Finch's Quarterly Review Issue 4

Issue 4: Summer 2009

£10

Finch’s

uarterly Review

Ecce, mundus est Sharon Stone’s Nic Roeg Cannes Postcard on dying bafflingly pg 9 pg 4

sordidus et olidus, sed etiam habet multas res smashingae

Johan Eliasch John Malkovich Matthew Modine designs his own clothes on inclusiveness pg 26 pg 19

owns his own rainforest pg 14

Lucy Liu Sydney Picasso Jeff Koons on canvas on meeting Miro on Kirkegaard pg 28 pg 28 pg 29

A Life Less Ordinary

While celebrating legends in and beyond their lifetimes, Nick Foulkes praises individuality in a sea of homogeneity and the fact that there’s never a dull moment at Finch’s Quarterly Review

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ne of the things that has amazed me about the “current economic crisis” – and I can’t tell you how sick I am of hearing those three words – is the unfolding revelation of just how many very banal people made huge amounts of money.

Back in the good old days (whenever they were), money men were meant to be sober-sided individuals, the Captain Mainwarings of life: “risk-averse”, as they say in financialese – or dull, as we say at FQR. They were not gods; they were men, and rather unremarkable ones at that.

One of the very few things I remember from my studies of our beautiful language and its literature is Samuel Johnson’s definition of a stockjobber as “a low wretch who gets money by buying and selling shares”. Hardly a noble calling, then.

And yet in the past 20 years or so these “low wretches” have assumed a Nietzschean status in our society. Take disgraced financier Sir Fred Goodwin, just one of the many pantomime villains of the financial conflagration. I saw a picture of him at a day’s shooting and he looked so, well, normal. He had none of the flamboyance with which I like to associate shooting. Instead, he evinced all the sartorial flair of… sorry to be so blunt… a suburban bank manager. And yet our society has conspired to reward these very ordinary men, to heap cash and honours upon them until they can be quite forgiven for getting a little bit above their station and thinking that they were superior to the forces of nature, one of which is the old rule that what goes up has a habit of coming down.

Of course, we all like money, even we cerebral individuals who inhabit the lofty moral and intellectual plane of life at FQR. In fact, we like money a lot, as it buys us the trinkets that divert us from pondering the futility of existence and, on the whole, the presence of the folding stuff makes the journey from cradle to grave more comfortable

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environment than John Thain, former CEO of Merrill Lynch, who is said to have dropped $1.2m on sprucing up the office in early 2008.

Thain was probably spending too much time looking at curtains and antiques to spare much attention for the collapsing financial markets. he recent period of decadence flouted Plato’s law of the relative ratio of affluence with an almost obscene blatancy and now it would appear that the gods have decided their tithe is somewhat overdue. One of the lessons we can take is a rather trite one – that much as we like money and the things it can buy us, we must be careful not to let it stand in the way of our dreams.

Look at Plato; he may have been born into a posh Athenian family and he could have pursued a life of Fred Goodwin-like indulgence, but instead he chose to hang out with Socrates.

Together with Theaetetus he started something called the Academy (for all I know, he might have given the first Academy Awards); and we are still talking about him over 2,000 years later. In short, the guy is a legend.

So in this issue we have assembled our own little pantheon of legends and whether people, places or things, they represent the triumph of individuality over conventional wisdom.

A couple of years ago my friend, art dealer Fabien Fryns, told me about his latest discovery.

Fabien has introduced some of the major Chinese artists to Western collectors, in fact Fabien is something of an individual himself, but back to his discovery; I was expecting to hear about yet another unpronouncible Chinese painter. Instead, he told me the story of Larry Schiller, who, it seemed, had photographed the American 1960s in its entirety: Kennedy, King, Newman, Redford, Monroe and, my favourite Schiller, the one above of Tippi Hedren and Hitch himself in a typical cameo as the backseat driver. Fabien understood

than it might be. Plato recognised this well enough and, in his Laws (think John Grisham in sandals and a chiton) he accepted that some men would always be better off than others, arriving at the slightly Orwellian conclusion that each man “by a law of inequality, which will be in proportion to his wealth… will receive honours and offices as equally as possible, and there will be no quarrels and disputes”.

It takes a classical scholar of the rigour and intellect of London Mayor Boris Johnson to fully understand what the old Greek was getting at, but even I can get the gist of Plato’s notion that “the legislator” should determine the basic unit of wealth and “permit a man to acquire double or triple, or as much as four times the amount of this”. Any more, however, and he must “give back the surplus to the state, and to the gods who are the patrons of the state”. In giving up the excess, “he shall suffer no penalty or loss of reputation; but if he disobeys this our law anyone who likes may inform against him and receive half the value of the excess, and the delinquent shall pay a sum equal to the excess out of his own property, and the other half of the excess shall belong to the gods”.

It is worth reflecting that if Plato were in charge of Great Britain and his wealth ratio of 4:1 were enshrined in law, Sir Fred’s pension pot of £16m would mean that the rest of us would receive a minimum of £4m. Or, if it is true to say that from 1993 until 2007, Dick Fuld of Lehman Brothers received half a billion dollars, then the humblest hamburger flipper would have made 125 million bucks in the same period, albeit without having to cope with the stress of running a generations-old multibillion-dollar business into the ground. And I would hazard a guess that the workplace of the average chef de cuisine in Mr McDonald’s eponymous restaurants spends less on his workplace

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that it was time for Schiller to shine again.

I have met Larry with Fabien and I am pretty sure that both of them would make Charles’s Maverick List. One of the most individual people I have yet to meet is the mother of our features editor. If you were German during the 1980s and going to a certain sort of party the chances are that you would have bumped into Gloria von Thurn und Taxis, a party girl whose sobriquet, an acronymic shortening of her name, TNT, said all you needed to know. But then, just to confound us all, this former cynosure of the international set became une femme sérieuse… but not too sérieuse, as she reveals when she writes about her groupie-like crush on the artist who I believe is called Prince again.

And on a personal note, as a young man I modelled my hat-wearing on David Bowie in The Man Who Fell To Earth, so I am thrilled that the maker of that epoch-defining film, Nic Roeg explains how to go about becoming a legend.

Apparently, it requires a baffling death.

In fact, this issue of FQR positively brims with legends. We have Prince Alfonso Hohenlohe’s legendary medallion photographed on a powerboat out at sea in front of the legendary Marbella buffet with its legendary chocolate mousse. Sticking to the waves, New Wave legend Debbie Harry offers vital tips on pop stardom. We sneak a peek at Fulco di Verdura’s legendary jewellery and sup on Maya Even’s legendary fish soup, bouillabaisse. If you can’t face cooking it yourself, next time you are in Cannes (about which Hollywood legend Sharon Stone writes) simply head off to the legendary Tétou, and if you have trouble getting a table, drop the name of our very own in-house legend Charles Finch. That’s quite a lotta legends and certainly enough for one paragraph.

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

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The Prologue

Despite being a MySpace and Facebook virgin, Nick Foulkes, editorial director of FQR, toasts his future in Twitter and tweed – together with his surefire fame on finchsquarterlytv.com Contents

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riday night at Mark’s Club, the claret had been decanted, the crab dressed, the shrimp potted etc etc ‌ It was, as Ian Fleming put it in his 1955 novel Moonraker, “a sparkling sceneâ€? with everyone “at ease with themselves and their surroundings, all stimulated by the peerless food and drinkâ€?.

And, boy, did we need some “peerless food and drink�.

It had been a long week: I had had some particularly fatiguing fittings in Naples; Charles, severely jet-lagged, had just returned from a state visit to Hollywood; and Tristram was piling into the martinis with a briskness that belied some inner turmoil. Then, Ă propos of really rather little, Charles put down the knife and fork with which he was laying waste to an excellent lobster salad and, above the susurrus of conversation, announced that he planned to “build a Twitterbased organisationâ€?.

