Finch's Quarterly Review Issue 3

Issue 3: Spring 2009

£10

Finch’s

uarterly Review

Ecce, mundus est Michael Chow on art

Richard Dreyfuss on theatre

sordidus et olidus, sed etiam habet multas res smashingae

Al Ruddy on the Oscars

Emma Thompson on the Globes

John Malkovich on books

Matthew Modine on Obama

Minnie Driver on a wave

James Mason and John Gielgud in The Shooting Party

Taking Care of Business Nick Foulkes professes that there has never been a better time to become a citizen of Finchland, a province in which style, manners, taste and talent thrive above fortune

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the past as viewed by LP Hartley, Finchland is another country and they do things differently there, or rather here, because if you are reading this then you too are an inhabitant of Finchland. Finchland is more of an attitude than a geographically specific location, although there are locations in it, of course.

Confused? Well, you’re not the only one, but let me try and explain.

The world according to Finch is a sort of Neverland scripted by F Scott Fitzgerald and Ian Fleming, a world in which gentlemen open doors for ladies, are men of their word and wear properly tailored tweeds (rather than the pantomime, pimped-up, Savile-Row-alike-Richard-Roundtreemeets-Gerald-Harper-as-Hadleigh stuff one sees too much of these days). It is a world of eternal values from which vulgarity is banished and in which talent and good manners are more important than a good bank balance. Indeed, it is a world of balance in which nothing as, well, brash as the recent polychromatic blinged-up boom and ensuing catastrophic bust could have happened. Inhabitants of Finchland simply had too much taste to make loadsamoney in the recent gold rush and, consequently, we have had less to lose in the crash.

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Instead, we have been busy with the things that matter: perfecting our “left and right” technique when shooting woodcock; knowing when we are too good to double in tournament backgammon; and perfecting our extempore, off-the-cuff Academy Award acceptance speeches. The fact that Charles has had to pawn his Purdeys and the rest of us could not hit a barn door with a blunderbuss, that we crash out of backgammon tournaments in the first round, and that the head has dropped off the only trophy that any of us has recently picked up (my “Havana Man of the Year 2007” statuette) is beside the point.

As I may have said before, we try and live life as we feel it ought to be rather than how it is. In recent years, it has been tough but at last we feel that things might be turning our way. In recent months a whole new lexicon of euphemism has sprung up to describe the financial holocaust; we talk of the “current climate”, “weathering the storm” and so on. Whatever the result of this Darwinian and Malthusian winnowing might be, we would like to think that there will be a return to real and lasting value. A little less decadence might not be a bad thing, and as we have never had any money at least we won’t miss it now it has gone.

Take the picture above; it shows James Mason and John Gielgud in the 1985 Bafta-nominated film The Shooting Party. There is something eternal in the image and we can take consolation that while things are bad for us the period in which this film was set was immediately prior to that blood bath the First World War and it is to be hoped we don’t have another one of those to look forward to.

It is a pity that the shooting season is over, not

because we are a bloodthirsty bunch – far from it; FQR is with Prince Aki von Schwarzenberg who contributes to this issue and admits that he does not even need to kill anything when out shooting for him to feel it is a day well spent – but because we like the tradition and pageantry of the thing.

However, as one shooting season draws to a close in Europe then another one opens on the other side of the planet, in the New World.

The link between shooting with guns and shooting with cameras is little more than a pun (and a weak one at that), but film is an important part of the topography of the realm of the imagination that is Finchland, both as a means of escape from the tawdriness of the modern world and as one of Charles Finch’s passions. (The son of an Oscar winner, Charles is, technically speaking, second-generation Hollywood aristocracy.) The Academy Awards may only have begun in 1927 (the first ceremony was in 1928) but, given that film is scarcely a century old itself, the Oscars are as historic and traditional in their way as the orders of nobility of the Old World.

And as the Oscars loom, we at FQR set Hollywood in our sights – but not the here-today-gone-tomorrow evanescence of meretricious crap that is made merely to sate the bulimic appetites of a society weaned on disposable popular culture that is not worthy of the name. No, that would not be the FQR way.

Instead, even in that most superficial of societies, Hollywood, we have searched for and found real value and longevity.

In this issue of FQR, the veteran producer Al Ruddy writes on what it was like to win an Oscar

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in the early 1970s, when he carried off an Academy Award for a little picture you might have heard of called The Godfather, and then win again in the early 21st century when he produced Million Dollar Baby, a movie that he says nobody wanted to make (even though he had his old friend Clint directing and starring in it). Charles Finch, son of Oscar winner Peter Finch (did I mention that already?) gives his carefully considered Oscar survival guide. And completing our survey of that apparent oxymoron, Hollywood culture, LA’s favourite restaurateur Michael Chow writes about four decades of feeding and befriending the world’s greatest artists, telling how he has built up one of the world’s most important art collections. Mind you, I would have to say that if I had to choose between one of Michael’s ethereally, transcendentally, almost mystically delicious green prawns and some of the stuff that calls itself art these days the prawn begins to look like a seriously good investment.

These are the sort of people whom Charles likes to call mavericks and I suppose that in a time of excess, when success was cheap and money shouted, while talent whispered and could barely make itself heard, they were the outsiders. But now, when success is no longer so easy and a generation of young hotshots is finding that they are not masters of all they survey, it is time for those who, in the words of another of our favourite people, Mariano Rubinacci, “know how” to take control and show us how things are done properly.

– Nick Foulkes is Editorial Director of Finch’s Quarterly Review

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for annual subscriptions to Finch’s Quarterly Review please visit www.finchsquarterly.com/subscriptions

The Prologue Editorial director Nick Foulkes revels in the contrary, openminded attitude of Finch’s Quarterly Review and its embracing – even pioneering – of the new age of the amateur

Contents

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INCH’S Quarterly Review prides itself on being counterintuitive. In fact, you might say that contrapuntalism is our watchword.

We like being different. Take the economic crisis.

Almost everywhere else on what used to be known as Fleet Street there are layoffs as sub-editors and highly paid columnists alike are being given the bullet… but not at Finch Towers. It would appear that we are committed to high standards of journalism and that we are investing in people – at least, I think that those are the appropriate platitudes to mouth when embarking on the hiring spree, the orgy of recruitment in which our esteemed proprietor has just indulged.

One might have thought that with all this specialist talent coming on to the market we could have had the pick of British journalism. However, that would not be the FQR way. Instead, we have turned to the pages of the Almanach de Gotha and Illustrated International Litigator Magazine. From the former we have recruited our new features editor, Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis. Elisabeth is a princess, and anyone who was a student of the choicest chocolate dust on the froth atop the cappuccino of café society in the 1980s will remember her mother, Gloria TNT. However, what impressed the management of FQR was not so much her background as her CV, on which she spelt her own name in two different ways. Genius.

More prosaic minds might have conducted a simple search on Her Majesty’s Internet or, indeed, glanced at their own passports to arrive at a consensus… but not Elisabeth. She was sufficiently receptive to new ideas as to entertain an alternative spelling for own name. And it is exactly this dialectic open-mindedness that is one of the chief tenets of what we at FQR in our more sententious moments refer to as our editorial policy.

Our new managing editor, Felicity “Flea” Harrison, came to us seeking a rest from the enervating and lively atmosphere of Jurisprudence Daily, or whatever it was called. I have always had the most profound respect for the law. You might even call me a frustrated hierophant in the service of the Grecian goddess Themis. After all, what other vocation permits its adherents to dress up in robes and wigs and then invite each other to “approach the bar”? And I think that all of us can

What’s happening this spring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5 Al Ruddy on winning Oscars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 Adam Dawtrey on Brit Oscar success . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .8 A Brief History of Brits at the Oscars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9 Cannes forecast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9 Finch’s Oscar Survival Guide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 Tim Jefferies Hollywood tips . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 Minnie Driver on surfing and breast feeding at the beach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 FQR Oscar nominations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 Michael Chow by Hockney, Basquiat, Haring, Warhol, Rivers . . . . . . . . . . . .13 Matthew Modine on Obama’s star quality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15 Josh Hartnett opens up on charitable deeds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17 Tom Stubbs makes the Directors’ Cuts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .18 Nick Foulkes on The Look . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .19 FQR Casting Couch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21 FQR Travel Confidential . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22 Notting Hill celebrates the inauguration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22 Finch in praise of the bow tie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23 UHURU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23 Beretta on looking good with a gun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24 Prince Aki von Schwarzenberg on shooting for thrills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25 Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis on beating boars and bores . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25 Emma Thompson on the Golden Globes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27 Maya Evans does perfect pasta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27 Simon de Pury on why Apple should remake the 160GB iPod . . . . . . . . . . . .28 FQR’s Quarterly Report: the parties and the pics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29 Richard Dreyfuss on stage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30 John Malkovich’s latest reads . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30 FQR Art exclusive - Francesco Vezzoli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31 Proprietor’s Spouse: Sydney Ingle-Finch Chief Executive: Charles Finch Editorial Director: Nick Foulkes Creative Director: Tristram Fetherstonhaugh Managing Editor: Felicity Harrison Features Editor: Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis Women’s Page Editor (retired): Emma Thompson Literary Editor: John Malkovich Liberal at Large: Matthew Modine Theatre Correspondent: Kevin Spacey Travel Editor: Kate Lenahan Advertising: Jonathan Sanders Consigliare: James Massey Foreign Correspondent: Zeina Dakak Distribution Manager: Tiffany Grayson

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The views expressed in Finch’s Quarterly Review are not necessarily those of the editorial team. The editorial team is not responsible or liable for text, pictures or illustrations, which remain the responsibility of the authors. Finch’s Quarterly Review is fully protected by copyright and nothing may be printed, translated or reproduced wholly or in part without written permission.

Next edition: May 2009.

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see the fun in getting into fancy dress in order to stand up and utter the words “Objection, m’lud!”

– and get paid for doing so.

As well as her grasp of Roman and shipping law, what I like about Flea is her work ethic. No sooner had she landed her job at FQR than she took an extended five- or six-week holiday touring the Antipodes, so confident was she that we could cobble together an issue in her absence.

What these two young, clever and beautiful women embody is the spirit of the amateur. And it is the spirit of the amateur – along with our dialecticism, our open-mindedness, our contrapuntalism, our counterintuitive commitment to high standards of journalism etc etc etc – which lies at the heart of the FQR vision (if, of course, vision can be said to have a heart, which I doubt).

For too long the soi-disant professionals have been in charge – and look where it has got us. We are now entering the age of the amateur, the Corinthian and the dilettante. The signs are unmistakable. Even that most revered and rocklike of institutions Rolex has seen fit to part company with its CEO, a man who had succeeded his father, who in turn had succeeded the firm’s founder. For a while I toyed with the idea of putting myself forward for this job… I mean, how hard can it be?

Then again, I could give the old financialservices sector a bit of whirl. After all, I could hardly do worse than that American chap Madoff, a man in whom all those clever professionals such as Nicola Horlick and Arpad Busson saw fit to trust and who repaid that trust by creating a Northern Rock for rich people.

But somehow I don’t think the world of high finance is quite ready for me. For a start, standards of dress these days are simply dire. If I had my way, I would insist that all capitalists light their cigars with 1,000 Swiss Franc notes, wear top hats, frock coats, detachable collars, striped trousers and be driven to lunch in Rolls-Royces – that way, at least the lynch mobs would know who to string up.

To tell you the truth, FQR is not interested in selling you any get-rich-quick schemes; we don’t have the heart for it. However, we have probably got a couple of old Rolexes you could buy…

‘a very talented and great friend of mine’ - Charles Finch

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Finch’s World

Spring Quarter the

Opening and party at Thaddeus Ropac Gallery, Paris, 19 February. Paris’ hottest art space. Mingle with art-lovers, jet-setters and fashionistas at this important show of 16 contemporary Iranian painters.

St Mortiz weekend, 20–22. February.

Shuttlecock dinner, Chesa Veglia Party and Gunther Sachs’ legendary Cresta race Challenge Cup. A cornucopia of European enfant doré, Cresta-addicts and international hangers-on gather for yet another excuse to party.

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Charles’ (now legendary) Bafta Party...

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Berlinale 59, International Film Festival, Berlin, 5–15 February. The Berlinale has grown into a festival swamped by Hollywood stars and their expensive productions. Berlin is full of seedy nightclubs, retro-looking people and an abundance of artists. So what are you waiting for?

The Sovereign Order of Knights of Malta’s Charity Ball, Bern, 7 February.

Dance with European aristocracy and for a good cause!

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Rally Clásico Isla Mallorca, 18–21 March.

Cruise around the island in your vintage car way before ze German summer invasion.

François Pinault’s collection at Dasha Zhukova’s, Moscow, 19 March.

Pinault’s important contemporary collection at Zukhova’s dazzling new art space, The Garage.

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Lucerne Festival at Easter, Switzerland, 28 March–5 April. Get your spring fix of culture by indulging in Haydn’s late masses, Handel’s Jephthah and Beethoven’s symphonies, concerti and overtures.

Salzburg Easter Festival, Austria, 4–13 April. And if you still haven’t had enough, bathe in music as Sir Simon Rattle and the Berliner Philharmoniker continue the realisation of Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen with Siegfried, directed by Stéphane Braunschweig.

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Charles’ Pre-Academy Awards Party, Los Angeles, 21 February. Did we mention that his dad won an Oscar? Gossip and chat about the runners and riders with the runners and riders.

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Armory Show, New York, 5–8 March.

The perfect excuse for a few days in New York in spring and a must on the schedule for the growing breed of artoholics.

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Hublot Palma Vela, Mallorca, Spain, 15–19 April. Rub shoulders with the King of Spain, the Prince of Asturias and his not-sohappy-looking wife whilst watching the sailing boats whizz past.

Cannes Film Festival, 13–24 May. Be a social cheerleader as industry heavyweights, celebrities and socialites swarm to the South of France for films and parties.

Monaco Grand Prix, 21–24 May. While you’re at it, end the Cannes party marathon with a last pit stop at the Grand Prix.

It’s noisy, it’s smelly but, cloaked in a hangover the size of Paul Allen’s boat, you won’t notice.

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von Sachsen Coburg und Gotha wedding, Schloss Callenberg, Germany, 23 May. Prince von Sachsen Coburg und Gotha weds his American girlfriend Kelly - European Royalty and American Society gather to celebrate.

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Theatre

Books

Art

Madame de Sade, by Yukio Mishima, Wyndham Theatre, 13 March–23 May. This Japanese tale explores one of literatures most scandalous characters, the Marquise de Sade, through the lives of six women; amongst them Rosamund Pike and Judi Dench.

Third Symphony of Gustav Mahler–John Neumeier, Opera Bastille, Paris, 13 March–11 April. Expect an ecstasy of the senses as Paris’ principal Ballet ensemble spins through Mahler’s longest symphony.

A Doll’s House, Donmar Warehouse, 14 March–18 July.

Gillian Anderson as Nora is on the brink of a nervous break down amidst British politics at the turn of the last century.

Vincenzo Bellini’s La Sonnambula, Metropolitan Opera House, New York, 2 March–3 April. What better place to experience the acts of the sleepwalking beauty Amina, than in the city that never sleeps?

21st Century Masterpieces-Architecture of the New Millennium (Phaidon). This coffee table book consistent of impressive photographic images is a thorough collection of 21st Century’s architectural jewels.

Stranger to History (Canongate Books) by Aatish Taseer. A Pakistani-Indian author, educated in Ivy league schools, travels through the Islamic lands from Istanbul through Syria, Iran, Mecca and Pakistan in search of his heritage.

So Bright and Delicate: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne (Penguin). A compilation of love letters and poetry Keats wrote to and for his adored Fanny Brawne, which inspired the upcoming film Bright Star.

The Bin Ladens (Penguin) by Steve Cole. This novelistic biography is by Pulitzer Prize winning author and Afghanistan correspondent for the Washington Post.

Altermodern: Tate Triennial 2009, Tate Britain, London, 3 February–26 April. A ride through the peaks and perks of British and international contemporary art.

Van Dyck and Britain, Tate Britain, London, 18 February–17 May. This exhibition will delight those who mock art’s contemporary cornucopia. Van Dyck remains one of the most influential painters of 17th-century Britain.

Picasso: Challenging the Past, The National Gallery, London, 25 February–7 June. The masters who inspired the modern master.

From El Greco, Velázquez and Goya to Rembrandt, Ingres and Cézanne, each work is set side by side with Picasso’s works.

From Siena to Florence: The Italian Primitives; Altenburg Collection, Paris, 11 March–21 June. This is the collection of the German Baron Bernard von Lindenau who gathered these preRenaissance treasures at the beginning of the 19th century.

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Oscar Wild Al Ruddy on the highs and lows of making the knockout movie Million Dollar Baby and the resulting jubilation at the Academy Awards in 2005

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THINK they were probably the two greatest nights of my life. It went from Clint Eastwood giving me the Academy Award for The Godfather in 1973 to me handing Clint Eastwood an Oscar for Million Dollar Baby in 2005 and closing the circle with a movie that no one wanted to make that won four fucking Oscars.

In the 1970s studios were very involved with the Academy, the movies and the publicity. Clint Eastwood called me 10 days before the ceremony and said, “Look, I don’t normally do this, but I’m doing it because I’m sure you are going to win.”

