Before reading The Children’s Book, I knew of A.S. Byatt as the woman who’d said Harry Potter was for ‘people whose imaginative lives are confined to TV cartoons’. Her New York Times article described the Potter books as symptomatic of ‘dumbing down and cultural studies’. I am no ardent Potter fan, and this self-styled preserver of proper literature – the kind that produces ‘a shiver of awe’ – interested me. So when her latest novel was shortlisted for the 2009 Man Booker Prize, it seemed time to find out what all the fuss was about. I’m afraid I still have no idea.

‘Most of its characters spend a long time dormant only occupying brief flurries of narrative zeal’

The concept is great. Spanning 25 years from the fin-de-siècle to the end of WWI, it takes in London and the Kentish countryside with a bit of Paris and bohemian Munich thrown in. The fortunes of several families become entwined, each related to the arts in different ways. Complications ensue. Love, lust and betrayal play out amidst fairy tales and dances in the woods, plus an occasional venture into the labyrinthine storage rooms of the Victoria and Albert Museum. There is poetry, pottery and creepy German puppetry in abundance.

The problem is that the novel itself vanishes in a mire of unnecessary context. Byatt has done meticulous research, as you’d expect of good historical fiction. Yet this doesn’t mean that every note she’s ever made needs to go into the finished text – which, at points in this 600-pager, seems to be her intention.
There are chapter-long chunks of fact irrelevant to the narrative: sometimes the characters struggle to slot in at all. When Hedda, the daughter of airy-fairy children’s author Olive Wellwood, decides to join the Suffragette movement, ‘She followed, eagerly, the campaign of the militants, as they broke glass and set bombs, were imprisoned, and later took to hunger-striking and suffered forcible feeding.’ Poor Hedda is almost forgotten in this sentence, part of a paragraph-long barrage of name- and date-dropping, the only purpose of which seems to be to authenticate the lives of the characters. But it doesn’t; it washes them out.

‘The book is spoiled by a mire of unecessary context’

Critics have enthused over Byatt’s ‘unapologetically intellectual writing’, but it seems to me there isn’t anything very clever about doing loads of research and then patching it together with shallow characters and a sprawling plot. If I wanted this much unadulterated history I would read a history book.

What does remain of the novel is incoherent. Most of its characters spend a long time dormant and then occupy brief flurries of narrative zeal, as they have babies or die or suddenly realize they’re in love with someone else. At times the writing’s just…bad. Olive appears ‘in a flowing sea-coloured shift, with her dark hair flowing’; the factory workers accents come and go. Byatt regularly inserts Olive’s stories as unexplained, stand-alone chapters full of gems like ‘The air felt thick, like jelly setting.’

In terms of excitement, plot coherency and depth of character, any Rowling creation would do better than this book. Its social setting is fascinating, but it doesn’t wear its learning lightly. What could have been a gripping tale ends up a laborious tome.

It’s hard to take audience participation seriously. When it comes to music, we tend to sing along only at those slightly unfashionable events like the Last Night of the Proms. Or Christmas. Sitting in a theatre, I seldom think that my viewing experience is enhanced by an actor plonking a hat atop my head, or someone smearing porridge on my trouser leg (both of which have happened to me at the BT). Film, well, that’s a bit difficult. Short of making obscene hand gestures in the projector, it’s hard to impose your viewing experience on a piece of film reel.

Such were my thoughts as, upon entering Modern Art Oxford, I was politely shown a collection of gold lamé jumpsuits. I was told they were optional, but I concluded that since most people had collections that day, I was unlikely to bump into anybody I knew while dressed in an outfit best described as a rapper’s condom, so apprehensively I slipped it on.

I needn’t have bothered. Common Task, I soon found out, is simply two rooms, one of which is supposed to resemble a spaceship, while the other houses a couple of gold benches and a video screen. I was scarcely in MAO for twenty minutes. There simply wasn’t enough to warrant the use of the outfits. No matter how much the programme might suggest it – and this exhibition comes with an excellent programme, perhaps better than the exhibition itself – there was nothing in which to immerse oneself. Sat watching a film dressed like an invader from a tacky planet, my overriding feeling was one of embarrassment, especially since people wishing to see the Miroslaw Balka exhibition upstairs kept walking through dressed normally, give or take a few dubious welly choices.