You could have knocked me down with a bit of swan’s down (Napoleon, I believe, favoured dressing gowns of swan’s down). I nearly choked on my sauce Choron. Tristram expectorated the olive from his martini. It is exactly this sort of pronouncement that makes working for Charles so amusing. Having made a moderate success of a quarterly newspaper (after all, this is the fourth issue in more or less than a year and, on the whole, people are kind enough to say they like it), Charles, looking for new worlds to conquer, plainly felt that cyberspace was ripe for the plucking.

I think I now know how Napoleon Bonaparte’s marshals must have felt when their leader announced that, today, he felt like invading Russia – all of it – or that he no longer fancied taking gardening leave on Elba but rather liked the idea of hopping into a dinghy with a handful of grenadiers and a few Polish lancers, reconquering France, unseating Louis XVIII, and then taking on the combined forces of all the countries that had forced him out a year or so earlier.

The thing is that once the words were out of Charles’s mouth, I was convinced, despite the fact that I have never Twittered or MySpaced and that I don’t even have a Facebook. You see, Charles possesses the enviable power of plausibility. Put simply, he has that mixture of charisma and persuasiveness that enables him to sell you your own body parts and convince you that in so doing he is giving you the best deal since the freehold of the island of Manhattan was exchanged for a couple of handfuls of beads.

My usual views about the interweb, the information dual carriageway and what I believe in America is technically known as the entire “digital enchiladaâ€? is that, on the whole, it is best left to young people with poor dress sense. Until now, I have tended towards the opinion that soignĂŠ middle-aged men with an interest in backgammon, bespoke tailoring, handmade shoes, Cuban cigars and lobster cocktails haven’t really got enough time (or energy, after all those fittings) to go around “pokingâ€? people on the Facebook.

But, as it happened, the “Twitter-based organisation� was only the starting point of what appeared to be a global strategy to unseat Google

The Summer Quarter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3 Sharon Stone on Cannes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Cannes: Pick of the flicks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Adam Dawtrey on the star system . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Adam Dawtrey’s top 10 legendary films . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Nicolas Roeg on living and dying a legend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Larry Schiller: Marilyn and my other American icons . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 and 11 Fabien Fryns on re-discovering Larry Schiller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Princess Gloria von Thurn und Taxis on meeting her Prince (the artist known as ...) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Alexander von SchÜnburg on royals marrying for love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Debbie Harry on saving the planet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Johan Eliasch explains why he bought his own rainforest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Roberto Bolle’s life-changing trip to Sudan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 FQRk the system, Nick Foulkes on revolutionary style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .16 Tom Stubbs on why he likes his shades . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Nick Foulkes on the Medallion Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 John Malkovich explains what style means to him . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 FQR Casting Couch with Alice Eve . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Harry Herbert on winning the Epsom Derby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Charles Finch has a spring in his stride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 and 23 Kate Lenahan’s Travel Confidential . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 FQR’s shoes for the summer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Tim Jefferies’ tips on fatherhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 FQR’s Quarterly Report: the parties and the pics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Matthew Modine on America's divisiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Harry Fane celebrates the legendary Verdura . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Maya Even gives FQR her tips for bouillabaisse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Sydney Picasso meets Joan Miró . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28 Lucy Liu describes her passion for painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28 Jeff Koons on inspiration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29 Julian Sands on Pinter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30 Michael White on theatre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30 FQR Art exclusive: Gavin Turk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31 Proprietor’s Spouse: Sydney Ingle-Finch Chief Executive: Charles Finch Editorial Director: Nick Foulkes Creative Director: Tristram Fetherstonhaugh Contributing editors: Vicki Reeve, Tom Stubbs, Kevin Spacey, Emma Thompson Liberal at Large: Matthew Modine Literary Editor: John Malkovich Managing Editor: Felicity Harrison Features Editor: Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis Travel Editor: Kate Lenahan Cookery Editor: Maya Even Racing Correspondent: The Hon. Harry Herbert Advertising: Jonathan Sanders Financial Director: Adam Bent

Designed and produced by Fetherstonhaugh Associates (www.fetherstonhaugh.com).

Printed in England by CTD. 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 issue: September 2009. All advertising enquiries should be sent for the attention of Jonathan Sanders: jonathan@finchandpartners.com +44 (0)20 7851 7140.

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and YouTube inter alia. As Charles saw it, there was “a real value� in letting people know – through the magic of Twittering – that, for instance, I happened to be in Dresden or Geneva. Quite how this “real value� would manifest itself would doubtless become apparent in due course. And then, once fully “Twittered�, we would move seamlessly into internet television, where I would have my own show.

This was the scenario that Charles propounded. And we were spellbound, Tristram by now ordering his martinis in a pint glass, so as to enable him to concentrate better. I began to feel a little nervous. Given that I was days away from becoming the interweb’s answer to David Frost or Larry King, I thought I had better do a bit of “surfing� and so, once I had polished off my cigar on Mark’s cigar terrace, I returned home to look at YouTube. aving perused the usual rubbish – newsreels of dictators addressing rallies, home-made films of Americans discharging automatic shotguns and so on – I set my mind to the task in hand and looked for guidance on how to comport myself on the small screen. First up was a video of Charles himself in an aeroplane above the Russian steppes with Kevin Spacey – if you haven’t seen it, I urge you to check it out, as it gives an accurate portrayal of the mayhem from which FQR is born. But given that Charles is barely audible over the aircraft noise and Spacey’s interpolations, I could glean little of use on TV technique. Next, I turned to James Mason and came across a wonderful advertisement he fronted for Thunderbird wine. Sadly, I no longer drink, so I could only take his word for Thunderbird’s unique flavour. I then moved quickly along to that veteran TV personality Bertrand Russell, who I found jabbering incoherently about philosophy – way above my head, I am afraid.

Eventually, I think I hit upon a model for my online TV persona: George Bernard Shaw. In a vintage clip from the 1920s we see him strolling along a garden path in his plus fours, Norfolk jacket and beard, and stopping in poorly feigned surprise when he comes across a camera crew from the Movietone news. There is more ham in this utterly charming piece of black-and-white film than Bayonne, Parma and San Daniele put together, but in it I saw the beginnings of something.

As I mentioned earlier, the interweb seems to be dominated by poorly dressed young people; Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg was seen wandering around Davos wearing a tie with jeans and a jerkin. What dear old GBS opened my eyes to was the chronic paucity of tweed on the web, a deficiency that, in my role as “anchorperson� of finchsquarterlytv.com, it will be my mission to correct.

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FQR is printed on 100 per cent post-consumer recycled paper; we pledge to plant

20 trees.

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Summer Quarter the

Finch’s World

friends will be there. Besides, any excuse to be in Venice is good enough (the only downside is that it’s steaming hot).

The Prada Transformer building’s first transformation, Seoul, 26 June. Witness this OMA/Rem Koolhaas-designed building being physically lifted up, flipped over and put down again to kick-start and host a month-long film programme selected by Alejandro Gonzålez Iùårritu (Babel, 21 Grams, Amores Perros). Fusing fashion, luxury, art, architecture and film – this has it all.

Oona Finch Turns Three, San Lorenzo, London, 23 July. Move over, Meryl Streep, our proprietor’s daughter will take centre stage at this Mamma Mia!-themed soirÊe.

Bayreuth Festival, 25 July–28 August.

With legendary acoustics in Wagner’s authentic hometown, prepare for an exploration of timeless themes in Wagner’s epic Ring Cycle.

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The 52nd Antiquarian Book Fair, Olympia, London, 4–6 June. At 52, it’s older than some of the books up for grabs, but the world’s oldest established book fair is a must for bookworms who might lose the plot over illuminated manuscripts or first editions of Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Harry Potter.

The Raisa Gorbachev Gala Event, Hampton Court, London, 6 June.

Immerse yourself in a Russian midsummer fantasy. The ensuing vodka hangover should be sweetened by the knowledge that your efforts will aid the fight against child cancer.

Na zdorovie!

Cindy Sherman opening, Gagosian, Rome, 7 June. The Cindy Sherman circus moves from London to Rome in June. As you join the glitz and glamour that celebrates the work of one of todays’ hottest photographers, see if you can spot the chameleon artist herself.