Being a producer, I said, “Well, Clint, in case I don’t – there are great movies like Cabaret up this year – nobody will see the official ballot, so if I don’t win, just tear it up, swallow it and say: ‘The winner is The Godfather… Al Ruddy.’” I thought it was funny.

However, the way the night was going it wasn’t so funny. I saw my chances of winning an Oscar

spring 2009

fading rapidly. Liza Minnelli got an Academy Award, Joel Grey got an Academy Award, but Francis did not get an Academy Award – either for directing or writing. The only other award given for The Godfather was to Marlon Brando for Best Actor, but he never showed up – instead, he had an “Indian Princess” go up, get the award and denounce the disaster that befell Native American Indians at the hands of the white man. I wanted to jump off the balcony. I thought, “Jesus Christ, what a bastard night this is – a fiasco for us!”

One of the things I felt would minimise the chances of us winning was that The Godfather had been out for almost a year. Usually, they choose films from releases in November and December.

We came out in March, so were old hat by the time the Academy Awards took place. I thought, “Oh, God, people are tired of this.” We did the normal Academy screenings at the studio but everybody had seen the movie once or twice so not many people showed up. I was less than hopeful we would win but, needless to say, when Clint Eastwood got up there and said, “The nominees are… and the winner is Al Ruddy, The Godfather!”

I almost jumped out of my shoes. I said, “Now that’s what I call a friend! That’s a friend for you!

Jesus Christ!” I went running up. I said, “Thanks, Clint, thanks.” He said, “You idiot… Look!”

There’s a picture of me looking at the ballot. I was so carried away I couldn’t imagine that I had actually won! My mouth is agape looking at the ballot and going, “Jesus Christ!” It was an astounding award – and to get it from Clint, who is a great friend, and to have my mother with me made it such a great night.

So then we dissolve the other things I have done – The Cannonball Runs, The Longest Yard etc – and I get nominated 30 years later for Million Dollar Baby. It would have been much harder even to get nominated for Million Dollar Baby in the 1970s. Then, small movies were small movies; the big ones generally got the Academy attention and no one took small movies seriously. But as the market expanded and the studios realised that every actor in the world has a movie he wants to make, it started.

I have to give Harvey Weinstein credit for realising the potential of small, speciality films. For a very long time he was the only one buying them for Miramax – Shakespeare in Love, The English Patient etc – and winning Oscars. Suddenly, the industry said, “There is money in that kind of stuff ” – and it became more of a business. Last year I think four or five of the small independent movies were Oscar-nominated.

Million Dollar Baby was a 70-page novella in

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Al Ruddy winning the Oscar for The Godfather in 1973

FQR Oscar Focus

Rope Burns, a collection of stories about boxing by FX Toole. Anjelica Huston called me and said, “I want you to read this story and if you don’t cry, don’t ever call me back. If you do, I’d like you to produce it and me to direct.” I said, “OK!” So I get this book and I swear I’m crying in my bed. As tears roll down my face, my wife says, “What you crying about?” and I say, “Nothing. I’ve got something in my eye; go back to sleep.”

I fall in love with the piece, and I want to get in touch with the writer. But the agent says, “Forget it. This guy was an obscure writer when he wrote this, but now he is going to be a big star. He’s got a huge advance on his next book, Pound for Pound, and, just so you know, Dustin Hoffman and Paul Haggis had made a deal with HBO because they wanted to do a series of boxing movies and to start out with Million Dollar Baby. Well, after negotiating with HBO, FX Toole and his agent believed they had a deal with them, not knowing how things work in Hollywood. HBO tried to change the numbers slightly and FX flipped out and didn’t want to deal with any more Hollywood guys. I’ll put you in contact with him, but he won’t be interested. Hey, he lives out in Redondo Beach and is a crazy Irishman. Give him a buzz.”

I call up FX, one of the most fascinating men I ever met. He lived most of his life in boxing, and

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FQR Oscar Focus

The British are coming. The British are always coming. Sometimes it seems like they never left, says Adam Dawtrey George Arliss in 1919

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VERY year at the Oscars, it’s the same story. The British invasion has become an annual cliché. Invasion? It’s more like an occupation.

Slumdog Millionaire is leading this year’s charge, but don’t forget the big British contributions to fellow best picture candidates The Reader and Frost/Nixon, plus other nominations for The Dark Knight, In Bruges, The Duchess, Revolutionary Road and Happy-GoLucky. Last year it was Daniel Day-Lewis, Tilda Swinton and the computer wizards who created the polar bear for The Golden Compass. The year before it was the regal Helen Mirren in The Queen. And so it has always gone, all the way back, via Gandhi, Chariots of Fire, Tom Jones and Lawrence of Arabia, to 1929, when George Arliss became the first Brit to win an Academy Award.

A movie about a Mumbai street kid winning the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? with half its dialogue in Hindi might not be so instantly recognisable as a product of dear old Blighty. Yet Slumdog Millionaire is actually the second iteration of a world-beating British phenomenon. Who Wants to be a Millionaire? was created a decade ago by Belfast-born TV producer Paul Smith.

It made Smith much more than a millionaire. After spreading the franchise to 105 countries, he sold his TV company in 2006 to concentrate on producing and financing movies. When Film4

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Ruddy, k and Al n a w S y r ila stwood, H Clint Ea

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2005

needed a partner to develop the novel Q&A into a feature, Smith was the natural choice, because he still retained the big-screen rights to the quiz. Slumdog Millionaire is the happy result.

Let’s pause for a moment to consider the small but crucial role played by our noble patron Charles Finch in the Millionaire saga.

When Charles ran the London office of the William Morris Agency in the late Nineties, he hired an eager American pup named Ben Silverman to run around town and sniff out opportunities. Young Ben charmed the folks behind Millionaire into letting him broker a deal to launch the show on NBC in America.

That was the first step towards the show’s global hegemony. Even before Survivor and Big Brother, the US version of Millionaire sparked the reality-TV revolution, and opened the floodgates for a deluge of British talent and ideas into the previously insular world of American TV. Ben imported many of those ideas himself through his company Reveille, and now, for his sins, runs the NBC network itself.

Whether it’s Hugh Laurie in House, Dominic West and Idris Elba in The Wire, the American version of The Office, Tom Hooper directing the Emmywinning John Adams, Len Goodman judging Dancing with the Stars or Simon Cowell playing Mr Nasty in American Idol, those damn Brits have seeped into every nook and cranny of the American consciousness, whether the viewers know it or not.

A poll of British children recently declared that Cowell was more famous than God. That’s an echo of a previous British invasion, 40 years ago, when John Lennon, outraging the Bible Belt, claimed The Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

America has grown more used to our funny little ways since then.

Three of the most successful films of 2008 were British-made, though not, of course, British-financed. The Dark Knight, Mamma Mia! and Quantum of Solace would have been joined by a fourth, if Warner Bros hadn’t delayed Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince until next summer for maximum impact.

A more discreet British invasion took place this January in Utah.

The Sundance Film Festival is the mecca for US indie cinema. But ever since Four Weddings and a Funeral wowed the Park City crowd 15 years ago, it’s also been the place for new British talent to spring itself upon Hollywood. This year, the festival welcomed more British films than ever.

But a glance at that list of a dozen movies – one directed by a German, two by Danes, one by an Argentine, one by an American, one by the Scottish son of an Italian father, and two American

thrillers by British directors – begs the question: what exactly do we mean by British? Our national cinema, indeed our national culture, turns out to be an exceptionally elastic concept.

It’s a truism that Hollywood was built by immigrants. It’s less well recognised, but no less true, that British cinema – since the days of Alexander Korda, Michael Balcon and Emeric Pressburger – has also largely been created by people whose families came to Britain from elsewhere.

AKE Richard Curtis, born in New Zealand of Hungarian parents. Or Mike Leigh, the son of Jewish immigrants.

Or Peter Morgan, writer of The Queen and Frost/Nixon, the child of Eastern European émigrés. Or Anthony Minghella, Gurinder Chadha, Sam Mendes, Roger Michell, Joe Wright, Pawel Pawlikowski, Anand Tucker, Terry Gilliam, Stephen Frears, Shekhar Kapur, Kevin Macdonald… The list of contemporary British filmmakers whose roots lie outside Britain stretches to the far horizon. Not to mention visiting foreigners such as Alfonso Cuarón, Neil Jordan, Tim Burton and Fernando Mereilles, who have made some of the most memorable and successful “British” movies of recent years.

The two most striking directorial debuts of 2008, Steve McQueen’s Hunger and Noel Clarke’s Adulthood, both came from the offspring of West Indian immigrants. “The immigrant thing…

I’d argue that is quintessentially British,” says McQueen, an artist who won the Turner Prize back in 1999. “It’s the strength of our make-up, it’s absolutely that diversity that makes us British. We’re a mix of Scottish, Irish, Welsh, Russian, West Indian… We are definitely different because of that, and it makes us very rich.”

This is what French critics snootily dismiss as the “mongrel” nature of British cinema, by which they mean, inauthentic. But mongrel films such as Slumdog Millionaire, The Dark Knight, Happy-Go-Lucky, The Reader, Mamma Mia! and Frost/Nixon have a vitality and a capacity to speak to audiences worldwide that the French can only envy.

It’s worth pointing out that last year’s French Oscar champion, La Vie En Rose, was actually a UK co-production, and that one of its winners, make-up artist Jan Archibald, is a Brit. As McQueen states, with the patriotism of a Londoner whose parents came from Grenada and Trinidad and who now lives in Amsterdam: “If Britain weren’t in Europe, Europe would be a very boring place.”

In other words, the British are coming… wherever it is they actually come from. And thank God for that.

– Adam Dawtrey is Finch’s Quarterly Review film critic

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If Britain weren’t in Europe, Europe would be a very boring place

it turns out he was a bouncer in The Village in New York with - you ready? Al Lettieri who played Sollozzo in The Godfather! My connection had brought Al Lettieri from London and introduced him to Francis, and he got the part. FX loved that, so I quickly said, “Why don’t we get together for a drink?’ “I can’t, I’m in AA.” I said, “Well, I’ll drink and get you a CocaCola.” Needless to say, him being an Irishman, we met at the Grand Havana club at about 2pm and we came out at about 7pm. He, having had a number of martinis and some bottles of beer, said, “I want to do this movie with you.

I trust you.”

So now I have the story rights, and Anjelica Huston calls me and says she has to bail out.

“Look, as much as I like the book, Julia Roberts has asked me to write and direct a film for her to star in, so I have to

bid adios.” Shocked, I mumbled, “Thanks for at least making me aware of the property.”

Paul Haggis, the attached writer with Dustin Hoffman at HBO, worked for me when we did Walker Texas Ranger in the early 1990s. He calls excitedly: “I’ve studied the material. If I write the script, will you let me direct it?” “Paul, I would use best efforts to let you direct it, with one proviso. This is important: I will never, ever do Million Dollar Baby as a small film production without major elements, because it will get lost.”

There was a movie that came out the previous year called Girl Fighter with a Latino girl called Rodriguez. It didn’t even make its costs back. I said, “There is no great market for woman boxers, especially ones that die in the film. Write the script. If we get a major element that buys you as a director, you’ve got the job.”

Paul’s agent sends the script to Tom Rosenberg, who gives it to his best friend, Hilary Swank. They call me up and ask me to come over to Paul’s house to meet Tom and Hilary which, of course, I did. I think she’s a genius. They want to put together Hilary Swank and Morgan Freeman – the other part is still open – with Paul directing, for $7m. I

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say, “No, I won’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because no one will see it... It has to be a major production, then you could direct it.” My relationship with Paul frayed to the point where I said, “Paul, take your fucking script… I’ll develop another one!”

I go on holiday to Sun Valley, and who’s there?

My buddy Clint. I tell him how excited I am with the script. One reason why I have kept friends in Hollywood is because I don’t call them up constantly imposing silly scripts on them. But I told him, “Clint, this is so fucking brilliant, you got to have a look at it.” So he calls me the next day and agrees it is a brilliant script, but a real downer. I said, “Clint, you only want to make movies where you laugh or cry, you don’t want to make movies in the middle.”

The next day, he calls me and says, “I’m in. I gave the script to my wife and she cried all night.”

Even with Clint on board, no studio wanted it, this downer. Who wants a movie about a girl boxer who gets paralysed, chews her tongue off, has her leg cut off and dies… with two old guys? Finally, we negotiated with Warner Brothers, and they buy all domestic rights for $15m, which is a gift, and Tom buys the foreign rights for $15m, which is a gift too.

spring 2009

FQR Oscar Focus

A Brief History of Britain at the Oscars

PARTIES, FEWER PEOPLE. ONES? SAYS

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Finch’s Quarterly Party Picks

spring 2009

BUT THERE WILL

STILL BE JUST AS MANY MOVIES. WHICH

939 Vivien Leigh won for Gone With the Wind and Robert Donat for Goodbye, Mr Chips. Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier were also nominated. Those four, along with Ronald Colman and Leslie Howard, dominated the race time and again during the War years.

1948 Olivier’s Hamlet won four Oscars, including Best Actor for Olivier himself, who was also nominated for Best Director. It took the Best Picture prize ahead of another British classic, Michael Powell’s The Red Shoes.

1957 David Lean became the first Brit named as Best Director for Bridge On The River Kwai, which won seven Oscars in total, including Best Picture and Best Actor for Alec Guinness. Charles Laughton earned his third nomination for Witness For the Prosecution, Deborah Kerr her fourth for Heaven Knows, Mr Allison and Elizabeth Taylor her first for Raintree County. Kerr’s six nominations without success still stands as a record, although Kate Winslet will match it this year if she doesn’t win for The Reader.

1964 The Sixties were a great decade for the Brits, with Lawrence of Arabia winning Best Film in 1962 and Tom Jones in 1963. The high point came the following year, when Rex Harrison (My Fair Lady), Julie Andrews (Mary Poppins) and Peter Ustinov (Topkapi) took acting prizes.

1976 Peter Finch’s greatest claim to fame is that he fathered Charles. Close behind comes his posthumous Oscar for Network (ed’s note, see pages 1, 10). The Seventies were otherwise short of British success, although the women did their bit, with Glenda Jackson picking up Best Actress twice, and Vanessa Redgrave and Maggie Smith each managing a Supporting prize.

1981 The success of Chariots of Fire, with four Oscars in 1981, prompted screenwriter Colin Welland to proclaim, “The British are coming!” He was right. That was topped the following year

by Gandhi, which won eight.

1987 The Last Emperor, winning nine Oscars, may have been a Chinese story directed by an Italian, but the man who got his hands on the statuette for Best Film was its very British producer Jeremy Thomas. Sean Connery also won Supporting Actor for The Untouchables.

1996 There were British wins and nominations galore throughout the late Brian Lourd: Friday-night party of the CAA Eighties and Nineties, including three powerhouse agent attended by all the big stars.

Best Actor prizes in a row for Daniel Casual, chic and terrifying.

Day-Lewis, Jeremy Irons and Anthony Ed Limato: Friday-night bash of the Hopkins. But the highlight was the legendary agent at WM attended by the good Best Picture win for The English and great. Fun. Patient in 1996, followed by Larry Gagosian: Thursday night at Mr Shakespeare in Love in 1998.

Chow. The art crowd. Out-of-towners.

2000 Ridley Scott has never Patrick Whitesell: Endeavor agent’s late-night personally won an Oscar, but his film post-Oscars party – I am never up late enough.

Gladiator did take five awards including Best Picture.

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EVEN CANNES WON’T BE IMMUNE FROM THE CREDIT CRUNCH. THERE WILL BE FEWER

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences has always had a soft spot for British talent and stories, ever since George Arliss won the 1929 Oscar for playing the title role in Disraeli. It’s that touch of class, you see (and indeed, A Touch of Class won Glenda Jackson her second Oscar in 1973). Here are a few other highlights:

Making the movie with Hilary, Morgan and Clint is probably one of the most delightful times I’ve had in the movie business: watching a great director, with three great actors. When it’s finished, we are screening to the head of the studio – who initially wasn’t convinced he wanted to make the movie – and he’s sitting in the screening room crying! Clint did the music a couple of nights earlier at his house, just playing around with the piano.

HEN we had the first audience screening, people were expecting Rocky, a movie where she would win every fight. When she became paralysed, it was like someone sucked the air out of the audience.

Not one person moved, not one, they were so stunned. It was such a twist to the movie and, let’s face it, everyone has known someone who has died – people understand the emotion and tragedy in this movie. It sucks you in and then twists so completely, people are floored. People respected the movie so even the critics kept the end secret.

Only later, when the church said Clint was advocating euthanasia, was there anything negative. But, thank God, it was Clint directing; had it been a liberal there might have been

Can Cannes

problems. Clint Eastwood is Clint Peter Finc Eastwood, and above reproach. It h in Netw ork in 19 was the first time Clint ever cried 76 in a movie: when he goes and unplugs her lifeline, I swear we were all crying. The make- Al Ruddy, up girls were giving everyone Kleenex on set!