‘I apprehensively slipped on an outfit best described as a rapper’s condom’

Common Task is by Polish artist Pawel Althamer. One enters the exhibition directly. There are few objects in the ‘Antechamber’ (as the minimalist front gallery is described) but those that are there carry little weight. We have a sort of command centre with pretty flat screens. There is a cheap-looking mixing desk that boringly does nothing. The best object is perhaps the only piece in the exhibition resembling traditional sculpture: a sort of tribal-mask-like wooden construction painted in the ubiquitous gold, but fastened together with small strips of animal hide. Clashes of culture, and the surreal visual effect these can produce, are clearly major themes of Common Task and its central video installation. On this, a potent and virile symbol of nature and superstition, the addition of the whimsical space age gold is striking and ironic.
The work is described as a ‘science fiction film in real time’. With this dictum, they refer to the entire project, which has travelled all over the world – to Brussels, Brazil and most recently, Mali – and which continues to travel, to film, to swap clothes with tourists and tribespeople alike. Yet the focus in the exhibition is quite strongly on the video installation, which robbed the show of the sense of ‘real time’ because we were watching a condensed film of the expedition. There was no sense of the project’s ongoing nature. The formal aspects are pretty standard for a contemporary film installation: wobbly camera work, shifting focus, irritating microphone noises and an intrusive use of sounds – bongo drums, aeroplane noises – that tends to overdo the point.

‘My overriding feeling was of embarrassment, as normally-dressed people walked past’

Do not get me wrong, I found quite a bit to admire in the concept behind this project. Through observing this band of Polish neighbours walk through African villages in gold jumpsuits, swapping clothes with natives, we are forced to see simultaneously the limits of our knowledge, how our own planet is alien to us, and conversely how we, the civilised Westerners, must seem pretty ridiculous to those whom Althamer visits. There is a strong sense of comedy in the video which I like, because one is not sure whether it is uncomfortable comedy or not. It plays on our ignorance, our prejudice and our limitations, yet it also asserts our freedom both to travel where we want and dress ourselves in whatever ludicrous outfits we see fit.

Yet an admirable concept does not excuse a pretty poorly curated exhibition, and the uninspiring installations by the artist. If anything, this exhibition should have been bigger, better thought through, presented in a larger gallery reviewing the project. As it is, we are confronted by a surreal entry-hall to the larger Balka exhibition upstairs, looking like twenty-four carat plonkers to unaware passers-by.

two stars

‘Common Task’ is on at Modern Art Oxford until 7th March. Admission is free.

Dance Movies. The formula is always reassuringly predictable: guy meets girl; one of them can dance and one of them can’t. The one who can teaches the one who can’t and they fall in love. Strictly Ballroom is no exception.

It is notoriously difficult to get people to watch this film. ‘Is it actually good though?’ they ask wearily as I grind them into submission, ‘or is it just that you like it because it’s a dance movie?’ Ok, it is a film about dancing, yes, it is a love story and granted, it’s unapologetically kitsch (so far, so unappealing) but ‘Strictly Ballroom’ is so more than your average sequin fest. While the plot follows the boy-meets-girl pattern (frustrated dancer Scott takes on the ballroom dancing federation with beginner partner Fran in a bid to dance their own steps competitively) there is a lot more to this film that first meets the eye.

Shot partly as a mockumentary, director Luhrmann explores the surreal scene of competitive ballroom dancing in early nineties Australia. It’s fast moving, luridly bright and undeniably hilarious. The first shot of the film, showing elegantly silhouetted dancers waltzing around the competition floor to the strains of ‘The Blue Danube,’ is violently broken into by a raucous shout from the crowd, ‘Come on number 100!’ The illusion of tranquillity is shattered. This sets the tone for the whole film: the supposed refinement of ballroom dancing is constantly juxtaposed with the average day-to-day lives of the amateur competitors who inhabit the supposedly glamorous world of competitive dance.
This film is that is so real: romantic moments occur in the most unromantic places, such as Scott and Fran’s secret practice above his parents’ dance studio. As the couple become immersed in the dance we forget that they are dancing on top of a shabby looking rooftop in the same shot as a washing line full of socks.

There is a red glimmer light that acts as a backdrop to the unseen performance. When the camera pans back we see it is nothing but a Coca Cola sign. There is magic mixed with the mundane, elegance mixed with eccentricity. At times Luhrmann is mocking the world he is exploring, but it is also desperately sincere. You wouldn’t expect it to be touching and beautiful, but it is. 

