. Sabi’s dialogue is sharp and witty, although possibly a little too ‘after Wilde’ to be considered original. The monologues are a bit ranty and don’t enhance the drama very much. If anything, they get in the way of an otherwise neat script.

It is a testament to the quality of the cast that The Tea Party makes such a powerful impression with a sparse set and minimal directorial input. Indeed for most of the play the characters are seated, drinking tea and talking. William (Lloyd Houston), Victoria (Olivia Barber), Charles (Luke Prendergast), Lucy (Rosa Bennathan), Duncan (Matthew Turner), and Lydia (Rosalind Stone) do a tremendous job to conjure up a surreal but somehow convincing dynamic. Watching The Tea Party is like being in a nightmare – it is entirely believable (and scary) while it’s going on, and although you wake up and leave the theatre knowing it’s not real, the experience is nonetheless deeply disconcerting.

Some people who see this play will be of the opinion that, like a nightmare, it makes no sense when subject to close scrutiny. I think this response misses the point. The Tea Party isn’t meant to make sense, it is meant to give a chilling insight into the absurdity of the human condition, and to give the audience a few cheap laughs in the process