Clint Eastwood, Best Picture. It What helped was the way they released the film. was such an amazing experience and the movie It was only in three theatres at first, and getting was so unique. Morgan was at the peak of his great critical acclaim, then it went to 15 theatres, talent, and, obviously, I think Clint should have and they rolled it out slowly. We did 120 domestic been nominated for Best Actor. He would have and 150 foreign on that little movie. You do been had we not been nominated in so many something about a girl boxer, an old black guy categories. who couldn’t get a job, and a washed-up fighter, So after the Governor’s Ball, we were all going to you make them fall in love with them and then different parties, but agreed we were to meet you break their fucking hearts at the end. It’s so afterwards at a small bar on Melrose Place for a powerful. Keep it simple. Clint keeps it simple – last drink. Just the six of us. Sitting on that little short and simple, honest and naked – so when the table there were all our awards, and we just looked emotions start you can’t leave it, you stay. at them. It was amazing! This was one of the That year the Academy Awards was a night I things that hardly ever happens in Hollywood; it will always remember. This is a movie no one was an astounding ending. A clutch of fucking wanted to finance, no one wanted to make – a Oscars sitting on a table in a little bar, for a movie downer that no one wanted to see. The evening that cost $28m, a movie no one believed in and starts… Academy Award: Morgan Freeman. no one wanted to make.

Academy Award: Hilary Swank. Academy Award: – Legendary producer Al Ruddy is a Double Clint Eastwood, Best Director. Academy Award: Academy Award winner

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HERE ARE SOME LIKELY CANDIDATES, ADAM DAWTREY

Inglourious Basterds Stand by for one of the biggest bunfights in recent Cannes history, if Quentin Tarantino unveils his long-awaited WW2 actioner on the Croisette. It’s got Brad Pitt, Mike Myers, Sam Jackson, Diane Kruger, Til Schweiger, Michael Fassbender – but at Cannes, if nowhere else, the biggest star of them all is Quentin.

Angels and Demons The Cannes launch of The Da Vinci Code is generally remembered as a disaster – terrible reviews, terrible party, terrible film. And yet the movie was a worldwide smash. So are they really going to put themselves through it again with the sequel? A worldwide release date of May 15 suggests they are.

Brüno Whether Sacha Baron Cohen actually secures a slot at the festival, or simply pitches up uninvited and hogs the cameras in an outrageous bathing suit as he did with Borat, you can be sure Brüno will steal the front pages.

Terminator: Salvation This won’t be part of the official festival, either, but this June release will be plastered all over the front of the Carlton Hotel, and may well screen as part of a mega-junket.

Bright Star Australian director Jane Campion’s debut Sweetie was booed at Cannes in 1989, but it made her name.

She looks set to return this year with this period romance between the poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) and Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish). Can she rescue a career that’s been drifting since The Piano?

Looking For Eric Unlikely though it seems, Cannes stalwart Ken Loach has collaborated with French soccer icon Eric Cantona for this movie about a man obsessed with the former Manchester United star.

Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky and/or Coco avant Chanel Fingernails are being sharpened for a catfight between two rival biopics of the ultimate French fashionista Coco Chanel. Dutch director Jan Kounen focuses on her relationship with radical Russki composer Igor Stravinsky. French director Anne Fontaine has the winsome Audrey Tautou in the eponymous role. Stand back and watch the fur fly.

Mr Nobody It’s 13 years since Flemish director Jaco van Dormael released his last movie, the glutinously sentimental The Eighth Day. Mr Nobody is a fantastical romance about a man who wakes up as an old man, and must work out what happened to his life.

Creation Charles Darwin finds his faith, and that of his family, challenged by his scientific discoveries. Married couple Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connolly play the Darwins, Jon Amiel directs.

The Limits of Control If Cannes regular Jim Jarmusch be bothered to make yet another trip to the Croisette, he will bring a classy cast to parade the red carpet, including Tilda Swinton, Bill Murray, John Hurt and Gael Garcia Bernal.

Broken Embraces Pedro Almodóvar always releases his films in April in Spain, then takes them to Cannes. Why should this year be any different? Penélope Cruz stars.

www.finchsquarterly.com

FQR Oscar Focus

Dude, where’s my Oscar

And the winner of the Academy Award for Best Oscars Etiquette and Endurance goes to… none other than our very own Charles Finch, Tinseltown habitué and lavisher of essential advice on how to survive the mêlée

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HEN my dear friend, the editor of this wonderful newspaper, asked me to write a piece on the Oscars I was quite reluctant as, for the most part, the Oscar weekend usually entails a great deal of work, a mass of anxiety, organisational hell, jet lag, as well as a great deal of disappointment. That said, this year I will host my first Oscar party in Los Angeles for a small gaggle of pals at Madeo’s restaurant on the night before the great event. My party is to celebrate the hordes of foreign filmmakers, actors and fashionistas who each year travel to the mecca of entertainment in the hope that just a little stardust will fall their way. Call it an “Orphans” party. If I do survive to tell the tale then Nick, and consequently all of our loyal readers, will be the first to know.

Obviously, the preferred way to survive the Oscars is to win one, then make a short and charming speech, clutch the statuette firmly to your bosom and head off on the obligatory victory lap of the town, having a blast at all the best parties and, naturally, ending up naked in a giant Jacuzzi surrounded by a bevy of beauties male or female.

Jack Nicholson, one of Finch’s Quarterly’s Honorary Life-Long Mavericks, is a worthy master of the Oscars. He has all this down pat.

Comfortably seated in the front row and sporting a grin that tells a billion folks at home that he’s in for one great night, Jack embodies everything an award night should. Success, shades and, in his

case, sex. Meryl Streep and Daniel Day-Lewis are somewhat more discreet in their victory celebrations, although one can never be too sure as Hollywood is, after all, a town of surprises, particularly on a night of a thousand stars. Perhaps DDL and MS slip off to a dark S&M rave to act out their hidden fantasies in lustful abandon. We at Finch’s Quarterly embrace all Oscar celebratory methods, as long as the recipient chooses to write for us or dresses in a manner worthy of a movie star of the bygone silent screen era…

Oscar night doesn’t always work as I have described. For example, in my father’s case, he won the Oscar for Best Actor but didn’t get to enjoy the ceremony or even the parties. The harshest critic of them all, otherwise known as The Grim Reaper, irritatingly timed his visit to rob my poor pa of a final curtain call and sent him on to the great theatre in the sky before he could pick up the statuette. He died in the Beverly Hills Hotel shortly after appearing on the Johnny Carson Show… His Oscar for Network was awarded posthumously – Heath Ledger may end up in the same situation if he is awarded the Oscar for The Dark Knight. Either way, I have it on good authority that they are both planning to sit up in the heavens and watch the show along with everyone else who is interested in all things movies.

Back when I started in the movie business I spent Oscar nights in THE CHARMING TIM JEFFERIES CAN EVEN DAZZLE Hollywood with friends in a cheery TINSELTOWN. HERE ARE HIS TOP 10 HOLLYWOOD TIPS and liquor-fuelled gathering. We 1. Give your friends there plenty of notice of your were poor actors, directors and arrival; that way you’ll be included in all the fun. writers, all of us dreaming of the 2. The Bel-Air (701 Stone Canyon Road, Los day when our time would come, Angeles; +1 310 472 1211; www.hotelbelair.com) is the silently composing our acceptance only place to stay. It’s an oasis where everyone is treated speeches whilst throwing obscene like a movie star. criticisms at the nominees on 3. Make sure you have breakfast at Shutters on the Beach television and, of course, cursing (1 Pico Boulevard, Santa Monica; +1 310 458 0030; the winners. For years I watched www.shuttersonthebeach.com), then rent a bicycle and the awards with the Brit pack of ride to Venice Beach to understand where the term Damian Harris, Cassian Elwes, “Beach Babe” comes from.

Franc Roddam, Rupert Everett and 4. Buy a pair of vintage Ray-Bans at RetroSpecs at 8629 various other reprobates whom Melrose Avenue (+1 310 657 4217; Damian and Annabel kindly put www.retrospecs.com). up with at their Hollywood 5. Have a Hickory Burger at The Apple Pan at 10801 Pico Boulevard home. We were all pretty Blvd (+1 310 475 3585). This is the original American much at the same lowly stage in our Diner. careers, although Roddam was a 6. You should see Frank Gehry’s Walt Disney Concert Hall big director, Jimmy Spader and (111 South Grand Avenue; www.laphil.com), the La Julian Sands had both been in hit Brea Tar Pits (5801 Wilshire Blvd; +1 323 934 7243; movies and I had worked on the www.tarpits.org) and definitely go to a Lakers Game – masterpieces Amazon I, II and Court Side (www.nba.com).

III… all shot, incidentally, in 7. Take your hot young actress date to Giorgio Baldi in Argentina and financed by none Santa Monica (114 West Channel Road; +1 310573 other than Roger Corman. Damian 1660; giorgiobaldi.com) for dinner. Book way in Harris and my other good pal, advance as you are not Brad.

Danny Huston, also had fathers 8. If you are in town during the Oscars pray that you are who had won awards and, like me, either A list or important or cool enough to be invited it probably made them a little more to Bryan Lourd’s party the Friday night before the hungry to win one back then. I ceremony. should not presume, though, as 9. Spend a day in Malibu on the beach, go shopping at perhaps only I seethed with Cross Creek and have an early dinner at Nobu Malibu ambition. Later when I started (3835 Cross Creek Road; +1 310 317 9140; representing artists, a few of whom www.noburestaurants.com/malibu/index.html). admittedly did win Oscars (zip to 10. Remember you are a long time dead… do with me), I was able to have a –Tim Jefferies is the principal of Hamiltons Gallery in London more ringside seat at the event and, of course, at the parties. Today how

Take It from Tim

www.finchsquarterly.com

I celebrate the Oscars is, in all honesty, much of a muchness to me and will be until the day I win one.

For that I will need some luck, some cash and a giant hook to latch myself on to the tails of a remarkable director. Of course, dear clients, I share your triumph and glory, weep alongside you and laugh humbly as you lift the little fella and thank your mums…

The best actual party at the awards is, strangely, the Governor’s Ball, which follows directly after the awards ceremony. I stand alone in this opinion as all Hollywood insiders will tell you what a bore the whole thing is, but then they have never attended the Césars (French Oscars) or the European Awards, which defy description. All the history of Oscar night, the guest list which is not to be equalled, the great stars of now and yesteryear and so on make it a pretty dazzling evening… So what if there is a function-like quality to it all, it is still a unique night and one to savour. As this is not a celebrity mag, I won’t bore you with the details but suffice it to say that though there may be “no there there” (Gertrude Stein), as far as LA is concerned, on Oscar night there is plenty of “here here” in Hollywood.

RAYDON Carter, also an honorary Maverick for Life (unless I get dumped from the VF party list), gives a wonderful party that remains the next best thing to attending the awards, winning one or staying at the Palace Hotel in Gstaad and sleeping soundly through the whole thing. The VF dinner and party is good because of the mix of guests: Graydon invites pals from different worlds, not just the movies. I sat next to Steve Wynn last year and ended up on a sofa between Lucy Liu and Naomi Watts. The key is to pace yourself because it’s a long, long night and if you’re jet-lagged or have losing clients, friends or movie, it’s interminable. The evening sometimes starts at 2.30pm for a nominee or someone working with a nominee and it goes on late. If you happen to be escorting a young star, as some of my colleagues are apt to do, then they want the full shebang – the awards, the parties and spaghetti at 5am. Thank goodness I have for some years attended the VF dinner at which I watch the ceremony alongside some pretty swanky folk.

Graydon and Anna Carter meet and greet all their guests as all hosts should do, and the dress code of black tie is largely respected. Patrick Woodroffe always does a brilliant job of the lighting and Sara Marks runs the evening flawlessly.

Oscar night can be a little intimidating and thus, for those of you in need of some advice, here is how to survive: • Never presume nobody wants to meet you. You are wonderful. Introduce yourself and do not be surprised if you get blanked. Most people in Tinseltown regard good manners as a handicap.

• Dress appropriately.

• Do not gatecrash. It is rude and boring. Penélope Cruz: this does not apply to you…

• If you can, find yourself a movie star to go with or, even better, be one.

• If you are nominated, remember your agent/manager, then the filmmakers and, finally, in a little old moment of its own, thank your mother etc.

• Don’t make political speeches unless you are Mandela.

• Do look as though you are having a lousy time.

Most people in Tinseltown regard good manners as a handicap

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• Be nice to Graydon.

• Be nice to Graydon • Act, direct, produce or write well.

The hotels that cater most for the nominees are, of course, the Chateau Marmont, the Four Seasons, The Beverly Hills Hotel, the Beverly Wilshire and the Bel-Air. From these hotels emanate the great and not so great: the handlers, hangers-on, tourists and tramps. The Chateau has the young party crowd and stylists, the Four Seasons the first-time nominees paid for by the studio or the Europeans, the Wilshire has more of the same, the Beverly Hills the matinee idols and, finally, Bel-Air usually has the big, discreet megastars.

Oscar Horror I only really have one Oscar-night horror story.

When I was a young executive working for Albert S Ruddy, the legendary Hollywood producer contributing to these pages, I was asked to attend the Oscar party thrown by Warner Brothers for Clint Eastwood. Al is a close friend of Clint’s and my attendance had been okayed. My good pal Billy Gerber was also president of the studio and I had met Clint a few times and was pretty sure he wouldn’t slug me if I showed up. Oscar night came and, sure enough, Clint won for Unforgiven.

I belted down from the Hollywood Hills in my Beetle convertible with a gal named Sunrise or Sunset or Surprise, I can’t remember. Both Miss S and I dressed to the nines and, excited, we arrived at the party only to be told we were not on the list and thus not allowed in. A dark sense of foreboding swept over me and, not one to ignore my instincts, I turned to my date and as nonchalantly as possible told her I would not be treated like this and my father was famous and I was a big shot etc etc etc – let’s go have a bite at Dan Tanner’s restaurant and forget Clint and the whole sordid saga… Of course, being a Hollywood girl, this was not at all what dear Miss Surprise/Summer/Sunshine had in mind at all. No way, man! We were getting in and that was all there was to it! I don’t recall which of us, her or I, actually grasped the security man’s arm, but one thing led to another and a shouting match of some sort ensued in front of the high and mighty of Tinseltown. Behind a rope not three feet away from us stood Al, Billy, Clint, agents and producers I knew, girls I had dated and, for some reason, none of them – not a single one – could see us… There I was dressed in my best black tie, waving and gesturing frantically. “Clint, Clint…”

I found myself calling out. But we were invisible.

The uninvited. The D-list beyond the red cord.

Finally, I caught the eye of the head of business affairs at Warner’s. A man I actually knew, and I mean that – not “Hollywood knew”… We had done some business together. I hadn’t bought the studio but it was a proper deal. And this fellow, this sonofabitch, he looked right through me, taking in Sunshine’s bronzed chest and he said, “You know, Charles, it is a private party. You really shouldn’t be here…”

It was a pretty devastating moment. I could feel the people looking at me. I recall clearly now the colour of my date’s cheeks. A strawberry colour the likes of which the best Yorkshire farmer would be happy to have on a cheek… I didn’t forget that executive and we came across each other some time later when the tables had turned and, of course, I let him in. He is not, however, on the FQR mailing list…

SPRING 2009

FQR LA Focus Minnie Driver tells Nick Foulkes why she’s on the crest of a wave now that she lives in Malibu When did you move to Los Angeles?

Ten years ago.

And when did you first go to the beach in LA? On my first day I went for a walk along Point Dume and I stumbled down onto what is actually a private beach for the residences there and I climbed over these cliffs and I found this incredible beach. I actually now live there. It was like discovering paradise in this crazy city.

Can you paint a little picture of it?

It’s in North Malibu, which is not really “über celebrity”. It’s rugged – the coastline looks a lot like Cornwall in the summer. And it’s really beautiful and empty because you can only get access to the beach at Point Dume if you live there, which is what makes it so lovely to me because you have nice, ordinary people living there as opposed to the Colony, where you are up to your neck in celebrity.

What sort of a house do you have?

I live in a mobile home. They are really expensive here – a couple of million dollars – but when you are looking around you at properties that cost $20m or $30m, they are very cheap. It’s an absolutely brilliant community I live in. It’s really safe, kids ride their bikes, you know your neighbours. I love that.

What are the other beaches you’ve visited in and around LA? Well, you’ve got Zuma which is the big public beach in North Malibu. It’s a beautiful beach break and you can shortboard – but because I longboard I surf different breaks. Zuma is a beautiful, amazing, sexy beach and exactly what you think of when you think of Malibu beaches – it’s much more pristine. Then further north is Leo Carrillo, which is incredibly beautiful and you’ve got a park there and a beach and again there is a wonderful surf break. Just a little further up is an amazing restaurant called Neptune’s Net where all the bikers go to drink beer and eat steamed shrimps. Then there’s the wonderful County Line Beach, so called because it’s on the County Line connecting Los Angeles and Ventura – it’s another great surfing beach. So all the way up the coast there are surf spots and it’s fantastically beautiful.

When did you get into surfing?

I’ve surfed probably for the past eight years. I lived in Hawaii for about six months, when I wrote my first record. I wrote and surfed pretty much every day and when I came back that’s when I started looking for a place to buy in Malibu.

Don’t you find that surfing gets in the way of your work or viceversa?

Yes, but in the best possible way. I was looking for a way to marry the two; I was dying to be in a surf film but things just weren’t happening.

There were a couple of surfing films recently, weren’t there?

Yes, there was the Matthew McConaughey one, Surfer Dude.