Art Basel, Basel, 10–14 June. Art Basel hits middle age as it celebrates its 40th happening. But there are no signs of a midlife crisis.

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Restaurants Gourmet restaurant "Le Saint-Martin" "La Rôtisserie" Summer Grill "L’Oliveraie" Piano Bar

The Seventh Annual Snapple Big Apple Barbecue Block Party, Madison Square Park, New York, 13–14 June. All hail the sausage in a blanket! Who can argue against its simple beauty? Don’t eat before you get there‌ Whitney Art Party, New York, 17 June. Pretty as a picture, our very own Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis will join the international enfants dorÊs to rock while Whitney’s funds roll.

Venice Biennale – 53rd International Art Exhibition, Venice, 7 June–22 November. It ticks all boxes: lots of art, fabulous parties (if you need a reason to celebrate, cheer along Yoko Ono’s and John Baldessari’s Golden Lions for Lifetime Achievement awards) and all your

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51 Junior Suites and 6 private villas Heated overflow swimming pool Spa with La Prairie treatments Two clay tennis courts Helicopter pad

!VENUE DES 4EMPLIERS s 6ENCE Reservation s RESERVATION CHATEAU ST MARTIN COM s WWW CHATEAU ST MARTIN COM

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After 58 years, Wolfgang Wagner, grandson of Richard, steps aside as leader of the festival and makes way for his daughters, Katharina and Eva. Serpentine Summer Party, Kensington Gardens, London, 1 July.

Join the celebrities, fashionistas and the arterati alike as they mingle under a sparkling summer sky – or, if it’s inclement weather, huddle under the Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa-designed pavilion (their first built structure in the UK).

Montreux Jazz Festival, Montreux, 3– 18 July. Let loose at this legendary music festival (it’s no longer all about jazz) that mixes old-timers such as George Benson, Herbie Hancock and even Alice Cooper with younger stars including Black Eyed Peas, Underworld and Lily Allen in the most spectacular surroundings of Lake Geneva.

George Frideric Handel’s Theodora, Salzburg Festival, selected dates from 25 July (festival ends 30 August). Three reasons to see this beautiful opera: (1) the soprano Christine Schäfer; (2) 25 July is the opening night of, arguably, summer’s most glamorous music festival; (3) it is the 250th anniversary of Handel’s death.

Opening Night of A Streetcar Named Desire, The Wharf Theatre, Sydney, 1 September. Finding tickets may be a stretch, but who wouldn’t want to be the first to see Cate Blanchett tread the stage as the feisty yet fragile Southern belle Blanche DuBois?

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Theatre

Books

Art

Phèdre, by Jean Racine, Lyttelton Theatre, National Theatre, London, 4 June–2 August. Helen Mirren is set to shine in this dramatic tragedy in five acts. In a version by Ted Hughes, directed by Nicholas Hytner, expect carnage to unfold once Phèdre surrenders to her darkest desires for her stepson.

Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, Wyndham’s Theatre, London, 29 May–22 August. To end the Donmar season Michael Grandage will direct Jude Law as Hamlet in Shakespeare’s longest, and arguably most gripping, tragedy.

It Felt Like a Kiss, by Punchdrunk, Adam Curtis and Damon Albarn, Hardman Square, Manchester, 2–19 July. America in the Sixties transformed the world, and here Punchdrunk transforms a disused building for another haunting installation production.

Traverse across five storeys and be exposed to the sinister forces that veiled the American dream. Expect music and documentary footage set against the disorientating whirl of a fairground ghost train.

Romeo and Juliet, American Ballet Theatre, The Metropolitan Opera, New York, 7 and 11 July 2009. FQR’s Pro-Bono Pin-up, the elegant Roberto Bolle, teams up with radiant beauty Irina Dvorovenko to perform as the lovers in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s masterful interpretation of Shakespeare’s enduring romantic tragedy. This rich tapestry of sensual dance set to Sergei Prokofiev’s powerful score is a signature production for the American Ballet Theatre.

D-Day: The Battle of Normandy, Antony Beevor (Viking). In a brilliantly wellresearched account of an invasion of unprecedented size, this multiaward-winning author depicts a true and gripping experience of war.

Full English: A Journey through the British and their Eating Habits, Tom Parker-Bowles (Ebury Press). Food writer explores how British food lost its way.

Mary Queen of Scots, Antonia Fraser (Orion Publishing).

Royal followers should watch out for the special 40th-anniversary edition of Antonia Fraser’s bestselling biography of one of the most romantic and controversial figures in British history.

The Longest Climb: The Last Great Overland Quest, Dominic Faulkner (Virgin Books). A journey from the Dead Sea to the summit of Everest through Jordan, Syria, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan and India before embarking on a climb during which the team would risk their own lives to save another.

A Memoir: Friends and Acquaintances, Lady Annabel Goldsmith (Weidenfeld & Nicolson). A follow-up to her autobiography, this memoir provides intimate pen portraits of some of the figures that entered the Birley and Goldsmith circles – among them Lord Lambton, Patrick Plunket, John Aspinall, Geoffrey Keating, Lord Lucan, Dominic Elwes and Claus von Bßlow.

Isa Genzken,Whitechapel Gallery, London, until 21 June.

If you missed the spectacular German Pavilion at the Venice Biennale in 2007, seize this chance to see the first retrospective of one of the art world’s major players who draws influence from film, photography and architecture and welds them into her psychedelic and colourful sculptures.

La Force de l’Art 02, Grand Palais, Paris, April 24–June 1.

View a selection of influential and modern works of art made in France today. This triennial exhibition will showcase artists from all generations – the perfect way to get a better picture of what’s happening on the scene.

Abstract America: New Painting and Sculpture, Saatchi Gallery, London, 3 June–13 September.

Check out Kristin Baker’s explosive paintings that capture the thrill of a moment in time, the fetishistic elegance of Tom Burr’s sculpture or the representation of suburban mayhem in Dan Colen’s graffitied rocks, to name just three of the inspiring artists in the collection.

Corot to Monet: A fresh look at landscape from the Collection, The National Gallery, London, 8 July–20 September. This exhibition will trace the tradition of landscape painting which gave birth to Impressionism.

Ron Arad, MoMA, New York City, August 2–October 19. This will be the first major American retrospective of this influential designer. His pieces are both technologically baffling and breathtaking.

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FQR Cannes Focus

Charles Finch and Sharon Stone on the set of Where Sleeping Dogs Lie Los Angeles 1992

In the Cannes?

surviving disaster, bu t the death of Heath Ledger in midproduction topped any previous crisis in Gilliam’s career.

His solution was to draft in Colin Farre ll, Johnny Depp and Jude Law to pl ay three different av atars of Ledger’s Adam Dawtrey focu character. Brilliant, bonkers, or both? ses on some big-nam W e’ll find out at Cannes when this sc e reens out of compe films expected at th tition.

Thirst Korean auteu is year’s festival r Park Chan-wook attempts to prove that horror belongs in the rarefied atmos Antichrist (pictured ph ) A couple of years ere of the Palme d’Or race, with this ago, Danish provoc tale of a priest who Trier swore never ag ateur Lars von aft tu rn ain to premiere his ed into a vampire er a medical experim films at major festiv terrible tease, so of ent goes wrong. als. But he’s a Sp course he’s back at rin g Fever There’s alway Cannes this year wi It’s a kind of horror s one movie at Cann th Antichrist. or movie, with Willem es that titillates sh oc ks with its sexual shen D afo e and Charlotte Gain as a couple who ret anigans. Chinese au sbourg shot this reat to a cabin in th teur Lou Ye story of a teenage er e woods to recover of their baby. A cabi otic threesome in gr from the death bu n in the woods? How eat secrecy, t ru m ou r says it’s torrid stu foolish of them.

