Arts Reviews

The good, bad and ugly in arts and exhbitions

Friday

Max Jeffery Max Jeffery

Max Jeffery, Tanya Gold, Madeline Grant, Matthew Parris and Calvin Po

29 min listen

On this week’s Spectator Out Loud: Max Jeffery tracks down the Cambridge bike bandit (1:10); Tanya Gold says that selling bathwater is an easy way to exploit a sad male fetish (5:38); Madeline Grant examines the decline of period dramas (10:16); a visit to Lyon has Matthew Parris pondering what history doesn’t tell us (15:49); and, Calvin Po visits the new V&A East Storehouse (23:08).  Produced and presented by Patrick Gibbons.

Thursday

Jonathan Meades

The gloriously impure world of Edward Burra

Every few years the shade of Edward Burra is treated to a Major Retrospective. The pattern is long established: Edward who? Forgotten genius, sui generis, well known for being unknown save by beardy centenarians and art tarts with ginny voices. Why have I never heard of this man? LGBT-ish avant la lettre, Polari-ish. After the show inhumation beckons again and he will disappear into an obscurity that cannot be relieved until the curatocracy once more lets loose the dogs of hype. George Melly and Dan Farson are no longer around to peal his name and Jane Stevenson’s impeccable and often funny biography suffers from its subject’s being a forgotten genius,

Deborah Ross

Literate and sensitive romance: Falling Into Place reviewed

Falling Into Place is a love story written by Aylin Tezel, directed by Aylin Tezel, and starring Aylin Tezel. That’s a lot of Aylin Tezel so I was nervous going in. What if it’s too much Aylin Tezel? What if Aylin Tezel and I don’t get along? Who even is Aylin Tezel? But I knew within the first few minutes we were in safe hands and I was set to like this Aylin Tezel. In Falling Into Place she’s created a literate and sensitive romance that is allowed to unfold gently. If it’s ‘high-octane action’ you’re after, then your better bet this week is Ballerina, the John Wick spin-off. This

Hermione Eyre

Why you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Cecil Beaton

‘Remember, Roy, white flowers are the only chic ones.’ So Cecil Beaton remarked to Roy Strong, possibly as a mild put-down to the young curator. But it was a curious put-down to make because Beaton broke his own rule happily, buying mountainous armfuls of speckled yellow, pink and scarlet carnations at Covent Garden and longing to fill his borders with Korean chrysanthemums and purple salvias. This small exhibition at the Garden Museum enjoys the sweet-pea surface of Beaton’s creations, while giving a flash of the glinting secateur that also made up such an important part of his personality. Beaton’s ability as an image-maker was astounding. Those famous photos of his

Calvin Po

V&A’s new museum is a defiant stand against the vandals

In last week’s Spectator, Richard Morris lamented museum collections languishing in storage, pleading to ‘get these works out’. There’s an alternative solution: bring the public in. V&A East Storehouse, which opened last weekend, was designed by New York architects Diller Scofidio + Renfro to do just that. The museum’s collections were previously holed up in the creaking, late-Victorian Blythe House. The government decided to sell it in 2015, leading the V&A to find a new home in the Olympics’s former Broadcasting Centre in Hackney Wick, a big box since rebadged as Here East, an ‘innovation campus’. The Storehouse’s entrance indeed blends in with the startups and students sharing the building.

Graeme Thomson

Compelling: Little Simz’s Lotus reviewed

It is not uncommon for (predominantly male) music critics to invert the ‘great man/great woman’ dictum in order to suggest that behind the success of every powerful female artist there simply must be a moustache-twirling Svengali pulling the strings. It’s less common for the artist themselves to pose the question. On ‘Lonely’, the penultimate track on her compelling sixth album, London rapper and actor Simbiatu Ajikawo, who performs as Little Simz, interrogates the doubts and insecurities she felt while writing and recording this record. In doing so, she asks: ‘I’m used to making it with [redacted]/ Can I do it without?’ The bleeped-out name is likely that of Dean Cover,