The one I love is Point Break.

Point Break is absolutely, completely brilliant – it’s Keanu’s best work. It’s always on the telly, and I watch it every time. Patrick Swayze is phenomenal. And Blue Crush with Kate Bosworth was great. And I went out with a surfer for a long time, so that leads you into it and if you date a surfer you are pretty much surfing for at least four hours every day if you want to spend any time with them at all.

So you lived Point Break effectively?

Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I didn’t rob any banks as a dead president.

What was surfing like in Hawaii compared to surfing in LA? Its waves are a lot heavier. I mean, it depends on how it swells up, but the water is warm, you don’t have to wear a wetsuit and the beach is very beautiful. The water is so clean, but the waves are certainly thicker and more powerful compared to the surf spots I surf in California. It’s amazing.

FQR Nominations 1

NOMINATED OR NOT, FQR’S PICKS FOR THIS YEAR’S BEST PERFORMANCES: Mickey Rourke for The Wrestler (Best Actor) Danny Boyle for Slumdog Millionaire (Best Director) Marisa Tomei in The Wrestler (Best Supporting Actress) Clint Eastwood (Best Legend) John Malkovich for Burn after Reading (Best Supporting Actor) Penélope Cruz (Best Longhaul Flight Companion) Kate Winslet in The Reader (Best Actress) Leonardo DiCaprio (Best Manners) Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder (Biggest dog)

spring 2009

Dume’s Day for e i n n i M

Your baby needs attention, by the sound of it.

He’s just talking. He’s in the back of the car and I’m looking at him in the mirror right now. He’s four months old now. It really does go very quickly…

Did you look at other houses before you took this one, your mobile home?

I rented a house called Escondida right on the beach, which was heaven. Where I live now my house looks out pretty much over the ocean and I can check the surf for about five different breaks. That was really my criterion. I wanted access to a surfable part of the coast and that is exactly what I got. So that was my drive and why I bought what I did. And I couldn’t have lived in the Colony, it’s so “Hollywood la-di-da” and kind of particular. It just wasn’t for me.

What is “Hollywood la-di-da”?

People who don’t really use the beach for the beach but rather to say that they have a house in the Colony. It’s not really about the beachlife and taking care of the ocean and the coast itself. It’s not like the community I live in. It’s a status symbol.

Have there been any eternal truths, any epiphanies, elucidated to you whilst on the beach?

It’s the only place that it happens to me – on the beach or out in the ocean. That’s where I go when I am in need of enlightenment. I paddle out and, invariably, it shows up. It’s lovely. It’s a direct line to, you know… the source.

Which brings us neatly to Charles’s interest in the Academy Awards. How similar is surfing to the Academy Awards?

Well, here’s the thing: when you catch your best wave ever it’s sort of traditional that nobody will be there to witness it. You will catch the ride of your life and the beach will be empty, there’ll be no one else out surfing and there will be only you and God to witness it, which is quite the opposite of the Academy Awards where everyone gets to watch your success or loss – so you can imagine which one is more rewarding.

I get the impression that you prefer the surfing, somehow.

I was with my dad and my mum when I was nominated and we walked the red carpet with all the photographers and the news crews and thousands of people. It was sort of Roman, in essence; it felt very much like the Roman Forum – extraordinary but very, very weird.

– Actress Minnie Driver, a passionate surfer, is back riding the waves four months after giving birth

FQR Nominations 2

BEST EROTIC MOMENTS IN A MOVIE (THE WINNER TO BE ANNOUNCED ON WWW.FINCHSQUARTERLY.COM) Rebecca Hall for Vicky Cristina Barcelona Marisa Tomei in The Wrestler Kate Winslet in The Reader Nicole Kidman in Australia

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Minnie’s Tips for the Beach 1 Know someone with a key, because on Point Dume you have to walk down paths until you come to these gates and you have to have a key to gain access to the beach.

2 Have someone to teach you to surf (there are tons of people who are willing).

3 Get a good wetsuit. I’m in an O’Neill – they are fantastic in terms of fit. I’ve been in one for years. If you can afford a Patagonia suit, they are amazing too.

4 You need sunglasses. I usually wear Oakley but anything that has maximum UV protection will do. I’m not really rocking the Pradas on the beach.

5 To make a fire on the beach, dig a really deep hole, make sure you are not in the super-wet sand but not in the super-dry sand, either, so kind of midway. And make sure that you’re not near any overhanging brush. Forget about just pouring sand over it at the end, you have to pour a bucket of water on it afterwards to make sure the fire is out.

6 Food-wise, keep it really simple. In Malibu I would get a burrito from Howdy’s, which you can eat in the tinfoil – you know, proper food that you are not going to get sand in – and a little bowl of fruit from Malibu Kitchen.

7 For babies on the beach, you’ve got to have one of those fantastic tents that are totally UV protective, so the sun can’t really get through, and a couple of really good umbrellas. Just umbrellas are bad because the paparazzi can still get you.

You’ve got to be able to go inside your tent and breastfeed if you need to.

8 Breastfeeding on the beach while not being papped? You’ve just got to have a tent, that’s all.

9 Avoiding the paparazzi is really hard to do. Best is to stand in a crowd, surround yourself with a group of friends or actually walk up to them and ask a spotty 18-year-old if their mother is proud of them. They go very red and they tend to leave you alone.

10 Take everything you bring back with you when you leave.

Take every piece of rubbish with you.

FQR Nominations 3 HOLLYWOOD’S BEST HOLES IN THE WALL: Musso & Frank Grill, Nate ’n Al, Madeo, Il Sole, Orso, La Scala

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FQR LA Focus

GETTING THE PICTURE Michael Chow describes his great passion for and patronage of art and the way it has shaped his life and work

Michael Chow by Warhol, Rivers, Basquiat, Hockney and Haring

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EING asked to write about art for Finch’s Quarterly comes at an interesting time for me, as I have been sitting in my house in Los Angeles finishing my script. It’s about 20thcentury China. Naturally, I think it’s a great script. It’s about a father, who is my father, and a son, which is me. It is about a family relationship and the terrible ending of the Cultural Revolution involving all the political characters, so it’s a big epic but, at the same time, a very personal family story.

Art is a big part of that story. When I started out with my restaurants I wanted to create my own identity and was determined that art would be a part of that. I left China when I was 13 and had

H A M I LT O N S For a quarter-century, one of the world’s pre-eminent galleries specialising in the modern masters of photography Works by

IRVING PENN RICHARD AVEDON HELMUT NEWTON ROBERT MAPPLETHORPE DIANE ARBUS ANDY WARHOL HERB RITTS HORST P. HORST Representing renowned contemporary artists including

ALISON JACKSON GUIDO MOCAFICO ALBERT WATSON DON MCCULLIN JIM LEE STEVE SCHAPIRO Advising private and corporate collections on the very best acquisitions HAMILTONS 13 Carlos Place LondonW1K 2EU +44 (0)20 7499 9 4 9 4 art@hamiltonsgallery.com www.hamiltonsgallery.com A few steps away from the Connaught Hotel and Grosvenor Square, Mayfair

SPRING 2009

to create my own culture, my own country, so to speak, so the restaurant became a self-appointed ambassador.

Anyway, the art part of the restaurant started because I wanted to create an international environment with authentic food. The idea of art came from a restaurant in Zurich, the Kronenhalle, where they had an incredible clientele and incredible paintings. And then, of course, there is La Colombe d’Or in St Paul de Vence.

So one day back in the Sixties I was having dinner at Alvaro’s in London and I saw the art dealer Robert Fraser sitting there with Jim Dine. I told him that I wanted to borrow a few Impressionist paintings to decorate my restaurant and he said, “Why do you want to borrow? Why not ask artists to do it? Why don’t you ask Jim?” And Jim said, “Yes, absolutely.” And that was how the concept really came about.

I approached five artists and all of them produced works for me in exchange for food. They were Patrick Caulfield, Richard Smith, Jim Dine, Peter Blake and David Hockney. David Hockney made a portrait of me and I thought it was incredible, but Hockney tore it up and I had to sit through it again.

Peter Blake had a wonderful idea: “Why don’t I make a portrait of you in which you’ll be a wrestler and the two people in the back will be half Chinese and half Italian” – because although the food at Mr Chow was Chinese, the waiters were Italian. That painting became very important for Mr Chow and maybe also for Peter Blake’s career.

Jim Dine did the hearts, which are beautiful and are still in the London restaurant now.

Coming from London in the Sixties, which was so culturally alive, opening in LA in the early Seventies was very different. It was a desert by comparison. I’d thought this was where the most sophisticated people in the world came from. If you look at old Hollywood movies they are the most sophisticated people in the world, right? Except, of course, those films were all directed by foreigners – Billy Wilder and Fritz Lang… these brilliant, sophisticated Europeans. So when I got here it was a bit of a shock, but I persevered and now I live in Los Angeles. I am persistent – I don’t give up!

It was only after I had made a success of LA that I opened in New York and that was just at the end of the Studio 54 era. There is, of course, a picture that Andy did of me. The Eighties in New York were unbelievable. There were some great artists, including Keith Haring, who had the idea that I become a green prawn in one of his works – that’s also a very strong painting. The funny thing is that when I commissioned people to do portraits, they always seemed to work extra hard on them, maybe because I’m an artist or perhaps because I am Chinese and not Western so they were not so familiar with the face.

Anyway, they were always good and I think the Haring portrait was one of his great paintings.

I also commissioned Helmut Newton, and he conceived a picture that romanticises me with slick hair, wearing a tuxedo and a Cartier watch in Singapore in the Thirties. I am holding up a beautiful Mr Chow menu on watermarked paper.

He took it with a little 35mm camera and blew it up to something like 6ft by 4ft so you can read all the menu prices.

HILE on the subject of menus, there’s an Ed Ruscha that I call Seating Plan. In New York there is a law that says a restaurant is only legal if there is a menu. I took that idea and asked Ed Ruscha to do a drawing with this seating plan for me. It’s huge: 4ft by 2ft in crayon. And then Keith Haring did a “No Smoking” sign. So I have this romantic illusion of grandeur – with humour, I hope.

Part of that grandeur is about the obsession and aggression with which I collect art, but the ambition and aggression come from a good place.

I think the best example of that is my artists’ book. My artists’ book has gone from location to location – the restaurants are all in very cosmopolitan, incredible places. I started in London so I got all the London artists. Eduardo Paolozzi was the first and I went through all the artists such as Allen Jones, Peter Blake, Richard Smith and Francis Bacon, who is also in the book. When I got to New York I got Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg… everybody. Most recently, the book has been in LA, and here I

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have got Richard Prince and Jeff Koons. So I try to keep it colourful.

There are some portraits in there. Larry Rivers did one, Julian Schnabel did a portrait of Francesco Clemente, Clemente did a portrait of Julian Schnabel… It’s an incredible book. If an artist comes in, the restaurant gives them watercolours, pencil, pen, crayons, all the equipment. It is made with very good paper and it’s very serious, I mean very serious – people like Julian did a lot of work on it. I mean, they got really into it and they take it very seriously.

So the artists’ book has been around for over 30-something years and it’s incredible – it’s an artistic memoir of the second part of the 20th century. As I said, I’m very aggressive, I would do anything to get an artist. If I hear of artists coming to the restaurant I want them to see the book because the minute they see it, they realise how good it is; it’s not like they open it and it’s all rubbish, unknown artists and bad art. If it were, they would probably not be so forthcoming.

It’s a very important book, an historical document. A lot of the artists have now passed away and over the years other artists have tried to destroy parts of it. Andy Warhol poured soy sauce over it and Damien Hirst took household paint and destroyed Howard Hodgkin’s drawing in the back. But he did an incredible butterfly, a huge 5in butterfly, and stuck it on. He was in LA and he took it home for 48 hours – he was very serious.

That was quite something, and very personal.

At the moment the book’s in restoration because I have to lift out the Damien Hirst “destruction”, so to speak, and I’m putting in more papers. So it will change character but in a way I don’t mind because these are historical events and there is a story behind all of it. The book shows how important art is to my life. It is not just a case of having lots of money – it’s an incredible document of globally important artists, but it is also extremely personal to me and to what I have done with my life. It’s all integrated: the restaurants, the interiors, the book, the clientele, the passage of time… it’s all connected.

– Michael Chow is finishing a screenplay about his father.

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FQR Inauguration Commentary

Appreciating Obama’s Star Power, FQR’s Liberal at Large Matthew Modine asks whether the new president’s being called a “celebrity” is really such a bad thing

Matthew Modine at Obama’s inauguration

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OME of Hollywood’s most famous hair plugs stood on end when John McCain launched his “celeb” ad comparing Barack Obama to Britney Spears and Paris Hilton.

Hollywood magazines and newspapers like a great scandal. McCain’s celebrity assertion shocked, slapped and gob-smacked Tinseltown and its golden boy Obama, the new-democratic-political superhero. McCain’s tawdry accusation had tarnished their shiny new penny. Unfair or not, McCain’s gossip-style grenade got the flashbulb culture to back off for fear the smear might gain traction or, worse, stick.

But why the concern about this particular campaign insult? Did Hollywood society fear that real or actual similarities could be found between Mr Obama, Britney and Paris? Was McCain unfair to depict such a comparison? Had he hit a delicate nerve? If you missed it, the ad quickly flashes an image of Britney and Paris, then shows Obama, after which the announcer says: “He’s the biggest celebrity in the world, but is he ready to lead?”

What was McCain’s point? What is the criterion for leadership? Was retired General Wesley Clark wrong to disparage McCain’s military service and say that being a prisoner of war does not prepare a person to become a president?

Mr Obama’s meteoric rise to international fame was not the result of appearing and/or perform-ing fellatio in the sickly green “night vision” documentary One Night in Paris. Mr Obama has never been a pop star, and I don’t think he has ever been in rehab, arrested for drugs or driving under the influence. Britney and Paris both share those credits. Obama does wear his hair short, or “tight” – as Ms Spears chose to for an uncomfortable moment. He also shares Paris’ wry sense of humour, which she keenly demonstrated in her You Tube response to McCain’s dreaded comparison. Britney has shown her pluck and ability to rebound from enormous amounts of criticism. The masses loved her when she was a child star and now admire her tenacity as a young adult. Similarly Obama survived Reverend Jeremiah Wright and Sixties radical Bill Ayres with intelligence and savvy.

So why would Mr McCain say such a thing?

Because even he recognised Obama’s undeniable

Star Power. John McCain is not a “star”. At best, he is a supporting player, the actor who dies in the third reel after sacrificing his life for the film’s main star. McCain’s military service wasn’t as exploitable as, say, Audie Murphy’s. Murphy was one of the most highly decorated soldiers of the Second World War and became a global celebrity. The humble Texan was adopted (exploited) by Hollywood and starred in 44 movies. Most people had never heard of McCain or his military service until he ran for president. Those who had heard of him didn’t think he’d get past the primary elections. He just wasn’t a leading man and he didn’t possess the ability to “act” presidential. His television appearances were awkward and boring.

Richard Nixon was undone on television because of a sweaty upper lip. McCain wandering around the stage during a town-hall-style debate with Obama made him appear lost and perhaps even experiencing early signs of senility. McCain’s choice of running mate, Sarah Palin, affirmed his lack of Star Power. Palin “popped” off the TV screens and completely overshadowed McCain. If Palin had possessed an iota of useful intelligence, she might have become vice president of the United States of America.

People who pursue stardom quickly discover that Star Power is not something you can obtain.

It is something innate. You can pursue celebrity or stardom, but it is the public who choose or decide who they want to adore. A successful ad campaign can help raise public awareness, but it won’t make the people buy a ticket and get them to tell their friends. Hollywood sometimes calls Star Power the “It” factor. “It” is a sexy mixture of intelligence, charm and charisma. Obama has “It” in abundance – a Julia Roberts kind of smile, the confidence of John F Kennedy and the oratorical skills of Martin L King, Jr. Was it any wonder that Hollywood wanted to get behind him and cast him in the role as president? Barack is a casting director’s dream. He not only looked like a politician, he acted like a good one. He was starring in the remake of Mr Smith Goes to Washington. Politicians must be able to “act” like politicians. They need to find a way to make people lean a little closer and listen to their message. And the message they deliver must be infused with a deep understanding of the issues they speak about. If any actor doesn’t understand his lines, he will most likely fail in his interpretation. The trick is not to appear to be “playing” but “being” the character.

McCain suggested that there is a connection between celebrity and Obama because it is true.

Obama, Spears and Hilton are celebrities, granted, but for different reasons.

McCain just isn’t a celebrity. He is a background artist or, perhaps, an inde-pendent filmmaker trying to make some noise about his little film the same weekend as a tent pole like Batman is opening. McCain’s service to his country, his Purple Heart and his time spent in a Vietnamese prisoner of war camp is commendable, but you don’t want to go on a date, buy soda and popcorn and listen to that story. Batman is going to be a lot more fun. The image of John McCain in his Vietnam-era Navy pilot suit reminded many Americans of George W Bush’s warplane landing onboard the USS Abraham Lincoln and W’s embarrassing “Mission Accomplished” proclamation. W looked Top Gun-lite.

By contrast, everyone who witnessed Obama’s speech during the Democratic Convention of 27 July 2004 heard a young person who seemed to understand the confusion the nation was sharing.