Das Weisse Band (T ff. he White Ribbon) Up St ar ting with a 3-D an Michael Haneke’s U his own Funny Ga imated Hollywood S remake of majo mes took the gloss blockbuster is a r de parture for Cannes, of f his shiny Euro ar reputation. He’ll be which normally prefe thouse the hell ou hoping to restore hi rs to depress t of its opening-nigh s lustre with The W about kids in a small t audience. But Up hite Ribbon, geria German villlage just , the story of tri c wh o ties thousands of before the First Wor Fish Tank Andrea balloons to his hous ld War. Arnold won the O fly , e co to make it m es from Pixar, which scar (2005) for her the Grand Jury prize specialises in rewriti short Wasp and W at Cannes for her fea ng ho the rules. else would make a ture debut Red Road can she sustain her kids’ movie with a (2006), so charac glittering promise 78 -y ea r-o ter ld lead ? wi th Fish Tank? It’s the troubled teenage gi story of a Tales Fr rl whose life is tra om nsformed when he the Golden Age 20 mother brings ho r 07 Palme d’Or winn me a new boyfrie Mungiu returns wi er Cristian nd, played by Michael Fassbende th a movie that pr omises to be a bit r, who made a big more splash at Cannes last year in Hunger. fun than his Taking Woodstock Ang Lee does th austerely e hippie hippie shake with a film about th br illiant e and crazy capers surroun ding the founding humanistic of the Woodstock music festival in abortion drama 4 1969, and a hot yo ung cast including Months, 3 Weeks Liev Schreiber, Em ile Hirsch and and 2 Days. Ta les Paul Dano.

From the Golden Ag e The Imaginariu m of delves into the surre al Doctor Parnassu s Terry and comic urba n Gilliam is a past mas ter at myths about life in late C om m un is t- pe ri od Romania.

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Summer 2009

FQR Legendary Movies

Make Mine a Legend

ET: The Extra Terrestrial The febrile atmosphere of Cannes intensifies the reaction to any movie, whether that’s love, hatred or just boredom. The world premiere of ET as the closing film of Cannes in 1982 was therefore a moment of the purest cinematic magic. Even when you know what’s coming, ET melts the stoniest heart, so imagine the impact upon an unsuspecting audience, tired and emotional from a week and a half in Cannes. Eye witnesses recall hundreds of hardened critics and industry types stumbling out onto the Croisette in a daze of tears.

Apocalypse Now Francis Ford Coppola torched half of the Philippines. Martin Sheen drove himself to a heart attack. Marlon Brando showed up so fat they had to shoot him entirely in shadow. Has there ever been a production whose grandiose folly so perfectly mirrored its subject matter? Apocalypse Now embodies the narcissism of the American empire in the late 20th century.

Casablanca The potboiler that became a masterpiece. Sometimes a work of art becomes so ubiquitous that it’s impossible to see the original clearly past all its accumulated cultural resonances.

Casablanca belongs in that category alongside Hamlet, Pride and Prejudice, the Mona Lisa and Michelangelo’s David. It’s so packed with memorable lines and iconic performances that you forget to ask whether the plot makes sense. The story that Ronald Reagan was first choice to play Rick is a favourite Hollywood legend that’s probably not true, but it perfectly expresses the accidental nature of the film’s brilliance.

Caligula The legend of Caligula is that rogue producer Bob Guccione of Penthouse fame inserted hardcore sex scenes, unbeknownst to his illustrious cast, which included Peter O’Toole, John Gielgud, Helen Mirren and Malcolm McDowell. They supposedly thought that it was a conventional historical epic. The truth is far more complex, intriguing and opaque. Director Tinto Brass was well known for erotica, and the script by Gore Vidal was always chockful of sex. Guccione did shoot extra footage, featuring his Penthouse pets, but this only replaced equally explicit sex action shot by Brass. The film was four years in the making under a strict press blackout, and everyone fell out with everyone else, so all sorts of myths proliferated. Numerous versions were produced by various editors, but no single definitive print exists. The whole history of the movie is shrouded with litigation. The only thing on which most people agree is that the story of its making is far more interesting than the movie itself.

It’s a Wonderful Life Is it just me, or is It’s a Wonderful Life the most depressing movie ever made? Its reactionary message seems to be: don’t aspire to a better life, just be grateful that things aren’t a whole lot worse.

Somehow, generations have lapped this up as the ultimate expression of the Christmas spirit. To which the only possible response is, “Bah humbug”.

Cleopatra Until Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End came along, Cleopatra was the most expensive film ever made, adjusted for inflation. Originally budgeted at $2m, it ended up costing $44m, equivalent to about $295m in today’s money, which nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox. Liz Taylor, who met her two-times husband Richard Burton on the shoot, was paid the equivalent of $47m.

Considering how much was at stake, perhaps the most remarkable fact is that director Joe Mankiewicz never had an actual shooting script, but pretty much made it up with the actors as they went along. Peter Finch, father of our own dear Charles, was the original Julius Caesar, but left to fulfil other commitments when the first attempt to mount the production in London failed. The financial disaster forced Fox to sell off its back lot, in a move regarded by some Hollywood historians as the beginning of the end for the old studio system.

Saturday Night Fever The film that inspired men everywhere to dance badly at weddings. Everyone remembers John Travolta in his dazzling white suit, busting moves to the Bee Gees. Everyone forgets just how raw and dark Saturday Night Fever actually is. It was a blockbuster in 1977, but today this would be an arthouse movie. It’s still magnificent, though, with Travolta almost unbearably beautiful in his first sylph-like incarnation.

The Magnificent Ambersons Citizen Kane may top the all-time polls, but its successor, The Magnificant Ambersons, has a greater claim to legend. Masterpiece though it is, the movie is merely a shadow of the film Orson Welles wanted to make.

The studio removed an hour of his material and tacked on a happy ending. In our imagination, it’s the greatest film never made.

The Godfather: Parts I and II The films that introduced us to De Niro and Pacino, brought Brando back from self-indulgent decline, gave us a host of macho catchphrases, created an equine myth about how Sinatra got his break, and ascribed a tragic grandeur to the Mafia that it scarcely deserved.

Blade Runner Few movies have spawned so many imitators – and so many different director’s cuts. A legendary victim of test screenings, Blade Runner was dumbed down and jollied up after preview audiences demanded to know what the hell that was all about. Ridley Scott has taken several chances since then to restore his original vision.

summer 2009

Mything in Action Why ruin a good story by telling it as it actually happened? Adam Dawtrey on the real business of Hollywood – manufacturing legends

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white-haired Jimmy Stewart has just finished telling how it was really John Wayne, not himself, who shot the gunslinger Lee Marvin all those years ago. The newspaper reporter tears up his notes.

“You’re not going to use the story, Mr Scott?” asks Stewart. “This is the West, sir,” replies the hack. “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

So ends John Ford’s seminal oater The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, with a line that sums up everything you need to know about Hollywood.

Manufacturing legends is Hollywood’s business. It’s a factory for rewriting the truth, a task it performs more effectively and enthusiastically than anyone since a playwright from Stratford-upon-Avon traduced a perfectly good Scottish king and his charming wife, just because he thought his version of the story would play better in the cheap seats.

Hollywood sells us history as it should have been, not as it was. Prince Albert never threw himself heroically in the way of an assassin’s bullet to protect his young bride, as we witnessed recently in The Young Victoria.

In fact, the gun misfired, or possibly wasn’t even loaded.

Filmmakers always claim they have a dramatic licence for taking such liberties, but they never reveal which form you fill out to get one.

But above all, Hollywood is devoted to mythologising itself.

Just as every model is a supermodel and condoms come in no size smaller than large, so every director is an auteur, and every executive a mogul. There are no actors, only stars, and if we are to believe the branding on DVD box sets, an implausibly high proportion of those qualify as legends. All you have to do is stick around for a while or, alternatively, die young, and it seems your place in the pantheon is assured.

Yet in this, as in many other respects, Hollywood has become a pale shadow of its former self. When everyone’s a legend, the term is devalued. The studios are no longer the fiefdoms of the maverick moguls who writ their names large above the portals, but are run by accountants on behalf of global conglomerates. The filmmakers find it easier to borrow their myths from comic books than to create new ones.