The remake of the Danish film Brødre is the latest in a steady stream of films set against the backdrop of the war in Afghanistan. Amongst these there has yet to be any stand-out film, one that will become the definitive cinematic account of the home front for this conflict, as The Deer Hunter has become for Vietnam. Brothers is not going to be this film. Whilst it is indeed a worthy effort, it seems content to sit somewhere in the middle, producing a film that is solid, but in the end unremarkable.

Tobey Maguire and Jake Gyllenhaal play the brothers Sam and Tommy respectively. Polar opposites, Sam is a decorated Marine, a loving husband and father, whilst Tommy is fresh out of prison and wanders aimlessly through life. But when Sam is shot down and presumed dead in Afghanistan their roles begin to reverse. Back home Tommy steps into his brother’s shoes, whilst the order of Sam’s perfect life begins to break down as he is tortured both physically and mentally. When he is eventually freed and returns home he is a visibly changed man, and now it is Sam rather than Tommy who starts to create conflict within the family.

The first half of the film is divided between the stories of the two brothers. We watch the parallel development of Sam and Tommy as they face two very different challenges. However, Sam’s captivity and breakdown are given relatively little screentime compared to what we see of Tommy as he rises to the occasion. This leaves the key moment, where his resolve finally breaks with devastating results, appearing all too suddenly.

Whilst Tommy’s development is allowed to occur gradually, Sam’s has to take place in a far shorter space of time, making it a lot less convincing. When Maguire’s character finally returns home, the focus shifts back onto him, which is a shame given that Gyllenhaal provides by far the more engaging performance.

So, while it may have been Maguire who clinched the Golden Globe nomination, I was somewhat unconvinced by his portrayal of a traumatised solider trying to readjust to family life. In this respect his performance seemed to consist of an intense stare, helped along with some uncharacteristic lines and a bit of make-up, all of which combined to make him appear lobotomised more than anything else.

He lacked the subtlety required to portray such a complex state of mind. Indeed, the only point at which I found him at all convincing was when Sam completely breaks down, giving him free-range to shout and smash up the furniture.

In what is clearly a character-driven film the weak link is very much Maguire, whose performance does not meet the demands placed upon him by the writers. It is a shame then that Gyllenhaal, though he is given the chance to shine for the first half of the film or so, is then scandalously under-used as we progress. In the end, even Gyllenhaal’s accomplished performance is not quite enough to propel this otherwise rather forgettable film beyond mediocrity.

three stars

The artist formerly known as Final Fantasy is back, and his new album is quite something. Famed for his minimalist live performances, involving just him, his violin and his loop pedal, Pallett’s sound on Heartland is more expansive, if no less beautiful, than before. The instrumentation wonderfully blends his usual string arrangements with a new penchant for electronics, and (*gasps*) even drums. But these aren’t your standard beats, and opener ‘Midnight Directives’ sounds more like the work of Bjork producer Valgeir Sigurðsson or Mark Bell than anyone else. ‘The Great Elsewhere’ is a brilliant example of this unity between electronica and orchestration – starting out with minimalist beeps, then developing with frenetic drums and violin accompaniment until its climax, where the string section and the piano take over entirely for the outro – at every stage, a work of phenomenal beauty.

The album is thematically idiosyncratic to say the least. ‘A concatenation of locusts / And the farm­ers are los­ing their focus’ might seem a strange couple of lines to sing, but given this is a concept album chronicling the times of Lewis, a farmer on an alternative world Spectrum, it makes perfect sense. Ok, admittedly you have to be prepared for the slightly weird to fully appreciate this album, but if you are, you will be richly rewarded.

The lyrics themselves are beautiful and insightful in equal measure. In the wonderful ‘E Is For Estranged’ Pallett observes ‘Pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit in formal attire’, and in ‘Keep The Dog Quiet’, that ‘This place is a a narrative mess/A floor of tangle of bedsheets and battered sundress’. ‘Oh Heartland, Up Yours!’ is soulfully delivered by Pallett, with the touching and almost tragic refrain ‘I will not sing your praises here’. I’m afraid that is the only element of the album that I will not subscribe to here.

Everything was beautiful and free/In the beginning’, muses Eels’ lyricist Mark Everett (also known as E) on the album opener. Not the most original insight, arguably, but for an album thematically termed by the frontman as ‘the divorce album’, it sets the tone for a sincerely felt if not a rather poignant record.