Here was a young man who was intelligent and full of positive audacity. Barack’s impassioned speech to a nation and to a world suffering from starvation, poverty, greed and war was the sermon a parish wants to hear from its pastor.

Here arrived a person with the understanding of the common people. A person who could allow the ordinary person, the citizenry, to become political beings. Who reminded us of responsibility, and that the fulfilment of hopes and needs requires effort. Obama was empowering the citizens and telling them to take the reins and guide him. We saw in Obama the occasion of genuine democracy.

Obama mentioned hope in the 2004 speech almost a dozen times. Like a good actor in an audition, Barack knew his lines. He was confident and congenial. He was also an unusual fresh face. Unusual because he wasn’t “black” and he wasn’t white. He was mixed race, and I am sure he experienced racism from both whites and blacks growing up.

Shakespeare couldn’t have imagined the stage of the 21st-century world. The profound manipulative power of television or the World Wide Web. Television and its undeniable ability to transform an image of a human-being with a close-up. That unblinking electronic eye which exposes and reveals a human’s smallest, slightest gesture or blink. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players…” A stage where a mere gesture is fed and digested in a news-bite nanosecond.

F the world were a stage and the men and women merely players we would have to clarify and say that perhaps 98 per cent of those players are really extras. Background artists.

The masses. The mob. The silent majority. While that two per cent says they serve the needs and desires of the 98, the mob knows this is generally lip service and empty promises. Promises of hope and a better life are just promises unless we all make efforts to attain them.

America is a country that loves hope, so it’s wonderful to hear Obama talk about it. More importantly, the US is a country made up of immigrants. When we look at Obama, a man of mixed race, he reminds us that America is a melting pot. After a decade of separatism and confusing “political correctness” (that succeeded in making a more fair and just playing field),

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Barack is a casting director’s dream

SPRING 2009

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Obama declared, “There’s not a black America and white America and Latino America and Asian America; there’s a United States of America.” You could feel the US exhale and sigh a collective “Yes!” Once again there’s a feeling that it is possible for America to be united in cause and once again have hope and the promise of a better life.

Obama also reminds us of the Jeffersonian idea

that all people are created equal. Obama is the dark horse Americans can get behind and believe in. He’s the new, young, ingénu who Hollywood has cast to star in the most important movie of the next four years. An actor who has put an end to the George W Bush two-term sequel. Hollywood loves underdogs. Here’s the rub. For a politician or an actor to stand above the crowd and be heard, they must rise above the scripts they’re given. Obama has inherited a terrible script that is full of plot holes and bad characters. Now, he not only has to act the part of president, he also needs to rewrite the script.

– Matthew Modine is the founder of Card Carrying Liberal (CCL), www.cardcarryingliberal.org, a grassroots movement that is demonstrating how a group of thoughtful individuals can organise and grow into a voice for human rights.

Postscript

20 January 2009. Who would have missed the opportunity to stand on Washington’s National Mall as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America? Not me. I happily joined the humungous crowds – which some estimated at more than two million.

Together we stood in the long lines. For hours we laughed and grinned and enjoyed each other’s warmth. It was cold, but the sun was bright and the sky was wonderfully blue, full of promise for the warmer days that lay ahead. With spring comes the promise of new life. For those gathered, this was a resurrection of hope and the American Dream.

Large projection screens showed the future First Family as they got closer and closer to the capital. Each time we saw the Obamas, cries of joy would echo across the mall. It was a giant wave of joyful sound. On the other hand, when those same screens projected images of the Bush family or the arrival of Vice President Cheney the gathered mass fell into a hushed silence that was deafening. It’s remarkable how loud the sound of silence can be. There was no applause or cheers of thanks for the departing First Families. Just silence. I did hear an occasional “boo”, which could not find another person to join in. That lone “boo” would hang flaccid on the cold air and simply dissipate. On this occasion there was no room in the air for condescension. This was, after all, a movement of hope and only positive vibes were fitting.

It’s easy for us to point the finger of blame. Easy to fault Bush and his cronies for the mess the world is in. If you do, consider this: if you’re reading this you most likely live in a democracy. We have elected officials who are voted into office and are supposed to represent the will of the people. When those representatives abuse their privilege, it is our responsibility as citizens to call them to task and when necessary, replace them. They cannot be above the law or think they can break the set of laws that rule us all. We are all a party to the mess the world is in. We have all got to recognise how we may have contributed to the environmental and economic mess we are in.

Acknowledgment is the first step toward solution. So before we point the finger, have a look in the mirror. Through recognition, we can change. Yes we can.

www.finchsquarterly.com

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FQR Pro Bono Pin-up

Global heartthrob Josh Hartnett opens up to FQR’s Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis about being good, doing good and looking good.

What charity are you particularly passionate about?

I work with several charities and I would say that I am, hopefully, equally passionate about all of them. As far as I’m concerned, because of being involved in the arts and since my family is kind of involved too, I tend to be more swayed by charities involved in the arts. A friend of mine has this charity that I have been contributing to and that I kept going called Dramatic Need, which gives underprivileged kids in South Africa the chance to use their creativity and develop their artistic skills.

I read that you are planning on doing hands-on work for Dramatic Need in South Africa. Is this true?

Yes, hopefully in the next year. It’s a two-month commitment so it’s a big chunk of time but I will, hopefully, be able to do that.

Do you have any memorable moment or anecdote involving your charitable work that you would like to share?

When I first got involved in the Chicago Avenue Project in Minneapolis I did a little play.

We were trying to solidify how these projects were going to work as they were still in their early stages. I remember this one kid, Jordan. He was so creative and inspiring, it was exciting. Any time you get to help someone on a personal level is inspiring.

What is your view on the media typically criticising celebrities for doing charitable work merely to polish up their profiles?

Well, I think you can say that about anybody. People like to pick on celebrities because they are something other and then they don’t have to look at themselves. But I bet you anything that if you ask one of the journalists who writes that kind of stuff whether they do any charitable work the answer is probably going to be no – and if they do it’s probably for work or they just give money to relieve themselves from some kind of guilt. The best thing about charitable work is being involved on a molecular level, seeing how it works and working with people. Just writing a cheque is not that interesting. How it goes with actors and such is that often the best thing you can do is to raise a charity’s profile and use yourself as a figurehead. So it can then look like I’m just there for me, although, really, it’s not at all the case. The media have made such a big deal out of celebrities acting like they are overly earnest to hide something, that people now automatically assume actors are doing charitable work just to brush up their image. So, really, it’s not even that good for our image any more.

What got you interested in charity work in the first place?

I have always had charity work in my life just because my family has done charity work.

My aunt had a charity called Books for Africa and I used to work there as a kid, helping divide and search through books that were still in good enough shape to send over to schools in Africa.

If you could make one wish for any of your charities, what would it be?

Funding. If there were limitless funding for all these charities the world would be in a much better place. There are so many charities and so many people working for so many different charities. The money is all divided up and that’s good in a way, but we can always do more. Funding and individuals volunteering their time is all that charities rely on.

Do you have a charitable hero?

I am in awe of my friend Amber who runs Dramatic Need because she has done it with absolutely nothing and has gone out there because she is passionate about it. She has used every dollar she has to get this thing going, without even a guarantee that the charity itself was going to continue – and she is still struggling now. I find that putting your life aside and going out there to do something hands-on in the field far away from your own home, is inspiring. Being able to give up something in your own life for somebody else is very inspiring.

Actor Josh Hartnett is an ambassador for Dramatic Need (www.dramaticneed.org)

Charity Hunks and Babes Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Matt Damon, Don Cheadle for NOT ON OUR WATCH Cate Blanchett for SOLARAID Angelina Jolie for UNICEF/AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL Scarlett Johansson for OXFAM. Sean Penn for L.A. GOAL, Leonardo DiCaprio for GLOBAL GREEN Elton John for the AIDS FOUNDATION Hugh Grant for MARIE CURIE CANCER CARE

SPRING 2009

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Directors’ Cuts FQR The Knowledge

Finch’s Quarterly Fashion Editor Tom Stubbs re-creates some of the classic looks favoured by directors

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HE spectacle of a cavalry general commanding a film set is encapsulated by the Austrian riding-school look. Originally deployed in the Twenties and Thirties, jodhpurs, riding boots and crop are rigorous symbols of power and authority. And this regalia isn’t half potent: it demands the wearer complies with discipline himself, while symbolising the strength of his will and vision. A crisp white shirt signifies a colonial dignity and control. The equestrian references and the tightness of the pants add to the sexually charged nature of this fetishistic get-up.

Staccato orders are barked without the use of a megaphone, while the crop is flexed in deep consideration of the commencement of lunch.

Experience in the saddle is not essential, although one must affect the role of both rider and regulator to those under one. Monocle optional.

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HE modernists of the Sixties elevated directors’ work garb to an intellectual statement. This was an era when everything came freighted with a political payload. The wearer eschews the restrictive rhetoric of collars and ties, and favours fine-gauge knits under suits and sheepskins.

This clipped, clean approach also affords the luxury of lounging in a sexually ambiguous manner, simultaneously exhibiting the elegant cut and nimble posturing of the visionary behind this “New Scene”. Dark eyewear is essential to this exercise in espresso styling as the original modernist slips effortlessly to his first evening engagement, striding straight from set to cocktail without so much as glancing at his trailer. It’s a case of shoot and breeze, baby.

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ITH the excesses of this era comes the caustic abrasion of the alpha brat. “Faux-geezer” deployment of conspicuous labels and aggro-esque garments make up this confrontation of action gear. Timberland or Red Wing boots are teamed with logo-replete leisurewear, while baseball caps, Ray-Ban Aviators and prestige retro ski jackets are the perfect foil to the attitude this kid employs. Poses include “ultra-slouch” and “über-sulk” just to get through the morning’s pastry roster.

Disgust at the lack of gumption held by those around ignites juvenile tantrums, the impact of which are greatly enhanced by the stomping nature of his kit; the brat appears almost as a giant designer toddler during some of his more furious outbursts.

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HE hotchpotch of US sportswear, retro resort slacks and squeaky clean sneakers bears testimony to this leader’s mixed-up head. Frustration and outsiderism manifest themselves in the juxtaposition of old and new Americana: it’s West Coast nerd, it’s Venice beach bum, it’s Florida pensioner all in one package of angst and misfit. Comic-book fan-club geek badges adorn the quirky choice of headgear, while an unkempt grooming style runs riot, second only to the wild tangents of the creative’s brain patterns. No one is on a level with this jumble-minded nerdster. His look has a ghetto-to-gangplank chaos that serves a random-living chap well. He’s dressed down at a chichi restaurant with top-flight producers, or spivving about in the alley with the bums and low-lifes he frequently courts. This is versatile styling indeed.

REEL DIRECTORS; clockwise from top left: Sam Wood on set in 1930; Jean-Luc Godard on location in the 1960s; Tony Scott smoking in 1989; Vincent Gallo at the Ungaro 35 anniversary party.

Director’s Chair

ORIGIN The design can be traced back to the Roman curule chair (from the Latin, sella curulis, probably from currus, meaning “chariot”), which was the chair upon which senior magistrates owning imperium (power) were entitled to sit, and to 15th-century coffer-makers’ chairs. A more recent relation is Napoleon I’s field folding armchair, whose design was copied and used for officers’ chairs in the 1890s. The

director’s chair also bears similarity to sailors’ folding chairs in the early 20th century.

DESIGN It’s typically made of canvas, as this sturdy yet light material is resilient and weatherproof, foldable and easily transported. This mobile chair is perfect for the endless hours of outdoor shoots and the incessant waiting around that’s so characteristic of any film production.

TOM STUBBS VERSIONS; top: Jodhpurs by Pikeur and riding boots by Ariat from Harrods; white shirt by Burberry London; black riding ‘Allures IV’ jacket and black and blue crop by Hermès; cravat by Dunhill; next: Light tobacco mohair suit by Salvatore Ferragamo; Navy Merino wool roll-neck by John Smedley; three-colour tassel loafers by Gucci; Persol 649S sunglasses from David Clulow; next: Green quilted retro ski jacket by Moncleur; blue and white stripe T-shirt by Dunhill; Red Tab Guys 501 jeans by Levi’s; Brown ‘Earthkeepers’ boots by Timberland; grey marl baseball cap by Polo Ralph Lauren; Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses from Sunglass Hut; bottom: Baseball jacket by Mulberry; check pants by Etro; plimsolls by Pointet available from The Three Threads.

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SPRING 2009

FQR The Knowledge

He’s got the Look If you’re searching for a timeless ensemble that’s appropriate for any economic climate, look to Charles Finch and other jet-set heroes, advises FQR editorial director Nick Foulkes

photo: Fetherstonhaugh: navy blazer by Rubinacci, white Swiss supraluxe cotton shirt by Emma Willis, true blue 1954 501 Levi’s from Vintage Clothing, brown ‘Idem’ belt by Hermes, Girard Perigaux ‘laureato’ watch in steel, Persol 649S sunglasses from David Clulow

Hugh Grant

spring 2009

Philippe Junot (and Princess Caroline of Monaco)

Charles Finch and Nick Broomfield

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IVEN that a good portion of the point of Finch’s Quarterly is that it functions as a monument to the vanity of its eponymous proprietor, it is only fitting that at some stage we cover “The Look”.

“The Look” – the capitals are important – was raised at one of the charades that pass for editorial conferences at Finch Towers. This particular disquisition started when my learned colleague, namesake of the famous 18th-century equestrian artist, and Finch’s Quarterly Review online editor Mr Stubbs announced that he had been wearing what I think he referred to as a Tom Ford “tux” at some fashion awards ceremony. He ventured that FQR might like to bring the coming season’s “runway” “designer” shows to the notice of our readers.

My view on men’s fashion is simple: I will always take style over fashion – and I made that clear at once. But what I like about Stubbs is his fearlessness and optimism. He wasn’t going to give up. There is something quite breathtaking about the blitheness with which he thought he could sneak a piece on male fashion past the reactionary, but essentially benevolent despot whom we know and love as Charles Finch.

Charles was just getting started on a peroration on the subject of gentlemen and I would imagine that he was about to let us know that gentlemen do not follow fashion, when quondam Euclidean Scholar, my old friend from our Brideshead days at Oggsford, Tristram Fetherstonhaugh, suggested that instead of a rant about the new black we might address the important topic of “The Look”. Not the “New Look”, nor the new season’s look, nor even what I believe is referred to – in fashion circles – as a “look book”… just “The Look”. It was as if a shaft of sunlight had at that moment pierced the gloom of Heddon Street and illuminated the features of our proprietor: a smile danced across his face, his eyes twinkled and all was right with the world.

You see, the thing is that Charles does The Look as well as anyone I know – and certainly better than I do. If you doubt this, simply examine the “Quarterly Report” page of the last issue of Finch’s Quarterly Review and look at the picture of “the gang in Russia”; both Charles and FQR contributor Nick Broomfield are wearing The Look.

The Look is that timeless combination of navy blazer, jeans (or dark trousers), white shirt (open-necked), steel bracelet watch and slip-on shoes that will take you through pretty much almost any social occasion you may care to mention and, what is more, is appropriate during any economic climate. The Look says “rich and relaxed”, while also managing to be understated and unostentatious.

I am getting pretty sick of hearing about how the world is coming to an end, and that our very way of life will finish with it. Nonsense. It is just that there is a generation of people who have grown up knowing nothing other than bountiful times of plenty; the times that gave us bling. Anyone over 40 who grew up in England in the 1970s and early 1980s knows that nobody ever had any money and in America times were so tough that

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they wrote songs about them. Before it was a hit for Simply Red, The Valentine Brothers recorded a song called Money’s Too Tight inveighing against Reaganomics.

Good times will return, I hope, but while we are waiting now might not be a good time to slip into the fur boots and sablelined overcoat – unless, of course, you are going skiing with P Diddy. Instead, it is time to revisit The Look. The Look started in all the places that we at Finch’s Quarterly Review really, really love – Marbella, St Tropez, Porto Rotondo, The GreenGo in Gstaad and Tramp on Jermyn Street – back in the days when the group that would become known as the jet set turned their backs on the stuffier resorts such as Biarritz and Deauville (which we love too, of course) and decided to have fun.

Things were more relaxed in those days before every hotel had to be a spa resort, and before one felt the need to demonstrate one’s importance by renting a villa in the hills and surrounding oneself with security. Back then, a pair of jeans, a white shirt, a steel watch, a pair of (pre-Ford) Guccis and perhaps a fancy belt buckle were all that was required. Kings of The Look, or at least its spirit, are our jet-set heroes: Johnny Gold, Peter Sellers, Sir Dai Llewellyn, Philippe Junot, Heini Thyssen, Patrick Lichfield, Alfonso von Hohenlohe, Johannes von Thurn und Taxis, Tim Jefferies, Gunther Sachs and James Hunt.

Of course, it has to be the right shirt and blazer, but once you have mastered The Look, you will find how its universality and versatility has ensured its longevity and accounted for its resurgence. You can wear The Look while on the dancefloor of Les Caves du Roy or the Reading Room of The London Library, you can wear it on your Bombardier Global Express or, as I recently saw Charles Finch doing – but shh! don’t tell him I told you – waiting for his scheduled flight at Malaga Airport.