And as for today’s stars – the likes of Cruise and Hanks, Smith and Crowe, Pitt and Clooney – they may be admirable fellows, but they simply don’t have that monumental, Mount Rushmore quality of Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne or Katharine Hepburn. At least, not yet.

So is there anyone left alive and working today who truly deserves to be called a legend? The American Film Institute ducked the question with its list of Hollywood’s 50 greatest screen legends, by including only those stars whose careers began in or before 1950, or after 1950 “but whose death has marked a completed body of work”, as if to acknowledge that such status must be earned over many decades, and is only cemented after death.

It’s hard for any mortal who still walks among us and swaps badinage with Jay Leno to achieve the mythic aura of a

demigod. Familiarity breeds contempt. These days we know too much, and are far too cynical about the foibles of our silverscreen idols.

Legends breed in the blank places on the map, where ignorance leads cartographers to inscribe, “Here be dragons”.

The Hollywood stars of old were such mythical beasts, created by the public imagination out of insufficient evidence. The studio system fed gossip to the fan magazines and the scandal rags, but it was almost all untrue, a classic conjuror’s trick of misdirection which preserved the magical mystery of who these people really were.

Clint Eastwood, who received an honorary Palme d’Or in Paris three months before the start of this year’s Cannes Film Festival (filming commitments in South Africa prevent him from attending the festival proper), may be one of the last survivors to carry the mantle of legend comfortably upon his shoulders. Like John Wayne, he created a screen persona and played riffs upon it for his entire career, never giving the audience more than a tantalising glimpse beyond the mask. Eastwood has only magnified his mystery by revealing himself as a filmmaker of a subtlety and sensitivity that’s at odds with his Dirty Harry image. For all that we have come to know about him, Eastwood is ultimately still The Man with No Name.

Robert De Niro has something of the same aura about him, maybe Al Pacino too. The late Paul Newman undoubtedly had it – a screen icon with a vast hinterland beyond Hollywood. It’s debatable whether the same is true of Robert Redford.

Although he occasionally scaled the heights as an actor and a director, and still presides over America’s most important film festival, his lustre has gradually faded. It’s as though the Sundance Kid embodied the golden glow of youth, and his radiance, unlike that of Butch Cassidy, hasn’t survived the ageing process.

Of the younger generation, Will Smith has a messianic streak, judging from his choice of roles, but proclaiming “I Am Legend” doesn’t make it true. Brad Pitt and George Clooney, by contrast, seem just too determined to remain part of the human race, despite looks and talent that would qualify them for Olympus. It’s much to their credit, but doesn’t make for myth. ut wait. Who’s that unapproachable goddess on Brad’s arm? Angelina Jolie, with her enigmatic and ever so slightly disdainful half-smile, radiates the aura of a biblical queen. For all the attention lavished upon her by the media, she remains ultimately unfathomable and utterly terrifying. Her glacial reserve on the red carpet contrasts with the desperate neediness displayed by virtually every other female celebrity who begs attention with her latest questionable couture experiment. It also conflicts intriguingly with the emotional rawness of Jolie’s performances in movies such as Changeling and A Mighty Heart. A legend must give and withhold at the same time. Jolie achieves that magnificently.

Johnny Depp is another who may have the chops for the pantheon. His creative choices are so brilliantly, eccentrically bold. What other star of his stature takes such inspired risks?

Is there another leading man who so rarely plays a straight romantic or heroic role? The last time he put in anything that could be termed a conventional performance was probably Chocolat, almost a decade ago (and how boring was that?). By living in France and working almost exclusively in Europe, he has cultivated an elusive quality that feeds his mystique.

Legends, whether they are stars or stories, have to embody just enough truth to be plausible, not so much that they become prosaic. In these days of information overload, that’s a hard trick to pull off. Hollywood ain’t what it used to be, but at its best it still shows us a mythic world as we would like it to be, and convinces us that it might just be true.

– Adam Dawtrey is FQR’s film critic

There are no actors, only stars

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Antonio Stradivari, 1720

WAIT.

www.girard-perregaux.com

GIRARD-PERREGAUX 1966 Indicators of the date, the day of the week, the month and the moon phases. Girard-Perregaux automatic mechanical movement. Pink gold case.

Sapphire back.

FQR Legends

HITS & MYTHS

Many of FQR’s celebrated Mavericks have it. But how do they get it? Nic Roeg investigates the achievement of legendary status

“A

legend in his own lifetime.” David Bowie is the only person I have heard about, known or worked with who would qualify for that seeming compliment. I say “seeming” compliment because it has been used in many ways, from innocent praise to supercilious arrogant disdain. Personally, in David’s case, I hope it sticks in the form of the first description.

But it is a very vulnerable state and can only really be guaranteed by the quality of awesome and eternal unique admiration (whatever that is) when you are no longer here to feel happy or sad about positive or negative opinion.

The fact is that legends are made up by the living and have a wonderful mythic state both of fact and fiction – good and evil, religious and otherworldly. I heard the other day that Bernard Shaw said he would trade every portrait and painting of religious Christian events and saints by every great artistic master for one photograph of Jesus.

I think it is going to be more and more difficult to become a legend as we now know it because of the overwhelming ability to communicate, as well as store facts about everyone’s private life – not only our movements, but even our secret thoughts. Any form of conversation that has a sense of creative originality is almost immediately passed on in some blog form or another and before you know it, in days, even hours, you are

Sarah Bernhardt

David Bowie on the set of The Man Who Fell to Earth

hearing what you thought was a private and original observation coming back to you over the internet in practically the same literal form.

At the turn of the last century there was a very famous French actress called Sarah Bernhardt, who lived from 1844 to 1923. A crucial time, as it turned out, for the arts. And, as it happens, it was also a critical time for the idea of a life taking on legendary status.

Sarah’s life and work had been the centre of a depth of adulation hardly ever given to an actor; she had come to epitomise the age. Her affairs and love life came to be enjoyed and celebrated publicly. She was known, or thought, to be the mistress of many of the leading aristocrats of the time, as well as the King of Poland. She had been challenged to a duel, or maybe it was she who had made the challenge.

I know there is some truth in this because I knew her grandson and he showed me her personal duelling pistols.

All this, her historic and cultural importance, was founded on her mesmeric performances as an actress, the like of which had never been seen and will probably never be seen again. She had had such adulation and praise that she came to believe in the truth of every compliment paid her, probably not completely out of vanity, but more from the constancy of old friends. Ah, sadly, then

came the trap of time in fickle flattery… For the joy and awe of future generations she was encouraged to make a silent film of one of her great triumphs, L’Aiglon is a play about the teenage son of Bonaparte in which she played the doomed young boy. At the time she was close to 60 and had also lost one leg. Well, it is wonderful to watch now as an historic document of the performing arts; it puts reality into context. It is also a rather cautionary film for those who believe there is an embedded right and wrong way of doing things, rather than a right way and another way of doing everything.

Sarah was a “legend in her own lifetime” but, apart from being an interesting and popular figure, can never hold the mythic status of a legend. That one short silent film locked her in her own time, taking away her mystery for the future.

Legends either come to glory after death, or, if they are on the brink of becoming legendary before they die, they must die in the aura of unexplained bafflement and wonder on the part of their contemporaries.

Biographical movies about legendary characters are really quite difficult to make or write, except in the broadest terms, generally with the details of incidental or intimate moments of their lives either left out, exaggerated or fictionalised.