James Delingpole James Delingpole

Excruciating: Sirens reviewed

You had a narrow escape this week. I was about to urge you to watch Sirens, the latest iteration of that fashionable genre Ultra-Rich Lifestyle Porn, currently trending on Netflix. But luckily for you I watched it right to the end and got to witness the whole edifice collapsing like a speeded up version of Miss Havisham’s wedding cake. Normally, this doesn’t happen. Like most critics I have neither the time nor the work ethic to view a TV series in its entirety before putting in my tuppenny-ha’penny’s worth. I just assume that if something starts well or badly it’s going to continue that way. Not Sirens, though. It’s as

Richard Bratby

Thrilling: Garsington’s Queen of Spades reviewed

Tchaikovsky’s The Queen of Spades is one of those operas that under-promises on paper but over-delivers on stage. It’s hard to summarise the plot in a way that makes it sound theatrical, even if you’ve read Pushkin’s novella, and I’ve never found a recording that really hits the spot. And yet, time and again, in the theatre: wham! It goes up like a petrol bomb. With a good production and performers, Tchaikovsky hurls you out at the far end feeling almost hungover – head swimming, and wondering where those three hours went. The cast and staging at Garsington are very, very good. True, you’d expect great things from any production

Sam Leith Sam Leith

Ridiculously enjoyable: Doom – The Dark Ages reviewed

Grade: A In the beginning, there was Doom. The videogame landscape was formless and void. But id Software created a square-headed space marine and several billion two-dimensional demons for him to kill with a shotgun, a chainsaw and a BFG (Big Fracking Gun); and several billion teenage boys saw that it was good, and they called it the First-Person Shooter, and lo, they gave up leaving their bedrooms altogether. The original Doom (1993) really was the genesis of a genre: dark, intense, relentless, addictive. The latest iteration of the game – which plunks our space marine and his demon hordes in a medieval world rather than a space station –

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Provocative, verbose and humourless: Mrs Warren’s Profession reviewed

George Bernard Shaw’s provocative play Mrs Warren’s Profession examines the moral hypocrisy of the moneyed classes. It opens with a brilliant young graduate, Vivie Warren, boasting about her dazzling achievements as a mathematician at Newnham College, Cambridge. She explains her future plans to a pair of mild-mannered chaps who clearly adore her. Like most of Shaw’s characters, Vivie is hard-nosed, emotionally cold, incapable of speaking concisely and boundlessly self-confident. Quite irritating, in other words. She plans to start a firm with another hyper-brainy female and to make a killing in the London insurance market. This occurs in 1902. Was it normal for two unmarried Edwardian women to enter the world

Thursday

Richard Morris

Museums: open up your vaults!

At any one time eighty per cent of the art owned by Britain’s many museums and public art galleries will find itself hidden away in storage. And once it is, it can stay there for years. Yet in these vaults are a wealth of treasures. It’s why I recently launched ‘Everyone’s Art’, which has a simple premise: to get these works out of the storeroom and into community centres, libraries, churches, village halls and schools, so their makers, and what they made, can finally be celebrated. Consider Henry Bright, a friend of the critic, writer and painter John Ruskin. Ruskin paid for Bright to accompany Turner on many of his

Richard Bratby

Sincere, serious and beautiful: Glyndebourne’s Parsifal reviewed

‘Here time becomes space,’ says Gurnemanz in Act One of Parsifal, and true enough, the end of the new Glyndebourne Parsifal is in its beginning. We don’t know that, at first: the sickbed image that’s glimpsed during the prelude doesn’t resolve itself until the opera’s closing scenes. In between, characters appear on stage in multiple forms, at different ages – past and future selves attendant on the present, whatever ‘present’ means in Monsalvat. Wagner, after all, makes it clear enough that time in the Grail Domain moves in mysterious ways, and his whole musical strategy reinforces that truth. So I can’t get too upset about those multiple personas, even though

Daisy Dunn

The best radio at the moment is on the BBC World Service

Online viewings of Conclave increased threefold following the death of Pope Francis last month. At least some of the traffic was rumoured to have come from the Vatican itself. This raises many questions, but the most pertinent for me this week is, what did the cardinals think of the carpets? Do they really have coffee machines in their rooms like Tremblay? Minibars like Bellini? Their peace spoiled by the sounds of a lift shaft as in the case of long-suffering Lawrence? If any of these details passed you by, it’s worth watching the film again. In fact, after listening to an interview with the production designer, to be broadcast on