How & where to get The Look

The shirt: white Sea Island cotton from Emma Willis, or one of the 400 or so shades of white at Charvet, or a made-tomeasure white Oxford cotton button-down shirt from Brooks Brothers at Madison and 44th (ask for Tom Davis and mention Charles or me).

Jeans: your old 501s (if you can still fit into them); otherwise, J Brand, Dunhill or Liberto. Always avoid pre-fades and modish cuts.

Belt: silver Western style with crocodile or tooled leather (Dunhill has some good ones, as does Desert Son in Arizona and Billy Martin in New York).

Blazer: anything made for you by Terry Haste, Doug Hayward or Richie at Kilgour. For summer choose a lightweight hopsack from Rubinacci with brown caroso nut buttons engraved with the emblem of the Naples Yacht Club.

Steel bracelet watch: Girard-Perregaux Laureato moon phase, Audemars Piguet Royal Oak (not the Offshore but the original from 1972), Patek Philippe Nautilus, Rolex Submariner or GMT (not Daytona).

Shoes: old Guccis (with both the ribbon and the snaffle) or Berlutis (but only the Andy Warhol sur mesure).

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FQR Casting Couch

Bunny Girl

Bunny and the Bull is your first British movie, released in the UK in May. What was it like working on an English production?

It was a dream to work here. Since I was a child I dreamt of acting in English, the language used in all the movies I saw. I had never been in England before working on this production. On a professional level, working outside Spain was a step forward. Now there are many co-productions in Europe so it’s important to speak at least English, maybe German, Italian or French. It gives me the opportunity to be part of productions that are different to the ones in my culture.

Is there a director you would particularly like to work with?

David Lynch, Danny Boyle, and I would love to work with Ken Loach and Michel Gondry.

spring 2009

Do you have any screen taboos?

I wouldn’t do something I felt was unnecessary for the character or the story. But whatever it takes to bring the character to life I will do. I’m an actress – I have to tell what I have to tell and my ego has to disappear. If my character has a lot of sex, then that is part of her, it’s telling something about her that’s important. So no, I don’t think I have any taboos.

Who would your perfect on-screen affair be with?

John Malkovich and Ed Harris. I know they’re older than me but I’d love it. Johnny Depp, Colin Firth, Brad Pitt and Daniel Day-Lewis – he is so attractive.

Are you in love?

Yes, but he has nothing to do with acting. We’ve been together for a year.

Does your on-screen presence coincide with your off-screen presence and how do you feel as a woman on and off screen?

On screen I just try to understand what the director and the character need from me. Off screen I have many more shades of character. I am even very shy sometimes – but you probably won’t believe me.

What makes a woman sexy?

Her capacity to change and to involve you. We’re playful. What I find seductive in a woman is the game, her capacity to play with emotions, with people, with the mind.

And in a man?

What they try to hide. I think “sexy” is something that you find attractive because you want to have it, feel it, find it, discover it and it’s something you can’t see so easily.

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Describe a perfect day.

I love it when new things happen and when I feel connected with nature and people and I can breathe. I love to skate. Madrid is not very big so I can go everywhere on my [inline] skates and I feel like I’m flying.

Who’s your screen hero or heroine?

Ed Harris. And I love Cate Blanchett, John Malkovich… There are so many… Isabelle Huppert…

Where would you like to see yourself in 10 years?

I would like to be well travelled, in a house on the beach, still working but able to choose my projects and still be learning. I’d like to see myself with a family – kids, of course – and dogs. Lots of animals. I’d love to live in Africa.

www.finchsquarterly.com

photo: Matt Holyoak @ Soho Management

Verónica Echegui has excited in Spanish movies such as Yo soy la Juani and El Menor de los Males. Now she’s starring in Bunny and the Bull we’ll finally get to appreciate her in an English movie, while here for FQR Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis appreciates her in the flesh.

LIGHTS, CAMERA... HOTELS Finch & Co

Some scene providers can almost turn scene stealers, says FQR’s travel guru Kate Lenahan, who checks out a few famous five-star movie locations

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HERE are two hotels in Beverly Hills that owe a lot of good publicity to a certain Mr Richard Gere. Both, coincidentally, are also linked via him to the world’s oldest profession – purely on a fictional basis, of course. In 1980 Gere sexed up The Beverly Hills Hotel for some of his trysts with the divine Lauren Hutton in American Gigolo, securing its place on the iconic map some four years after The Eagles did the same with their album cover for Hotel California. Ten years on, in Pretty Woman, Gere cinematically raised the profile of the Beverly Wilshire hotel, this time playing a man who paid for sexual favours rather than dispensed them. To this day, one still sidesteps a few overexcitable Japanese fans hanging out in the lobby taking snaps of the hotel that featured in their favourite film.

One other Beverly Hills establishment, the one who tends to annually contain the majority of nominees on Oscar night, is The Four Seasons Beverly Hills, which appeared as itself in Albert

Brook’s 1999’s The Muse where the character playing the title role, Sharon Stone, insisted much to the pain of his wallet that she be booked into the largest suite for a lengthy visit in order to provide him inspiration for his writer’s block, a recurrent and professionally lethal virus in Tinseltown apparently.

Get it right – which means read the script and have an instinct of what will please a worldwide audience – and a general manager approached by a production company wanting to film in his hotel could generate many years of healthy bookings.

The Park Hyatt Tokyo didn’t do badly when it lent itself as the hotel in Lost in Translation, its topfloor bar a perfect setting for the coolness of the city when Bill Murray (as Bob Harris) ponders his existence over a cocktail.

Equally, you can’t go wrong allowing names such as Clooney, Pitt, Damon & Co to set their heist in your hotel as The Bellagio in Vegas so memorably did in Ocean’s Eleven. The Atlantis in Paradise Island, Bahamas, happily hosted James Bond’s visit in 2006’s remake of Casino Royale and, of course, The Plaza in New York has had almost as many starring roles as some leading actors, most famously appearing in Neil Simon’s 1971 Plaza Suite and children’s favourite Eloise in 2003.

Some hotel owners are delighted to hand over their properties for a long, expensive film shoot.

However, when the plot features an axe-wielding caretaker in a hotel haunted by twins on tricycles – as it did in the case of the Timberline Lodge, Oregon – it’s easy to see why it was preferable for the hotel to retain its fictitious identity as The Overlook Hotel which supposedly existed in Colorado for Kubrick’s terrifying The Shining, and why all the interior shots took place at Elstree.

Also enjoying successful association with another Julia Roberts movie was The Ritz London in Notting Hill, for which I believe the hotel also provided real staff to play themselves in the relevant scenes. And finally, one of the most famous hotels to have a starring role in a classic film has been the elegant Hotel des Bains in Venice, where Dirk Bogarde so memorably portrayed a sick composer in Visconti’s Death in Venice, lusting after a beautiful Polish boy then dying on the beach before having settled his hotel bill – a smart, if drastic, excuse when staying at expensive establishments, one might say.

The Four Seasons Beverly Hills, www.fourseasons.com/losangeles Atlantis, www.atlantis.com Bellagio, www.bellagio.com The Beverly Hills Hotel, www.thebeverlyhillshotel.com Beverly Wilshire, www.fourseasons.com/beverlywilshire

Hotel Des Bains, +39 041 526 5921 Park Hyatt Tokyo, www.tokyo.park.hyatt.com The Plaza, www.theplaza.com The Ritz London, www.theritzlondon.com Timberline Lodge, www.timberlinelodge.com

W11 votes Obama Dirk Bogarde in Death in Venice

Philippa Walker thought better of freezing with strangers in Washington for the presidential inauguration - opting instead to spend the day with friends Ruthie Rogers, Liz Murdoch and Matthew Freud who hosted a party at The Electric.

I O N E M A N ’ S V I S IO N , R E S PL E N DE N T L Y A L I V E .

The Ritz London is an experience that defies description.

You simply have to come to the hotel to discover the irresistible allure of a legend.

Cesar Ritz’s vision is resplendently alive.

But it’s not just the physical environment. There’s an attitude to service you thought had disappeared forever, a personalised attention to every last detail.

This is not just a Grand Hotel. This is The Ritz.

020 7493 8181 s w w w.t h er itzl ondon.com

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COULDN’T get through to my partner Alan Yentob in Wasington because the sheer volume of mobile-phone calls had collapsed the system, despite the extra masts erected. Later I found that he’d been up at 5 am to film the crowds streaming over the bridge into the Capitol to listen to the man they believe can bring them regeneration.

At the Electric we streamed in too: Sabrina Guiness, Molly Nyman, the Baileys, Ruby Wax, Bella Freud, Claudia Schiffer, Nic Formby, Jeremy King and Simon Curtis. Ronnie Newhouse was on hand to tell me who designed Michelle’s dress – the Cuban-American Isobel Toledo (they don’t miss a trick those Obamas) - while Antonia Fraser looked impossibly gorgeous. Harold Pinter was much missed.

The excitement was palpable - a feeling of New Dawn pervaded the room. The Electric, where decades ago I would watch all-night Andy Warhols, was bearing witness to one of the great events of our times.

Most remarkable of all was that the man himself seemed, well, happy. When Chief Justice Roberts fluffed his lines, Obama just laughed. I snuggled down in a comfy armchair between my friend Lynn Barber and Alan Rickman. When Aretha sang I cried, soundlessly. We were awed into silence – only the tiny Gill twins roared their approval.

When Obama gave his speech, he treated us as grown-ups. Lynn pronounced it “measured” and though Bob Geldof hankered after the soundbite, Alan Rickman said “there are all kinds of hidden messages in there for all kinds of people.” Vanessa Branson and Ruthie loved it. Salman Rushdie, who I visited afterwards, said it was very “adult”.

Obama talked of “greed and irresponsibility on the part of some” - no names mentioned here but there was a mighty cheer when the helicopter bearing Bush away from the Capitol finally took off. But his clearest message was of tolerance – “the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve” was my favourite line. The playing field is now levelled. America told us it would use its power with “humility and restraint” and no longer “entitlement”. It did indeed make one gasp.

– Philippa Walker is a documentary film-maker and ker Wal lippa ,Phi Wax y Rub d, mother of two - Jacob and Bella Bella Freu

Jemima Khan, Er ic Fellner, Sabrin a Guinness

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p Lady Rogers, Mariella Frostru

SPRING 2009

Finch & Co

Bow-How

FAMOUS BOW TIE WEARERS WINSTON CHURCHILL, SIR ROBIN DAY, IAN FLEMING, SAUL BELLOW, STEVE JOBS, MANOLO BLAHNIK, DONALD TSANG, CHARLIE CHAPLIN GROUCHO MARX, ALBERT ELBAZ PLAYBOY BUNNIES, MALCOLM X, HUMPHREY BOGART (THE ENFORCER), JONATHAN NEWHOUSE, JONATHAN BECKER, DAVID HOCKNEY BEST BOW TIE SHOPS BROOKS BROTHERS, BUDD, J PRESS CHARVET

Da Finchey Ode III I dreamt of a night filled with stars Of long black limo cars Speeches flashed with white enamel smiles Starlets’ gowns; and hotel suites Long-lens cameras And screen acrobats Of black tie and white tie All in shapes of a Butterfly I remembered to thank him and her To nod and concur I drank a little Martini And not one but two Bellini At the ball I danced with Penélope Swigged a couple with Spacey Smiled sweetly at Nicole And warily at Russell It was, I admit, a pleasant night of pageantry Not to be outdone of course by a shoot at pheasantry –Unknown Sherpa

George In gle-Finch

Mavericks THE FOLLOWING JOIN FQR’S MAVERICK SELECTION - RECOGNISED FOR STYLE AND INDEPENDENT SPIRIT: Richard Rogers, Leonard Cohen, Tom Bartlett, Frédéric Fekkai, Nick Broomfield, David Hockney, Jackson Pollock, Régis Pagniez, David Geffen, Ted Turner, Nicolas Sarkozy, Fidel Castro, Mick Jagger, Fangio, Nic Cage, David Niven, Jonathan Newhouse, Marlon Brando, Ari Emanuel

spring 2009

Return of the Bow Tie

FQR’s esteemed proprietor, Charles Finch, laments the lack of ties in the workplace and calls for the return of the bow tie

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N American friend of mine asked me the other day what the dress code was to a black tie dinner. I replied, patiently, that it was, oddly enough, “black tie”.

“Black tie, black tie?” he persisted. “Does that mean bow tie or can I wear a black tie?”

This quite modest dressing dilemma may not be particularly fascinating to any of you given the serious state of world affairs in which we find ourselves, but to FQR it is a symbol of the causes for that decline in our great institutions which presently plagues us, and a likely factor in landing us in the merde. You could, of course, argue that in the Thirties they dressed appropriately but still had the World War and a terrible depression…

Why, though, if asked by your host to wear a black tie would it not mean exactly what we all know full well it means? You wear a dinner suit with a black bow tie…

In this same vein, then, why, if you ask someone to invest your money wisely, would they not take the time to be diligent and do just that? Invest your money wisely. Perhaps the removal of the tie

UHURA

in the workplace and, even more so, the bow tie from formal events or the serious disciplines (law, politics, medicine) has led in a way to a general laissez-faire attitude, which in certain professions has had dire consequences.

Very recently I attended the Dresden Semper Opera Ball at which there were white tie, black tie and even red tie. I have no idea how I would have

advised my friend had he asked me what to wear for that event and I can assure you the swell evening, in the beautiful opera house, would have been a lot easier on the eye if the dressing had been consistent.

In Los Angeles, that most informal of cities, I once – many years ago – turned away Arki Busson and Benicio Del Toro for being over half an hour

FQR’s very own Uhura, Elizabeth Saltzman, looks to Hollywood to explain – and perhaps even foretell – the weird ways of the world

So here we are. In the eye of the hurricane. We had little, if no, time to watch it approach, but gathering our wits and sensibilities about us, felt we had some sort of sense as to how we might deal with it. Wrongo, it seems.

Every time we feel we have a measure of the depth of the situation, we find another rug pulled from under our feet, another plank of recovery yanked away. We’re like high-stepping chorus dancers desperately trying to find a solid piece of turf on which to lay our spangly feet.

The most extraordinary example of “well, it couldn’t get any worse than it is” is without doubt the yet-tobe-unravelled horror show of New York financier Bernie Madoff. His giant Ponzi scheme and the alleged subsequent misappropriation of $50bn have left not only New York stunned but the community as a whole. It has yet to be proven, but it appears that Madoff stole from families and, by proxy, philanthropic trusts, college and charity funds and it came as a body blow to the community which for so long had trusted him.

And at a time when a sense of family seems so important, his apparent abuse of the community, his exploitation of people’s fallibility and desire, seems an almost unnecessary reminder of how cruel life can be.

All of a sudden no one seems to know what is real any more, what we can truly believe in. Everything we’ve been told no longer seems to be true. Rock-solid investments, a growing economy, a global comingtogether of technology, manufacturing and ideas – this was the golden future, wasn’t it..?

So where should we turn to make sense of this economic storm? Why, Hollywood of course! Admittedly, during this maelstrom of carnage, job losses, currencies losing their value, governments flailing, it seems almost surreal to watch the daily round of filmindustry awards taking place. But examine the front runners more closely and you’ll see that in their own peculiar way they are somehow telling us more about the current craziness of the world than we might possibly imagine.

First off, let’s just use the title Milk – something

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late, which was quite a stupid thing to do considering their future success and the fact that in LA you are lucky if people turn up at all for a seated dinner. This last note has, of course, nothing whatsoever to do with ties and I mention purely to name-check a couple of our FQR Mavericks.

All this brings me to the most regal of all ties, the bow tie. There are several “musts” as regards the bow tie. The first and most important is that you actually tie your own knot and do not buy one of those ready-made things. Even if you wear your tie with the ends tucked under the collar, as Harold Macmillan did, or long and Western as John Wayne or Daniel Day-Lewis have been known to, you must still tie your own knot. And don’t tie it too big or too small; Pee-wee Herman might be an example of the latter, whilst Roger Moore of the former.

To sport a bow tie other than at a black tie event means that today a man must have either a little pluck or a lot of gall – one or the other, depending on the tie and circumstance. You are noticed when you wear a bow tie. Infinitely more so than you when you wear a regular tie. The little butterfly resting neatly at your neck says, “Look at me… I am happy or smart… or I park cars.” Personally, I say bring back the bow tie and people will behave a little more elegantly. After all, can you really imagine a youth wearing a bow tie and carrying a knife?

Bernie Madoff looks as if he has been doing for the past 30 years. And let’s not forget the banks with their vast packages of debt so complex that even the Nasa-based mathematicians who originally devised them are finding them impossible to unpick.

Then there’s Doubt, a feeling we all have in spades right now. We’re walking on quicksand. Actually, we’re walking on quicksand while wearing stilettos.

The Wrestler. If you’ve ever felt as if you’ve been hit by a hammer blow and left pasted to the canvas, then this is the movie for you. Need I say more?

Frost/Nixon. Hey, how many crooks do you need?

Another powerful man in complete denial, squirming uncomfortably as he’s interrogated by a journalist wearing an unfeasibly bad selection of shirts. Could life get much worse?