I remember when I was working on Lawrence

Legends must die in the aura of unexplained bafflement and wonder

A Roeg’s Life

English director and cinematographer Nicolas Roeg made his mark in the world of cinema for directing Seventies classics including Walkabout (1971), Don’t Look Now (1973) and The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976). He continued to build his career with Eureka (1983), The Witches (1990), Two Deaths (1995) and, more recently, Puffball (2007). He was a camera operator for parts of Lawrence of Arabia (1962) and was DOP on The Masque of the Red Death (1964).

summer 2009

of Arabia, I was shooting the second unit in Morocco and I thought I’d swat up on Lawrence’s life to see if there was anything in The Seven Pillars of Wisdom or any other accounts of the battles or raids in Arabia that might inspire a shot or two. And then I came upon Richard Aldington’s book Lawrence of Arabia, which is subtitled A Biographical Enquiry. It virtually exploded the image of the man we were shooting a movie about. In the forward to the book Aldington says it is primarily an analysis of the career of Lawrence “The Man of Action” and the establishment and growth of the Lawrence legend. He goes on to say that as he came to research it, he found that The Man of Action was not as significant as is generally supposed and the legendary stories were largely Lawrence’s own inventions. hen I mentioned this to David Lean one day, he said, “Oh well, Nic, we’re not making a film about that book’s Lawrence and no one else will, either. ‘Our’ Lawrence is what he has become.” He was absolutely right, of course. After someone has been reborn as a legend, that legendary status will stick and no matter how much research and proof is found to refute it, nothing will change. In fact, all that proof will only sound like sour grapes.

Unfortunately, because of our “information society”, the actions, lifestyle and behaviour of anyone whom we believe will become a legend in the future is being recorded and it is very difficult to keep our secret life a secret. However, legends will still form around some individuals and, if I were to predict the unpredictable, I would say Bowie is on the right road and heading in the right direction.

W

The photograph is of me in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern, where a large mixed-media installation piece by the French artist Dominique GonzalezFoerster takes up half the space. As part of it, clips from sci-fi movies are projected onto a large screen.

The clip in the photograph is taken from Bowie’s first entrance as Thomas Jerome Newton in The Man Who Fell to Earth. Is this a tiny step towards..?

Roeg is recognised for his use of the ‘cut-up’ technique, where a linear narrative is given a new meaning as a story unfolds in a semi-coherent way, only making full sense when vital information is revealed in the final moments of the film. He is also applauded for the unique foreboding atmosphere in his films. The three-minute love-making scene between Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland in Don’t Look Now was considered one of the most explicit, honest and raw sexual scenes of its day.

photo: © Harriett Harper

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FQR American Legends

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hotographer Larry Schiller was “just a kid in his twenties” when he was contracted by Paris Match to shoot Marilyn Monroe on location for Something’s Got to Give. As he arrived on set for “just another job” he could not have predicted his part in a moment of film history – Marilyn’s risqué poolside skinny dip.

Marilyn was said to have been furious with her studio for paying Cleopatra (see page 7)star Elizabeth Taylor a great deal more than she was getting for Something’s Got to Give, as well as being frustrated that Taylor was dominating the headlines for her affair with Richard Burton. During the shoot for Something’s Got to Give Marilyn whispered to Larry, “What do you think would happen if I dived into the pool in my swimsuit but came out naked?” Schiller quickly retorted that she was already famous but if they pulled it off (no pun intended), it would certainly put him on the map. Then came the twist – Marilyn’s contractual condition for any magazine to publish the photos was that Elizabeth Taylor could not feature in the pages of the same issue.

Her stunt worked and striking images of a scantily clad, carefree yet coy Marilyn trumped Taylor; Life’s 1962 June edition ran Marilyn on the cover with tagline “A skinny dip you’ll never see on the screen”. Two months later Marilyn died, making the images even more poignant. Schiller went on to capture the people and the events that shaped the 1960s.

If Schiller’s definition of a legend holds true – someone who continuously gives you an emotional experience that you didn’t expect to have – then the American Icons collection confirms his own legendary status.

– Felicity Harrison is FQR’s managing editor American Icons: The Master Platinum Prints can be purchased at Asprey (+44 (0)20 7493 6767)

Sophia Loren on Oscar night (1962)

Schiller’s Thrillers Bobby Kennedy “He had the ability to communicate to anyone on any level in any level of society – a king, queen, murderer or rapist.” (1968)

Paul Newman “He drank beer all day and sweated it out (in a sweat tank) all night.” (1968)

Dennis Hopper “When I met him he had already submerged himself in his own myth.” (1970)

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Beijing-based gallery owner and Chinese art collector Fabien Fryns tells how he relaunched the irrepressible Larry Schiller as an art photographer How did you meet Larry Schiller?

I came to China five years ago after discovering Chinese art and that’s where I met Larry. I had met him a few times at art fairs in China. He seemed very passionate about collecting Chinese art.

How did you become friends?

One day, over the phone and internet from LA, he purchased a work from me. He thought he had bought it cheap, and I thought he had offered too much money. Just after the deal was sealed, we realised that Larry had, for once, made a mistake and bought Shanghai Family Tree by Zhang Huan instead of an earlier and more valuable work by the same artist entitled Family Tree. He apologised profusely and offered to pay me some money to make up for the cancellation of the deal. I had no problem cancelling the deal but refused to take any money off him for this honest mistake. It was very gentlemanly of him to offer compensation, and I think that he thought it was very gentlemanly of me to flat out refuse compensation.

From then on, our relationship changed and we became very good friends. It was on a visit to LA shortly after that he invited me over for dinner to his house. That night, he pulled out the Marilyn negatives and asked me, with that spark in his eyes, “Do you think these have any value and could they be of interest to collectors?” As if he needed me to tell him the obvious! It was a moment I will never forget. Of course, he had published some of them in magazines such as Paris Match and Life magazine, but they had never made any footprints as they were not intended as artistic photographs at the time but, rather, journalistic ones. I was blown away by them.

Larry is a passionate contemporary art collector. Is his collection mainly of Chinese art?

As it stands now, yes. It also includes some art from Vietnam and Malaysia. What’s more, Larry’s always bought art that would fit into his home size-wise, as he loves to enjoy the art on a daily basis and not have it in crates in storage, as is the case with so many other collectors. As far as I know, Larry has always been a collector and the fields of collecting have changed with his wives. The first wife has all the Chagalls and Impressionists, the second wife ended up with the Mexican and Southwestern art. It seems that his third wife, Kathy, will be the best off as she will end up with the Chinese collection!

How did he get interested in it?

His interest with art in general was sparked through his early photographic work for Life magazine taking pictures of artists.

His interest in Chinese art came about when the government-

owned CCTV [China Central Television] Channel 10 purchased his films for China and he was invited to visit Kunming. Bored, he stumbled upon an artist studio and purchased his first painting. It was by the artist Tang Zhigang, who was totally unknown outside Chinese art circles. This was in 2004, I think. Now Tang is a celebrated artist who will have a major show in a New York gallery in November this year.

How did you rediscover Larry Schiller as an artist?

The changes in time, the changes in the medium of photography, which only became an art form in the late Eighties and Nineties, were really responsible for that. So we decided to collaborate and publish the photographs as a series of fine art photography. In addition to that, Larry had a series of photographs that he had taken in the Sixties, which you might have seen – they were of Hollywood stars and political figures – and we decided to publish these alongside. I helped Larry produce the photographs, to find galleries and dealers and collectors worldwide. We had museum shows in China, we had gallery shows in Europe, America and Asia, so we were off to a flying start.

How is Larry taking all this belated artistic success?

Larry is taking the success in a very humble fashion. People who know Larry will laugh at the idea. But he never thought of himself as an artist and is very excited and flattered by the success of his Marilyn and Sixties photography series. He is very committed to helping young Chinese artists and I can tell you that he is a great teacher and has influenced and changed the lives of several of them. He has also been invited to lecture at art colleges in China, which he enjoys tremendously. My wife and I always joke that Larry never sleeps.

He is busier than ever, it seems, and the surprises never stop. On one trip to LA, he invited me for lunch with “a dear old friend”. In true Larry fashion, we had a very informal lunch with Norman Mailer. A few hours later, he took me to a private screening of another “old friend”, Al Pacino! Al Pacino was so excited to see Larry as he wanted him to advise him on his new movie project. The surprises just never stop with Larry.

– Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis is FQR’s Features Editor

He pulled out the Marilyn negatives and asked “Do you think these have any value?”