Hermione Eyre

Fascinating royal clutter: The Edwardians, at The King’s Gallery, reviewed

The Royal Collection Trust has had a rummage in the attic and produced a fascinating show. Displayed in the palatial gallery adjacent to Buckingham Palace, and described on headsets in the reassuring tones of Hugh Bonneville, are public tokens and personal treasures of two generations: Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, and George V and Queen Mary. Frocks, clocks and diplomatic gifts; purchases and mementoes that give the illusion that the royal family might be, after all, not so unlike us. There’s an unusual tea set, with odd, red photos: as princess, Alexandra took family snaps and had them printed on to these porcelain teacups in 1892, more than 100 years

Michael Hann

Anyone irritated by Springsteen’s speeches hasn’t been paying attention

No one who went to see Bruce Springsteen’s Broadway residency a few years back came away disappointed because they knew what they were getting: a tightly scripted show, in which there was more speech than music. The country star Eric Church – who made his name with a single called ‘Springsteen’ – appeared to have been taking notes, for that was the model for his ‘residency’ at the Albert Hall. All that he lacked was the tight script – and Springsteen’s charm and charisma. It was, the MC told us, Church’s first time in the UK in eight years, but the place was horribly undersold, the top tier almost empty

James Walton

Why is the BBC making stuff up about Jane Austen?

Jane Austen: Rise of a Genius began by saying that ‘getting into her mind isn’t easy’ – something you’d never have guessed from the rest of the episode, where both the narrator and the talking heads were able to tell us exactly what Austen was thinking and feeling at any given time. Like many Austen biographies, this one laments her sister Cassandra’s decision to burn most of her letters, but then takes full advantage of how little we consequently know about her to portray (or possibly make up) a woman whose attitudes are spookily close to its own. In a previous era, this might have meant presenting Austen as a

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Everyone should see the Globe’s brilliant new production of The Crucible

Sanity returns to the Globe. Recent modern-dress productions have failed to make use of the theatre’s virtues as a historical backdrop. The Crucible by Arthur Miller is set in the 1690s (about a century after Shakespeare’s heyday) and the script works beautifully on this spare, wooden stage. To make the groundlings feel involved, the playing area has been extended into the pit with two separate platforms for the judges and the witnesses. James Groom, as Willard the demented jailer, terrifies the crowd by striding around the arena, barking madly at anyone who gets in his way. It grabs your attention. The dashing Gavin Drea (John Proctor) looks terrific in the

Deborah Ross

A remarkable story: The Salt Path reviewed

The Salt Path is an adaptation of the best-selling book by Raynor Winn. It tells the true story of how she and her husband, Moth, lost their home and lost all their money. At one point they go to a bank to withdraw all their funds: £1.38. And if that wasn’t bad enough he’s then diagnosed with an incurable neurodegenerative disease. So what do they decide to do? They decide to embark on a 630-mile walk along the South West Coast Path. Isn’t that what any of us would do, given the circumstances? It is a remarkable story and while this may well frustrate those who like a juicy plot

Rod Liddle Rod Liddle

A lovely album: Saint Leonard’s The Golden Hour reviewed

Grade: A+ The kids with their synths and hip producers, dragging the 1980s back: I wish they would stop. It was, in the main, an awful decade for music, the bands trite yet portentous, the stupid burbling bass guitars, hubris-stricken vocals and tinny drums. The kids retread all the dross. Yet if you were actually around and sentient in that avaricious decade, as was Saint Leonard, you could find a certain chill beauty in hidden corners. Not the New Romantics, not Japan, not SAW. Just small niches here and there of inventiveness and clever pop. Saint Leonard – Kieran Leonard to his mum – draws down all that was good

Chas Newkey-Burden

Those remaking Threads mustn’t soften the horror

I was 11 years old when I saw the mushroom cloud go up but this wasn’t Hiroshima or Nagasaki in the 1940s – it was Sheffield in the 1980s. I was one of nearly seven million people who sat down on the evening of 23 September 1984 to watch a BBC drama called Threads, written by Barry Hines. For many viewers, choosing to watch this film about a nuclear attack on Britain turned out to be an epochal decision. Threads begins as a kitchen-sink drama, focused around a young couple in Sheffield. The realism of their lives is deftly blended with a documentary narration, making everything seem as real as