The Reader. An illiterate takes advantage of an innocent in order to cover up her own inadequacies and secrets… much like the armies of financial companies who offered us reams of free credit during the past 10 years. Let’s hope they choose a similar course of action to that of Kate Winslet’s character when their day of reckoning arrives.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Life’s so damn complicated it feels like you’re travelling in the opposite direction from everybody else. When you finally get to hook up with a person you really, really want, they start getting old, wrinkly and exhausted. So much for romance.

Last but not least, the inspiring Slumdog Millionaire.

We may be covered in excrement right now, but if we keep hoping, keep believing, and as long as we follow our hearts, then who knows, we might just win the prize, get the girl and find a way out of this miserable mess in which, through no fault of our own, we have suddenly found ourselves.

One can hope. After all, there is an inspiring new occupant of the White House and, as he said: “Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a certain poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself.

Because it’s only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realise your true potential.”

Uhura out.

–Elizabeth Saltzman is Vanity Fair’s International Social Editor

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FQR Sports Special

Beretta and Better Top gun Franco Beretta is fired up by enthusiasm for his family company’s philosophy and hunting heritage

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EING born into the Beretta family my first experience of going out hunting, or shooting as you say in England, and having some nice shotguns in my hands came at the early age of eight. At that time it was Pier Carlo Beretta, my great uncle, who used to organise hunts to which he invited my father – and my brother and I joined in when still young. At about the age of 10 we were allowed to start shooting and the big question was always whether to use a 36 gauge – which is easy for a young boy to handle but with which it is very difficult to hit a pheasant – or a 20 gauge, which was much more appropriate for a pheasant hunt but which kicked like a horse. In both cases they were made to measure for us.

Those early hunting days were instructive for me in so many ways. On one of my first shoots, during cold weather, I took a bright red hat out of my pocket that embarrassed my father and great uncle as the colour was terribly ill chosen. That was the first time I realised how important the colour of hunting gear is.

Since then, the shooting culture in all its variety, knowledge and experience has become part of who I am. Growing up around my father and uncles, living in the Italian countryside and going out shooting when so young shaped my concept of the Beretta lifestyle. Any improvements I have been able to make to our hunting gear stem from these early memories.

At that time, Great Uncle “Zio Carlo”, as we called him, taught us what to look for in firearms and how certain technical and aesthetic characteristics were important in the making of a great gun. This was both the company’s and his lifelong personal focus. Later, when I started working in the company with my father, we decided that the Beretta customer needs not only the perfect shotgun but also all the gear that helps him have a pleasant day out in the field. And this was thanks to the early lessons Pier Carlo taught us about style and quality, as well as the way he looked after his hunting wardrobe.

Then, as now, hunting in Italy was a rustic activity. The Italian hunting tradition is not as sophisticated as that of the English, French or Spanish. Of course, there were exceptions in some regions, namely in Tuscany, where there were countless noble families who loved to go shooting on their private estates. And Pier Carlo took every opportunity to visit friends in Tuscany, England and Spain to pursue his passion for hunting. He also loved live pigeon shooting, which was a popular, elite social pastime at its most exclusive and elegant in Monte-Carlo, San Remo and Montecatini.

My great uncle was also part of the golden decade of the Italian “dolce vita” in the 1960s, with Anita Ekberg’s supremely sexy walk inside the Trevi Fountain. Aristocracy, industrialists, actors and VIPs used to gather for shooting events, followed by galas all night. Zio Carlo really enjoyed being part of this crowd and drew inspiration from the clothing and accessories he came across on his many trips and the events he attended. From England he brought back elegant tweed outfits; from Italy the Maremmana and corduroy brown jackets; in Spain he picked up cotton gabardine vests and leather gear. He used all

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Franco Beretta’s father Ugo Gussalli Beretta (in sunglasses) these elements and ideas to enrich his own collection using the most practical yet stylish materials. And so he created the Beretta lifestyle, which reflects a great love for nature and outdoor life, constantly searches for innovative solutions and has a strong commitment to quality and attention to detail.

Today these are the fundamental values that continue to guide my family and my organisation.

Naturally, we also saw our great uncle at his house and the company headquarters in Gardone Val Trompia. My brother and I grew up visiting him at the “Villa”, at his office and the nearby museum, where he liked to show us the beautiful shotguns he collected. This is how we began to understand the importance of not only the product’s aesthetic but also the aesthetic of its display. In the late 1880s, Giuseppe Antonio Beretta decided to build a new warehouse where he could not only stock his products but also showcase them to clients.

The 2,000sq ft room is filled with wonderfully carved, elegant glass-fronted oak cabinets. In the middle is a unique display case that was used at the 1906 International Exposition in Milan. Its columns are decorated with strips of Damascus steel from shotgun barrels, the woodwork is carved with complex neo-gothic motifs and there are hand-engraved steel plaques with hunting and wildlife scenes.

This room served as an inspiration to my father, Ugo, and me when creating our first Beretta Gallery in Manhattan. Today we have Galleries in all the world’s major cities. As opposed to ordinary shops, these Galleries offer customers a window into the Beretta DNA, inspired by all 15 generations of the family.

I hope that I am able to communicate my enthusiasm for the Beretta way of life to my son, who is 11 and comes shooting with me, my brother and our father. We want him to experience this outdoor activity amongst the family as we hope this will influence him to continue, maintain and even improve our family philosophy for the generations to come… I think he has already made a great start: unlike his father, he has never worn a bright red hat out on a shoot.

– Franco Beretta is vice president of Beretta, a family run business specialising in firearms, lifestyle clothing and accessories

a live pigeon shoot Pier Carlo Beretta during

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Pier Carlo Beret ta

hunting in 1951

SPRING 2009

FQR Sports Special

He Shoots, He Scores its reasons are inexplicable. It’s rather like a virus you contract, which stays with you for the rest of your life. I like shooting wild boar in autumn, and deer and snipe in spring.

I have never gone shooting in Africa. I don’t know my way around there and I only hunt in places I know my way around, such as on trusted European territory. I know that for many hunters the ultimate kick is to shoot big game, an elephant or a buffalo. Personally, that would feel like I was shooting in my local Viennese zoo. I might say that I am less discriminating when hunting for women; I do like a bit of the exotic there.

I like to think that shooting is a sport utterly fulfilling in itself.

Being in the forest, breathing in the cold air and waiting for the animals to pass by is something very organic. Some shoots are more social than others – girls are invited and drinking games are played and quite often these kind of shoots end in a debauched orgy of the senses. I have had my fair share of these shooting weekends.

These days I prefer to stick to my dog as my only shooting companion. No pretty girls chatting away in impractical fur coats and shoes that don’t keep their feet warm. No, that is not for me any more!

I am a truly passionate hunter. I love shooting. I don’t even need to actually kill anything to feel fulfilled. I simply enjoy being out in the forest on a beautiful day. I go out daily, as part of my job. The only company I need is my dog. I would miss him terribly were he not with me. A real huntsman always goes out with his dog. My dog sees and hears much better than me and he finds the animals once they are shot. Being a true huntsman, I am quite deaf these days. I therefore prefer to keep my dog close in order to be able to see his

Aki (right) proudly examines his prey

Prince Johannes, aka Aki von Schwarzenberg, on his all-consuming passion for shooting

F

OR me, shooting is both leisure and work. As a landowner in Austria and the Czech Republic I am both producer and consumer. I live off my forest’s fruits. In order to do so, I need to maintain its healthy balance. Shooting plays a vital role in this maintenance. Foremost, however, shooting remains my passion. It’s great to see your close friends on a shooting weekend, but that is secondary. Shooting is not dependent on other people. It really is a passion you either have in your blood or you don’t. You could say that you either have blood or milk running through your veins.

I can’t tell you why it is my passion. As with every other passion,

RUBINACCI

DAL

1929

LONDRA • NUOVA YORK • NAPOLI MILANO • ROMA • TOKIO WWW.MARIANORUBINACCI.IT

SPRING 2009

I don’t even need to actually kill anything to feel fulfilled

Crushing Boars

ELISABETH VON THURN UND TAXIS ON HER LOVE OF THE ART OF FLUSHING OUT ANIMALS DURING A SHOOT AND HOW THE BEAT GOES ON, EVEN WITHOUT HER

AUTHENTIC NEAPOLITAN TAILORING

reactions. I get ready to shoot when he wiggles his head.

There are, of course, a few glamorous shoots. One annual shoot in particular stands out in my memory. Naturally, I cannot reveal its whereabouts. It should be said, however, that although an abundance of wild boar make it every hunter’s Shangri-La, it is the army of beautiful girls from all over the globe that makes it extraordinary. Well, put it this way: it makes it damn hard to keep your eye on the pig. But this shoot really is the exception to the rule. It is fair to say that a woman generally plays no role in shooting. At some shoots she be an might amusing prop but she is not an important part of the experience.

I will share a small anecdote that has nothing to do with shooting per se – but it did occur on a shooting weekend, so there you go.

Following a day in the woods, our dinner turned into a party. I had too much to drink, as one usually does on such occasions. Later that night I wanted to visit a particularly pretty girl who was staying in a room a few doors down. The corridor was long and murky and, as I tried to find my way through the darkness, I tripped over and heard something smash to pieces. I tried to feel what it was but only felt a cold puddle next to me on the ground. I gathered it must have been a jug of water and continued on my romantic quest down the dark corridor. Finally, I got to the room and was warmly compensated for my inconveniences. The next day, however, I awoke to a most shocking fact. On the way back to my room I discovered the most visible trace of my nightly escapade.

The damp puddle that I had assumed to be water was, in fact, ink.

Instead of a jug of water, I had clumsily knocked over an inkpot standing on a little table outside my room. I had left bright blue fingerprints along the corridor wall all the way from my room to the girl’s. What an embarrassment! Everyone could see what Schwarzenberg had done again. Nevertheless, I felt relaxed and pleased – after all, I’d had a delightful night. But let me tell you, this really has nothing at all to do with shooting…

– Prince Aki von Schwarzenberg is as passionate about hunting women as he is shooting boars, and believes he has an excellent strike rate with both

Before I explain why I had to stop beating, I should begin by explaining how I even began this business in the first place. You see, beating is a rather unusual activity for anyone during a shoot, let alone a girl. Beaters tend to be tough men who walk through the woods during a shoot, in our case a wild boar shoot, frightening the animals out of their hideouts and into the open.

It involves marching through the rugged terrain of a Bavarian forest, brushing against thorns and twigs, uphill, downhill, over logs and under branches. So it’s not exactly a walk along the Yellow Brick Road.

What attracted me to beating, however, were two things: for one, it is the closest you can get to a safari outside Africa. Anyone who is unfamiliar with the temperament of a wounded boar, take note; they are ferocious. Just like a male buffalo, a wounded boar will charge you and slide its sharp tusks through your leg or anywhere it can get you.

The idea that a boar could be lurking behind the next trunk ready to charge keeps me on my toes and makes for an exciting hike through the woods.

When we catch up with the huntsmen for tea at the end of the day I feel positively refreshed. Nothing kicks a hangover more successfully than a bit of adrenaline being pumped through your veins.

For most girls, a day out shooting is made bearable by the prospect of

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accompanying a boy of her fancy on to the deerstand. There she sits for hours in the freezing cold watching the boy nervously aim at the poor squealing beasts below. Granted, this sounds barbaric but, actually, few things are more tantalising than seeing a man skilfully manoeuvre his rifle. But this is where our problems begin. You see, our upbringing makes us expect Mr Right to make the move and ask us out. Rarely, however, does the right guy actually end up asking. Whilst busy waiting we are dragged along by Mr Wrong.

Spending half a day in temperatures below freezing suspended in the air on a few square feet of wood in the middle of the forest is not exactly a party, let alone next to a bore.

This brings me to the second reason why I love beating: no more bores to bear. But for the past two years my excitement about beating has been subdued by devastating news. I am no longer welcome as a beater. Last year one of the beaters overlooked an injured boar and was consequently almost slaughtered. Be it climate change or credit crunch, even the boars seem to have picked up on the acidic energy that surrounds our little planet earth. So what do I do now?

I have retreated into the comfort and isolation of my bed awaiting the dinner party that follows a day of shooting. Call me snobbish or blasé, I’m just not cut out to be a shooting accessory. I can handle a boar but, by God, I cannot handle a bore!

– Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis is Features Editor of Finch’s Quarterly Review

www.finchsquarterly.com

FQR Women’s Page

FQR exclusive !

You really are a MENDACIOUS OLD TROUT. I am no more the almost before the lights editor of your “Women’s Page” than I am your personal lap-dancer. These went down and was hyperventilating in consequence. are letters in long-hand written for FUN and nothing more and if you don’t own up to During the second one, I decided to approach Bruce and Patti it, I shall resign.

Springsteen’s table. I stood there with such an idiotic expression on The last one got me into no end of trouble – every time I came into the house Greg frisked me my face that they had to say hello. I offered to kiss the hem of his for hidden fripperies. I have had several items confiscated and/or returned to the shop. garment. He politely declined. Patti said they’d just watched Love Another unfortunate result is that people keep on coming up to me on the tube to ask where Actually again with their kids. I curtseyed and returned to my seat they can get three pairs of socks for 70p. The only reason I’m continuing to oblige you is that I secure in the knowledge that I could now and hencefo rth refer to them as “Bruce & Patti” and saw my esteemed accountant the other day (Mr Simnock is his name) and he said that in the face accurately describe them as very nice people. I was busy being thrilled about that when Kate won of all the carnage in the news, reading about Greg’s underwear relieved his gloom slightly. I daresay another award. Went up to her and said “That’s typical, MB. You wait years for a blinking Globe and there is something to be said for silliness at a time like this. Which brings me neatly onto the then two come along at once.” I also suggested she had them made into earrings. subject of awards season. I went to the Golden Globes (how deeply silly is that name? Eight out By the third break I am desperate for a wee but don’t want to leave the room in case Kate wins of ten, surely) last weekend because I and Mr Hoffman had been nomina ted for Last Chance another award. That was around the time Mickey Rourke won ~ I watched his approach with interest Harvey – most kindly, I hasten to add. ~ people literally leaping out of his way, it was like the Red Sea parting. “I loved that film,” I said as I made Greg agree to come with me before telling him he needed a nice new outfit. This he went by. Understandably, I don’t think he either heard or believed me.

It is fantastic , though, and occasioned a very free and frank exchange of views culminating in my thunder ing out of the house you must all see it. He wouldn’t give a luxury men’s quarterl y house room, I suspect. to plant bulbs in the ancient brogues he was insisting were “perfectly good enough”. I left him Maggie Gyllenhaal came to say hello and we squeaked at each other excitedl y about the fact that darning the elbow of the Nicole Farhi suit I bought him fifteen years ago which is now covered with she is coming to live in England and play our heroine in the new Nanny McPhee. She is a mysterious and irremovable fluff, and muttering darkly about the sartoria l husbandry of the wonderful woman and very well brought-up, by screenw riters, so it’s no surprise. aristocracy who always wear things until they fall apart. He’s a Geordie, for fuck’s sake.

At some point, Mr Hoffman and I were accosted by the Global employ ee and hoiked off I came back from town with a very elegant Emporio Armani suit which was IN THE SALE, oh backstage to give the award for Best Director. When we walked out onto the stage, it looked as thank you, Goddess of Marriage, so I didn’t have to ingest the receipt and even some new knickers though everyone had left. But no, they’d all gathered up the back to drink and shout at each other. from Dolce & Gabbana ~ £21 in the sale.

Most peculiar. It was a true pleasure to hand the trophy to Danny Boyle (nice, polite, clean young “In the sale??” he shrieked, and threatened to wear them for the entire trip without changing just person) who seemed ever so pleased. It was a popular win and suddenl y everyone seemed to surge to get his money’s worth. towards the stage again to clap.

Anyway, the Globes, what an eccentric event it is. It occurs at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in a After that it was pretty much over so we screeched at as many famous people as we could before room so crowded that in the event that you have to get to the stage, it’s like getting off the leaving out the back way where ~ o joy ~ we found Bruce and Patti in the car-park . Another short underground during rush hour when (unlike SOME) you have politely obeyed the endless but warm exchange ensured that I could now claim they were close friends despite not knowing injunctions to move down the carriage. what country they live in.

Wall to wall stars and starlets from big and little screen plus a host of beleagu ered waiters and I got back to the hotel feeling very satisfied with it all and more than ready to change into a baggy cameramen carrying food and dragging quantities of cabling around. It really is a wonder no one tracksuit and order a hamburger. Greg was looking puzzled .

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why, after gets injured or even killed. I suppose folk are cheerful enough to want to clear a path – to the all those months of campaigning, spending and longing for the nominations, does extent that they will sit on each other’s heads to get out of your way. (I turned around at one point everyone completely ignore what’s going on on the night?” He was mystified. We retired to bed and saw Greg in Stephen Daldry’s lap.) none the wiser.

The cardinal virtue of this event is that there are little breaks in the proceed ings during which The next day I got up and decided to go for a swim. Had forgotten you can do things, like standing on a chair in an attempt to reach some oxygen, visiting the ladies to pack bathers and borrowed Greg’s D&G knickers which I wore to wring out your spanx (it’s hotter than the tube in August) or chatting to a nearby famous person with a vest, so we did get out money’s worth out of them after all. whose acquaintance you fancy claiming upon your return to Blighty. (Blighty . Christ, how old am Must stop. I’m supposed to be working.

I? A million?) During the first break we just sponged down Winslet, who’d received an award Weather’s bloody awful. Might make some soup.