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Fabien Fryns with Larry Schiller’s friend Norman Mailer

Summer 2009

“She was the only actress I knew who could make the camera come.�

summer 2009

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FQR Rock ’n’ Royalty

The Princess & the Showguy A tale of how a princess met her Prince, by Gloria von Thurn und Taxis

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y friend Lamia Khashoggi first told me about Prince. She played me Purple Rain and said, “This is the sexiest man alive!” I liked it but, for my taste, the album wasn’t funky enough. I was, however, intrigued by his Jimi Hendrix-style guitar solos.

When I heard he and his band, The Revolution, were coming to Europe on tour, I found out that his manager was Steven Fargnoli. I called his office and asked to speak to him. “I’d like to meet you,” I said. (OK, I might have mentioned I was a princess from Germany…)

Arriving at Fargnoli’s hotel in Paris was exciting. There where a lot of women waiting for him and off we went in his limousine to the venue, where I chatted up the musicians as I met them. No sign of Prince. Fargnoli took us girls to the soundboard where we watched the show. It was amazing. I was mesmerised. I’d been going to rock concerts since I was 15, but this one-man show was unique. Prince was incredibly sexy and, although small of stature, had huge stage presence. He was also a superb and versatile guitarist, playing blow-away solos.

Everybody seemed equally hypnotised by this musical wonderman.

Back at the hotel, we were dying to know what Prince was up to later.

I learned that he never went to bed until early morning, and that he often liked to play an impromptu concert in some small nightclub for the lucky few who were there. Unfortunately, they weren’t going back on stage that night. Instead, they were visiting Les Bains Douches, where I finally met the man himself. I almost fainted, but tried to remain cool – I did not want to come across as a stupid teenager. In a white fur jacket and towering heels, he spoke in a low, masculine voice, simply saying, “Hi.” No handshake. He did not come across as shy – rather, he looked like someone who knew exactly what he wanted. I was lucky enough to sit between him and Steven. He was not interested in small talk. He was whispering into the ear of the girl next to him, whom I gathered was his girlfriend. After a while he turned to me and said, “Wanna dance?” Of course!

The few moves he made were very rhythmic. I hoped my dancing wasn’t exposing my excitement – I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. When we sat back down, he never spoke to me again, and left shortly afterwards without saying goodbye. That’s when I realised his behaviour was somewhat strange – but what do you expect of such a great artist?

The next day I was again on the guest list and showed up at the hotel to hang around the crew and, I hoped, Prince. It was very relaxed. There were people from the night before, a few celebrities – Yoko Ono and son – some models and a few relatives. Prince himself never showed, either before or after the gig. This gave me the opportunity to meet and talk to everyone else, including backing singers and drummers, like the super-cool Sheila E. In no time, I knew the whole tour schedule, so Steven was not surprised when I asked if I could come to more shows. He gave me a tour pass and I was now welcome to hang around wherever they played – Stockholm, Milan, Paris, Munich. My darling husband must have understood how important this was to me, as he didn’t try to stop me staying away another week. On the contrary, he enjoyed my enthusiasm and stories. I was excited and proud to be such an intimate part of Prince’s amazing tour.

I think it was in Stockholm that I was standing backstage at an aftershow gig. The band was playing the

first set when I found Prince standing next to me. “This is so incredibly funky,” I said. Pleased, he answered: “This is what it’s all about.” I wasn’t able to get many words out of him, but I realised I was now part of the tour family.

Next, I went with the entourage to London, Paris and Milan. I also joined the 1988 “Lovesexy” tour in Milan, Munich and Hamburg. Then, suddenly, there were no more tours. Prince fired Steven Fargnoli that same year (tragically, he died of cancer in 2001), and changed his name in 1993 to an unpronounceable symbol.

In 2007, I hoped I might see him, as he was playing at the Jazz Festival in Montreux. I’m a friend of the festival’s founder, Claude Nobs, so got tickets and, at last, saw Prince again. This time he was really affectionate. He hugged me in such a nonchalant way, as if he had seen me the week before. “You look exactly like when I saw you last,” I said. “You haven’t changed, either,” he said. “How’s your dad?” I asked. “Oh, Dad passed away two years ago; I’ll tell you about it later” – and off he went to his changing room. Unfortunately, “later” was now too late for me. I needed some sleep, so I could not talk to him about his father, John Nelson, who had become my friend during the “Lovesexy” tour. He was a lovely, soft-spoken gentleman and we got on like a house on fire. He once invited me to dinner after a show. “Dinner”, at 1am. I rang the bell at Prince’s suite and he opened the door wearing baby-blue silk pyjamas. I will never forget that. We had dinner, just the three of us, and it was relaxed and cosy. I felt that Prince was really comfortable with me in his dad’s presence.

I once found this unique guitar builder in Germany who made the finest electric guitars in the world. His name was Jerry Auerswald. He only used wood that was over 100 years old and he mounted very elaborate fine pick-ups. His guitars have an incredible sound. I asked him to build a guitar especially for Prince. Jerry and I travelled to Milan, where Prince was giving a concert on his birthday. We arrived in his changing room carrying the guitar in a see-through case. It was the first time I saw him looking really happy and surprised. We told him the guitar was called Snow-White. He loved it! He opened it, looked at it in amazement and immediately plugged it into an amplifier and started playing. He was really pleased, but Jerry was even happier to have built a guitar to Prince’s liking. A week later we were told that Prince was so fond of its sound that he’d re-recorded all the guitar parts of his new album with it. Unfortunately, Prince had the guitar copied in America, which did not make Jerry happy at all…

Last year Prince played 21 concerts in London. Of course, I had to go. His new PA, Trevor, whom I’d met in Montreux, was kind enough to put me on the guest list. Unfortunately, Trevor was not half as fond of me as Steven had been, so it was much harder for me to get backstage. Luckily, I met Elton John and his husband David at the show and they dragged me backstage afterwards. That’s when I saw Prince again. He reluctantly said, “Hi.” I guess it was too near the Montreux encounter for him to have been more enthusiastic. Regardless, I went to see him another four times and managed to get backstage almost every time. I only saw Prince once more, very briefly. I introduced him to my sister Maya and told him I loved the show and that he looked as if he had been sleeping in a time capsule all these years. Flattered, but in a hurry, he left me standing there, while he was driven off in a limo.

I felt that my time had passed, and I was no longer part of the tour family. The staff and band had changed over the years and the only one I still knew was Prince himself. I have fond memories of the London concerts, at which he played some perfect shows, but my fondest memories remain of those early days.

– Princess Gloria von Thurn und Taxis is the legendary Punk Princess; the crazy coiffures have gone, the spirit prevails

Elton John and his husband David dragged me backstage

Alexander von Schönburg on royals marrying their subjects any of my fellow snobs strained facial muscles raising their eyebrows when it was announced that Sweden’s Crown Princess Victoria is to marry her fitness instructor. The indignation is unnecessary for various reasons. For one, the reigning house of Sweden is not “royal” in the strictest sense of the word. The last true royals to rule over Sweden were the family of Gustav III, who was assassinated at a masked ball in 1792 (which, of course, served as an inspiration for one of Verdi’s most wonderful operas). His son was ill fated and, after a coup d’état, abdicated in 1809. Today’s king is the descendant of a certain Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, formerly one of Napoleon’s Marshals, who was elected heir to the Swedish throne in 1810. So for a princess of such flimsy genealogical background to marry her fitness instructor is not quite such a calamity.

Furthermore, how pointless would it be for a

summer 2009

Swedish Crown Princess to marry, say, the Crown Prince of Norway if their offspring cannot even inherit Norway as a result?

Royals now tend to marry for love – and this can be very tricky. The trouble with marrying commoners is that in this day and age people tend to grow up firmly believing in their right to pursue their happiness.

This is precisely the thing one can forget about when living as a royal, with all the tedious duties this entails. It is not surprising that young girls who marry royalty develop eating disorders at some point. (Girls of more aristocratic stock, on the other hand, are taught early on that unhappiness is the normal state of affairs.) Marrying one’s own subjects has also proved to be particularly problematic. The Russian court once banned the marrying of Russians altogether

because the in-laws and their relatives often made themselves all too comfortable at court, where they were resented by their former peers for their new-found status and regularly turned out to be a source of embarrassment to the court. It is wise to keep one’s in-laws as far away as possible. When marrying a commoner, it is generally a good idea to choose one with a more exotic background (which is what the heir to the throne of Denmark opted for when he married Mary, a marketing consultant from Australia).