The songs are heartfelt, and, although not groundbreaking or life-changing, E does manage to bring something new to a well-trodden path; this is clear from the lyrics of lead single ‘A Line In The Dirt’ (‘She locked herself in the bathroom again/So I am pissing in the yard’). Charming.

This isn’t just a break-up album though, as E’s concerns are wider. The album is called ‘End Times’, and the artwork is a portrait of the artist as an old man. There are most definitely thematic concerns about aging as well, in stubborn defiance on the title-track (‘The world is ending/And what do I care’), the rueful ‘In My Younger Days’ and the unbelievably personal ‘I Need A Mother’.

It’s not entirely glum though. The bluesy (unsurprisingly) ‘Paradise Blues’ is an energetic, Tom Waits-style number, even if this is just in delivery and not thanks to skillful or imaginative lyricism (I didn’t notice the line ‘Well that’s some crazy-ass shit’ on Swordfishtrombones, though I might be wrong).

‘Gone Man’ is also a fun release, giving the album some needed variation – most of the other songs are just E and his guitar, often complaining along the lines of ‘Goddamn/I miss that girl’. Although it is sincerely felt, his lyrics (or guitar work) aren’t original enough to make this by any means a classic. For that, you might just need to do think beyond pissing on a lawn.

four stars

Ian Watkins said that this album would be darker. The static at the opening of the first track implies as much. The fact that the lead single of Liberation Transmission, ‘Rooftops’, was unbelievably well received, despite its lack of originality, made me hope as much. The band don’t disappoint – not for the first two tracks.

‘If It Wasn’t For Hate, We’d Be Dead By Now’ might have a P!AD aesthetic, but the compulsive Test-Icicles drum-hook and dark delivery give it edge (even if the concept is a repeated-to-death pseudo-paradox). DSTRYR/DSTRYR is Mellon Collie Pumpkins meets RATM’s ‘Bull’s on Parade’; again, Watkins’ delivery is a highlight. ‘The Light That Burns Twice As Bright’, a sombre, piano-led closer, touches on poignant, exploding after three minutes in an impressive fashion.

Unfortunately the attempt to make atmospheric tracks doesn’t last long. ‘Where We Belong’ is a cheap and inferior Blink-182 imitation, and things don’t recover until the very end. Darkened musical interludes don’t hide the fact the songs are very standard Lostprophets; even the interesting violin-led intro of ‘A Better Nothing’ descends into the same pop/punk style. ‘Streets of Nowhere’ has an incomprehensibly ‘mod’ beginning and breaks down like ‘Town Called Malice’, but by the chorus, it’s unavoidably pop/punk.

They try reach out to all sorts of genres but it ends up sounding confused. In a way, the more standard sounding songs, like ‘Dirty Little Heart’, are more effective because they don’t pretend to be anything else. There’s an audience for this album, but songs like ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Felon’ are as annoying as you’d expect. Mind, if you find standing on rooftops, screaming, ‘Aaahaaah,’ cathartic, not irritating, then this album might just be for you.

According to their Twitter feeds, the collaboration between The Smashing Pumpkins’ Billy Corgan and Newly Weds’ Jessica Simpson is going well. The two are showbiz’s most unlikely romantic item, with one half a bastion of musical credibility, and the other, the lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins.

Only cynics would doubt the longevity of the relationship between the serial celebrity-dater and Courtney Love’s ex, however all Pumpkins’ fans are asking ‘why the musical collaboration? What will it add to music’s rich tapestry?’ – the same questions triggered by many of pop music’s strange coalitions.

Collaborative works have been ample – some brilliant, some hideous, and some, frankly, bizarre – but what makes a musical union work? Surprisingly, it is often the most unlikely combinations that produce the best results.

But first, more partnerships in the Simpson/Corgan vein. Why, I wonder, did Ozzy Osbourne, the man famed for ingesting more illegal substances than Mr Doherty and Miss Winehouse combined, and who reputedly bit off a live bat’s head on stage, join forces with Miss Piggy? Could anything reduce his credibility more? Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with a heavy metal godfather appearing on The Muppets, but somehow it just doesn’t feel right having ‘The Prince of Darkness’ releasing a single with an anthromorphic pig. The song, released in 2005, is a parody of Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild’, in which Miss Piggy, looking for Kermit, stumbles across Ozzy who insists she stay and listen. Of co

urse, the song is supposed to be ironic but few find it funny. Not only does the union cheapen the legacy of the original song, it also lessens the reputation of a musical great.