The Italian Job Cooking pasta is simple enough – if you stick to some basic guidelines. Maya Even talks Italian

C

HIEF among the virtues of Italian cooking is simplicity.

Largely free of the

daunting rules and elaborate techniques that govern, for example, French or Japanese cookery, classic Italian recipes invite the timid, the uninitiated and the downright cack-handed to delight in the creation of wonderful dishes.

There are no reductions, no highly strung sauces to split or custards to scramble, no odori ebi. There is almost no Italian recipe that cannot be reproduced as well, if not better, at home as in a restaurant.

INGREDIENTS (serves 4) 450g/1lb good artigianale dried spaghetti, 200g/6oz pancetta, 2 cloves garlic, 4 tbsp good olive oil, 2 tbsp butter, 2 large free-range eggs, 1 large free-range egg yolk, 50g/2oz freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese, 50g/2oz freshly grated pecorino romano cheese, freshly ground black pepper, good sea salt.

METHOD Put a large pot of water on the stove to bring to the boil for the pasta. Meanwhile, cut the pancetta into large matchsticks about 6mm/1/4in wide. Take the garlic cloves and bang the flat side of a wide knife on them to release the juices. Peel them.

In a medium-sized skillet, heat the garlic in the olive oil till it turns brown. Discard the garlic but not the oil. Add the pancetta and fry on gentle heat till golden – do not let it burn. Turn off heat and leave to one side.

In a large and perhaps elegant bowl (from which you will eventually serve the pasta), break in the eggs and yolk and gently beat with a fork, till just combined. Add the two grated cheeses and a very good whack of black pepper and mix well. The recipe can be prepared up until this stage and then left for a bit till you are about ready to sit down.

Cook the spaghetti. Drain, reserving the water. At this point, moving fast now, turn the heat on high under the pancetta skillet, and add the butter, letting it melt. While this is happening, turn the spaghetti into the cheese-and-egg mix. Add the pancetta and all its oil and melted butter. Toss well but not too lengthily – cold pasta is a worse crime than ill-dressed pasta. Add a spoonful or two of the reserved pasta water if it all looks too sticky.

Taste. Re-season if needed. Serve immediately with more The grated parmigiano served separately and a good second bottle of robust Italian red.

Spaghetti alla Carbonara spring 2009

virtue of Italian cookery is convenience.

Although the recipe books themselves will impress upon the home cook the desirability of using the freshest and most seasonal

ingredients, I have produced equally excellent results with recipes that derive all their components from the store cupboard. If your larder contains a tin of plum tomatoes, a bottle of good olive oil, an onion, a clove of garlic and a packet of dried spaghetti, you are never more than 20 minutes away from a very good lunch.

And the third and perhaps most endearing quality of the Italian kitchen is its generous and accommodating nature. Italian recipes, like Italians in general, are forgiving to a fault. It takes a lot to render inedible a tomato sauce. By contrast, 10 seconds of inattention can destroy a béarnaise and ruin your life.

“Ah ha!” says my (Italian) husband, springing on my hapless third observation like an avenging pagliaccio. “You are wrrrong! What about pasta?” And, of course, he is right. Pasta is the one exception that tolerates no accommodations. My husband can cook (all Italian men seem to imbibe this skill with their mother’s milk) and therefore has a legitimate view on the matter. He is belligerent about the proper way to prepare pasta, having endured the Anglo-Saxon mangling of his national food for decades. Strange that it should be so when it is, in fact, very simple to cook pasta as long as you follow some basic guidelines.

The first is that you must memorise this ratio and follow it religiously. The ratio is 100 to 10 to 1. What it means is that for every 100g of pasta you must use one litre of water and 10g of coarse salt. This might sound like an awful lot of salt, but it is critical to the taste of the pasta, and the anti-salt fascisti can reassure themselves that it will mean adding less salt at the end of the

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process when it is too late to make much difference to the taste anyway.

Your pot must be big enough and the water sufficiently plentiful to give the pasta a chance to cook at a good boil. Ensure the water is boiling before you drop in the pasta, give it a good stir a minute after to prevent sticking and then only once or twice throughout the cooking. Never break long pasta, but bend and push it down gently as it softens. If it still doesn’t fit in the pot, your pot is too small.

Pasta should be served al dente, which means that it must have some bite. Ignore all packet timings. They are invariably too long. Taste the pasta several times during cooking. When you can nearly bite through, leave to boil another 30 seconds, and drain immediately. And never cook pasta in advance, it must always be served straightaway.

Now for the sauce. Carbonara was said to have originated at the end of the Second World War when American troops, stationed in the hills around Rome, smuggled fresh eggs and, some say, bacon, to befriended locals who in return created a sauce that became as famous as the classic American breakfast itself. Romans improved on this with guanciale - smoked pork cheek – but pancetta is an acceptable substitute. Cream, on the other hand, is not an acceptable ingredient. This is another point upon which my husband will not give way. It is, he says ominously, his litmus test.

If anyone uses cream in a carbonara he will never go there for dinner again. And the offender is never invited back.

– Maya Even is a food consultant for FQR

www.finchsquarterly.com

MC Hammer With near all-encompassing taste in tunes, Simon de Pury says, “Thank you for the music, for giving it – well, selling it, to me” At the tender age of 57 the passions (at least, the ones I can admit to) that dominate my life are still the same as the ones I had as a teenager light years ago: art, music and football. My privilege has been so far to make a living out of the first. The second has been fuelling my hunting instincts as much as the first one. Back in the Sixties, the second a new LP by The Beatles or The Rolling Stones hit the record store I would spend all the pocket money I could scratch together on it. This eventually led to a collection of thousands of LPs. When, in the mid-Eighties, CDs became the norm I had to start amassing a vast collection all over again. The next sea change was when a girlfriend offered me one of the earliest iPods. Today I have 42,926 songs on my computer. To listen to all of them non-stop would take me about 150 days. As a Swiss (we only cross the road on zebra crossings!), I have, of course, paid for every single download. My second iPod is about to reach full capacity. They sadly no longer manufacture the 160GB model as Apple doesn’t seem to have enough clients who are as crazy as me.

My music collection covers most musical genres, going from pop, rock, hip hop, samba, reggae, salsa, fado, raï, klezmer, tango, yodel, flamenco, electronic, house, folk, jazz, lounge, country, soundtracks to classical etc. Every tune is hand picked by me and my favourite way to listen to music is to put my computer or iPod on random shuffle. So every time I hear the next song I ask myself who the genius is who put this on!

Making special playlists is, of course, a highly important creative act. And there’s music for every mood or situation – from deep heartbreak to total joy and elation. Some titles for my playlists are: Bollywoody, Dreamy, Eclectic Electric, Exotica, Hip Hop Crown Jewels (soundtrack to an auction of bling jewellery we will hold later this year in New York), Latin Muy Caliente, Mystic Serenity, Nippon Pop Soda, Reggaenomics, Samba Sea Sex & Sun, Schmaltzy and Spacecapade. I also have a playlist entitled Farewell which I would like my children to play at a memorial service when I die. It begins with some fairly solemn and sad music, as such occasions remind each of us of our own mortality, but it ends up with really fabulous dance music – hopefully good enough to get everyone dancing in the aisles. I’d prefer it if this didn’t happen too soon. It was, I believe, Yehudi Menuhin, who said, “You’ve got to die young, but as late as possible!”

Music, like smell, is the only thing that allows us instantly to travel back in time and relive every little detail of the moment when we heard a song for the first time. At Phillips de Pury & Company we believe in breaking down the barriers between art, photography, design, architecture, fashion and music.

So we invited George Clinton & the P-Funk All Stars and Kid Creole & The Coconuts to perform in New York, and The Human League, Nile Rodgers & Chic and Patti Smith in London. This has led to Cindy Sherman dancing away with George Clinton or some of our top clients dancing frenetically around a Damien Hirst fishtank. Besides being our company’s chief auctioneer I pride myself on being the company DJ. My iPod plays during our receptions and we have published two compilation CDs, Around the World: Volumes I and II. A world without music would be a very sad one. Therefore, as Rihanna would say: “Don’t Stop The Music.”

– Simon de Pury is the chairman of Phillips de Pury & Company

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Best new bar scene.

And the award goes to…

Windows Lounge 300 South Doheny Drive, Los Angeles, California 90048 www.fourseasons.com • 310.273.2222

SPRING 2009

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Nick Broomfield proudly holding his award for Best Dressed at FQRup’s clay pigeon shoot

Arnaud Bamberger at FQR’s clay pigeon shoot

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The great pretender FQR Theatre & Books

“Sonofabitch” – and decided to do it. It’s a wonderful experience. It is tough but I didn’t want to lie there aged 107 and go, “Oh, shit, I should have…” and then pass out.

I don’t know how I choose my roles. It’s funny, because I consider myself pretty articulate about most things, but not my process. This play is political, it raises very political topical questions and it is highly articulate and intelligent. It’s also a work in progress – we’re trying to “find it” at the same time as doing it.

Kevin is great when he is sober and not mean. He really is great. I have a bet going on whether he is ever going to lose his temper. He never does; he is always happy. I just finished working with a difficult director and it was horrible. They think they do well with anxiety and stress… horrible! Kevin is very professional and keeps it happening. He doesn’t let things stray but at the same time there is levity in it all.

Each medium offers something the other does not. The advantage of theatre is that you get to do it differently, yet the same, every night for three or six months or whatever. You have a beginning, a middle and an end and it’s the only time when you, the actor, can tell the future. You know the future, but the audience does not. There are people in the room and there is an agreement amongst them to lie. You pretend the clothes you are wearing are yours, the movements you’re making are yours and the words you are speaking are yours. And you pretend you can’t see the stage end over there and you pretend there is no

audience watching you. The audience pretends they’re not in the theatre watching an art form; they pretend they’re watching reality. This agreement of pretence creates truth and it’s unlike any other experience because it’s so immediate. If you listen to a great piece of music it can make you weep after a time, it can grow on you. A great novel can grow on you and bring you something.

Only acting makes a boom, rips your heart out, throws it down, throws it right back at you and then you are clapping.

Acting is the only one that does that.

It’s immediately manipulative!

I always ask that the audience lights be raised a bit so that I can see them laughing because that’s when you realise, without it interfering, that you are participating in a blessing. It is an interactive experience between you as an actor and the audience, and your rhythms are taken from theirs and their rhythms are taken from what you are doing. You are giving them surcease from sorrow.

When you make someone laugh or watch intently and you feel them focused on you as you’re acting, that’s when you are taking them away from the pain of their lives. That’s why acting is one of the few professions where people walk up to you in the street to say, “Thank you.” That’s a very serious business when you think about it. I don’t take that lightly any more. I used to, but not any more.

When I was a little boy I knew I wanted to be an actor not because I wanted to play a particular role but because I wanted a body of work. That meant that I wanted to be romantic and I wanted

to be a villain, I wanted to be childish and I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be everybody.

The coincidence that I played Dick Cheney in W. and now I’m in this play never occurred to me until it was mentioned just now because that’s what an actor does.

What we don’t often take into consideration is the work an audience does. They do a lot. They are, in fact, holding one another’s hand watching the human race being reflected back to them.

They don’t spend a lot of time thinking about that because that would get in the way but that’s what they’re doing, that’s what actors do to them. The audience is therefore not surprised to see that he who was formerly playing Cheney is now playing anti-Cheney because that’s what actors do. What that means – and what I would say to a young actor – is that we all have Hitler and Jesus inside us and it’s about finding the appropriateness.

Where is your Hitler, where is your Jesus or where is your Cheney? That is true for all of us because we have all been those people at some point.

– Oscar winning actor Richard Dreyfuss is currently starring in Complicit at The Old Vic directed by Kevin Spacey 7 Jan - 26 Feb.

also just read Real World, which is, I think, her latest noir thriller.

I’m also just about done with a book by Robert Gellately. It’s a kind of compare and contrast called Lenin, Stalin and Hitler; The Age of Social Catastrophe. It’s very informative and quite well written, although it lacks the humour of, say, Simon Sebag Montefiore’s book Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar and it’s not as gossipy or fun, if one can really use this term to describe Stalin.

Further, it doesn’t have the elegance of the Russian general Dmitri A Volkogonov’s great book entitled simply Stalin. It is very informative and disturbing. Probably the most interesting thing about it is the description of Lenin.

Normally, Lenin is not pictured as someone who is dripping in other people’s blood but every page in this book brings to light that he was demanding terror. There is nothing positive to be said about Lenin – at least, not in my mind – except that he is dead. The Soviets were always great at spinning their own history – Anna Politkovskaya, who was critical of Putin and the Chechen wars, wrote A Small Corner of Hell: Dispatches from Chechnya and she was murdered for her troubles.

On a lighter note, I’m not sure whether I ever mentioned the Dutch writer Arnon Grunberg. I have read his book The Story of My Baldness which is absolutely hilarious, very cruel and funny. It has an interesting, dark story to it: Grunberg had written a novel that won a prize in Holland for best début novel and then Marek van der Jagt, a critic, began slaughtering the book saying how untalented Grunberg was. He even went as far as calling him names such as “dirty Jew”. Van der Jagt then challenged himself to show Grunberg how to write a good novel, saying he would show him and the world how to do it.

He wrote The Story of My Baldness, which then won him the prize of best début novel too. However, van der Jagt turned out to be Grunberg himself, who was pulling a prank and had written both novels himself. The other one I read is The Jewish Messiah. I read it before it was published in English, when Grunberg sent me a manuscript.

It’s about a gay German who is the grandson of a kind of very staunch Nazi, one of the last true believers, who commences an affair with an Orthodox Jewish guy in Basel, Switzerland. It’s probably not a true story because I would be surprised if anything Grunberg said was true. He

is an immensely clever and funny writer.

There is a book I saw on a movie set in Australia. It was in a library in the film of JM Coetzee’s Disgrace. It was a very interesting book that I started to look at between the shots called Transatlantic Manners: Social Patterns in Nineteenth-Century Anglo-American Travel Literature, by Christopher Mulvey. It’s quite fun and interesting. It’s really about how we were told things were in the 19th century by people who had travelled – either by Americans who had travelled to England or by Englishmen who had travelled to America. It’s sort of professorial and a little bit dry but quite interesting.

There is also a really entertaining book written several years ago by David Edmonds and John Eidinow. I dug it out again the other day. I think they are trying to make it into a film. It’s called Bobby Fischer goes to War and it’s about the World Champion Chess careers of Bobby Fischer, who was raised by his mother in Manhattan, and Boris Spassky, who was raised in a Stalinist-ravaged Russia.

Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives is a fantastic piece of Chilean literature. The writer died quite young, aged 50. He was at one time a night watchman on a camping ground outside Barcelona. Nazi Literature in the Americas is another book he wrote which is extremely funny.

Essentially, it’s a sort of fictional encyclopedia showing connections between various fascist writers in mainly South America and Mexico.

– John Malkovich is currently starring in The Changeling

You pretend you can’t see the stage end and you pretend there is no audience watching you

Richard Dreyfuss on his return to the stage in London and working with Kevin Spacey

D

OING theatre is always more fun, but films pay better. The trick is to do a play but get paid like you are doing a movie.

I haven’t cracked that nut yet, but I intend to.

London is the centre of theatre. I think I have had more fun on stage than anywhere else, except in bed, and having fun on stage in London means having more fun than anywhere else. I did The Prisoner of Second Avenue at the Theatre Royal Haymarket for six months in 1999 and I was going to do The Producers in 2004, but I was let go from that.

My motivation for doing this play, Complicit, stemmed from Kevin Spacey saying, “Richard, when you’re at your deathbed are you going to regret not having done this?” And I said,

Fortunately for us, John Malkovich is an open book when asked to discuss his latest reading habits

N

ATSUO Kirino, a Japanese writer from the mid Fifties wrote disturbing mysteries – I would say murder mysteries – that are very creepy, mostly because she can make things up that are unimaginably violent or disturbing. She describes these murders in an almost hypernormal way. Out is probably my favourite book of hers. The other one I like is Grotesque, although it appeared to me that it suffered a little during its English translation. I’ve

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There is nothing positive to be said about Lenin – at least, not in my mind – except that he is dead

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Kevin Spacey is resting

SPRING 2009

FQR Art

F

RANCESCO Vezzoli is best known for his use of needlework in portraits of celebrities which are simultaneously beautiful and disturbing. His obsession with high and low culture – he draws inspiration especially from cinema and advertising – led his work to evolve into film. He has had many international shows in some of the most important contemporary museums including the New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York. His work has also

SPRING 2009

been exhibited twice at the Venice Biennale and once at the Whitney Biennial. Both Biennials are considered the most influential, progressive and forward-thinking of the lot.

Vezzoli works in various media including film and language. For his most recent show at the Gagosian Gallery in Rome, he created his own scent called Greed, A Fragrance by Francesco Vezzoli accompanied by a faux advertisement. In the above work of mixed

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media he imposes two images of Björn Andrésen as Tadzio from Death in Venice onto a portrait in which the subject suspiciously gazes back at its viewer. Tadzio simultaneously represents a gay pinup and symbol of youth, seemingly descending in teardrops from Vezzoli’s eyes. FQR loves the juxtaposition of the glossy surface of youthful perfection and the sombre reality of loss of innocence.

– Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis

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