The same bewilderment is conjured by the rework of fabled anthem ‘We Will Rock You’ by two of Queen’s original members, and boy band Five. This version took the top spot of the British singles chart in 2000, to the dismay of music fans the nation over. The song, audaciously credited to ‘Five featuring Queen’, reworks the epic that caught the world’s attention at the original Live Aid, and features some of the wettest rapping one is likely to hear: ‘Watch your back, we got Queen on this track’. Profound eh? Freddie would have turned in his grave. Again, the collaboration achieves nothing; it makes Brian May look silly and Five, sillier.

Of course, joint projects have spawned great music. One of the masters of the musical collaboration is crooner-composer Burt Bacharach. Not only does he have an instinct for lush orchestration and catchy choruses, but he also knows how to select compatible work-mates (maybe the falling point of post-Mercury Queen and Billy Corgan). He’s created enduring sounds with a plethora of great acts since the ‘60s, including The Beatles, Elvis Presley and Dionne Warwick; but perhaps most unusual is his 2005 work with rapper-producer Dr. Dre. The album At This Time is a work that fuses the best attributes of both its creators: Dre’s synthetic beats supplement Bacharach’s orchestral arrangements and gentle vocals in an unexpectedly gimmick-free and cohesive fashion. Perhaps there is hope for Corgan and Simpson.

Unsurprisingly Thom Yorke’s work with Bjork is quite sublime. Yorke has mentioned in the past that he finds working with the right collaborators invigorating, and is noticeably picky when it comes to choosing his sparring partners (he recently turned down an offer of joint work from Paul McCartney). His effort with Bjork produced the number ‘I’ve Seen it All’. Its sound is one you’d expect from such a partnership, though this predictability fails to detract from its beauty. Sparsely orchestrated strings and sporadic percussive beats define the aesthetic, which is glossed with an ethereal and melancholic tone.

It seems that when different artists join forces a reaction of sorts occurs, skewing the output quality in one of two directions – towards the desperate or the exquisite. And it’s this that makes collaborations intriguing. Despite some joint projects representing the woeful, they can appeal in their own way, even if purely for the wince factor. So as long as Bob Dylan doesn’t announce a joint effort with Joe McElderry, I’m happy to listen to any collaborative work that comes my way.

1. Sarah Perry (Oriel)
After shocking Cuppers as director of a highly unusual interpretation of Harold Pinter’s The Lover, Perry went on to win the lead role in The Odyssey, Trinity term’s only Playhouse show.

2. Ollo Clark (Teddy Hall)
Shot to prominence during Cuppers as director and star of the Best Show winner Hansel and Gretel. He takes to the stage again this week in The Magic Toyshop.

3. Carla Neuss (St. Peter’s)
A graduate writer from Berkeley, California, Neuss stormed into the New Writing Festival with Revival, a play about secret cocktail societies.

4. Ruby Thomas (Regent’s Park)
Before claiming the Cuppers Best Actress award, Thomas had appeared in Barnaby Rudge. She once reputedly told a talent-scouting student producer to contact her agent.

5. Chris Wallwork (Christ Church)
Acting runs in his family, with a brother at LAMDA. He impressed the critics in last term’s As You Like It.

6. Chloe Wicks (Brasenose)
What play hasn’t she been in lately? Since arriving in Oxford, Wicks has performed very strongly as an actress and director in Cuppers and elsewhere, as well as making lots of friends in high places. Look out for her in 7th Week’s Blood Wedding.

7. Nicholas Higgins (Teddy Hall)
‘Nik’ Higgins, as he likes to be known, followed a brief but hilarious Cuppers appearance with sterling work in Chris Adams’ excellent A State Affair the week afterwards. Watch out for this talented young actor.

8. Cassie Barraclough (Regent’s Park)
One of the many rising stars at Regent’s Park, Cassie is already known for her unusual method-acting approach. She hugely impressed our reviewer at the preview of Far Away.

9. Ella Evans (Wadham)
Author of Superwoman, which made the initial New Writing Festival shortlist and caused immense controversy among the Cuppers judges, Evans is clearly going to carry on her serene progress through drama at Oxford – leaving a tempest in her wake. And she can act, as well.

10. Jack Peters (Univ)
Peters has impressed everyone he’s come across with his charm and down-to-earth manner – and with his acting, for that matter. He has large amounts of previous experience, landed a diverting role in The Odyssey, and you’ll definitely be seeing more of him in future.