On the bright side, the marriage policy of today’s ruling houses is nothing short of the fulfilment of a dream deeply woven into the fabric of our heritage. The fairy tale of Cinderella, told and retold over generations, is finally a reality. Today the golden carriage literally stops in front of a kindergarten or a supermarket, one of a clutch of pretty

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young girls (if possible, not too pretty!) is pulled out and, pursued by a lightning storm of flashlights (the modern form of anointment), is transformed into a royal princess. From then on she lives the existence of a sacred cow, idolised by the masses – a life totally devoid of privacy.

In many ways one could argue that royal marriages are today what they have always been: strategic alliances. Apart from the tiny principality of Liechtenstein, all of Europe’s Crown Princes are married, engaged or seem likely to become engaged to commoners. Are modern monarchies safeguarding their survival in the 21st century by bowing to today’s powers that be – the masses?

– Count Alexander von Schönburg, head of the house of Schönburg-Glauchau. He has just published a delightful book on the theory of kingship which is unavailable in English (but will soon be available in Russian and French). He is the nephew of the Marbella Club’s legendary Count Rudi von Schönburg

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n a c o c s i D save d l r o w the

FQR Pro Bono

New-wave icon Debbie Harry shares her hopes and fears for the environment with Felicity Harrison How did you become interested in sustainability and environmental responsibility?

My interest has grown over time. Its importance is more apparent to everybody now, and there are ways we can do the right thing.

Where should we focus our energies?

Travel emissions are a big problem. Mexico City is one of the most polluted places I have been to. Also aeroplanes and jets polluting at such a high altitude is dangerous. I have travelled a lot – if we have the technology to fly, surely we can introduce better technology to make it safer.

Have you travelled to many remote natural destinations?

I have been to some wonderfully undeveloped areas. Norway is pristine – stunning and sparkling.

New Zealand was very exciting – you can be driving through dense forest-jungle and, suddenly, you’ll be at this cliff and an expanse of ocean is right in front of you.

What are some of the environmental causes you support?

I support Riverkeeper, which strives to clean up pollution in rivers all around the world. It’s a fantastic organisation and very successful – it’s done a great job with the Hudson. I also participate in a local group in New Jersey – the Monmouth Conservation Foundation – that works on preserving green spaces.

You once sang that the 21st century was going to be much better for a girl like you. How do you feel about the state of the world these days?

Well, it’s frightening. These days, environmental issues really put a fear deep into my heart but back then people were burning their bras, and I can say I am old enough to have participated in that!

There is always something that we concern ourselves with.

When you look back on New York in the Seventies, how do you feel?

It was a great, exciting period creatively. Economically, it was complete devastation for New York City.

The city was bankrupt, there were a lot of crumbling buildings, vacant buildings and garbage around. The way this chaos made people respond in the arts was vital.

People worked hard at having fun.

Any parallels with right now? Is disco coming back?

I don’t think it’s ever gone away. Which is great. It was one of the things we were very involved in – bringing dancing back to the forefront.

So what was it like being the first female pop icon?

I don’t know if I was! I guess I was one of the first female rock icons. It was a male-dominated industry and record companies were not interested in female artists.

What do you think of the female singers on today’s music scene?

Just look at the charts and see how many female artists are there – it’s wonderful. I listened to Adele the other night. And Lady GaGa is doing great.

Who would you say is today’s Blondie?

Some artists come across as being unique, but many trying to break into the industry are being styled. Now it’s more of a stylist’s game than an individual’s. Of course, some of the styling is great – Lady GaGa wears some cool stuff – but I think it’s gone too far. Everyone is starting to look like drag queens – drag queens don’t even look like drag queens any more!

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y interest in deforestation and its impact on climate change began a long time ago and led me to buy 400,000 acres of rainforest in the Amazonas in 2005. I believe that protecting the rainforest is very close to the hearts of many people. Why? Rainforests are beautiful places, but, more than that, they are very important in terms of biodiversity, their positive impact on climate change and for producing huge ecological services. This, in turn, is critical for maintaining the lives and livelihoods of millions of people.

Another reason why preventing rainforest deforestation is so important is because it is the third largest source of anthropogenic greenhouse gas emissions, a key contributor to climate change. Furthermore, reducing deforestation is a more affordable way of tackling climate change as it is comparatively cheaper than abatement options in other sectors. There are many complex reasons why deforestation occurs to such an extent. Two key drivers are weak governance and a lack of alternative incomes for the people who live in or near rainforests. The poor need to feed their families, so cutting down trees and selling them or clearing land for cattle is a way to survive.

The land I purchased in 2005 had previously been used for a logging operation, which was conducted to the strictest standards and totally legal. However, the problem with any sort of logging operation is that it needs a lot of infrastructure, such as roads, to make it functional and the infrastructure then makes it very easy for illegal logging to take place. For the poorer communities with few other options to sustain themselves, illegally cutting down trees and selling the wood becomes a feasible way for them to make money.

When I bought the land I made an agreement with the local community whereby they could freely harvest the lands, including selling the nuts and fruits, so long as they protected the land from illegal logging. Rainforests are home to a variety of natural and lucrative products – for example, the Açaí berry, a very popular antioxidant. Normally, landowners would give the farmers only five per cent of the profits, while retaining 95 per cent for themselves. The trouble with managing these large areas of land is that you can have hundreds of guards and it would still be impossible to protect the forest because of its vastness. If, on the other hand, you have thousands of people who derive their livelihood from your lands, they will naturally become the custodians of the lands to protect their livelihoods. So, in that regard, our programme worked very well. Since we put it in place we haven’t had any reported incidents of illegal logging, and we have built a sustainable economy for the local communities who derive their livelihood from using the land in a sustainable way. This created a lot of new jobs.

Our work caught the eye of some people here in the UK. Among them were the former Prime Minister Tony Blair and the MP Frank Field. Frank called me up and said, “I think this is very interesting. Why don’t we do something like this on a big scale as a charitable foundation?” This is how Cool Earth was born. Frank and I co-founded Cool Earth, which collects donations and then selects local NGOs to donate money to, for projects intended to support the conservation of forests in a sustainable manner. We have 38,000 members globally and it is rising by a thousand every month. To date, Cool Earth has managed to protect close to 50,000 acres of rainforest.

– Johan Eliasch is Gordon Brown’s special representative on deforestation and clean energy. He has recently published The Eliasch Review, which concluded that it is unlikely that we will be able to tackle climate change without reducing deforestation. www.coolearth.org

Johan Eliasch offers his solution to climate change: buy your own rainforest

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Summer 2009

A Giant Leap

FQR Inauguration

Virtuoso dancer Roberto Bolle tells FQR’s Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis why he is so in step with UNICEF’s good work in Sudan What does it mean to you to be an honorary ambassador for UNICEF? I was appointed 10 years ago, when I was very young, so for me it was, and continues to be, a big honour to be a Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF. I have had so much in my life and I have been very fortunate. I had the passion to dance and I was able to do it, and now I am doing very well working in the most beautiful theatres in the world. I think that for people who are so lucky in their lives and to whom others look as role models, doing things for others is not really just a choice but more of a moral duty. When I was asked to be a Goodwill Ambassador I said yes immediately, because I think it is so important to defend the rights of children.

So in what way does your role focus on children?

My focus is on improving the lives of children by dealing with issues of poverty, disease, health and schooling. The role of a Goodwill Ambassador is to support the UNICEF campaigns and promote the campaigns and related UNICEF events. I have done a lot during the past 10 years. The most important thing I did was in 2006 for the Winter Olympic Games in Turin, where I was dancing in the opening ceremony. There was a UNICEF campaign linked to the Games and we raised about €5m. After that I

summer 2009

FQR Pro Bono Pin-up

visited Sudan for my first field trip to deliver the money we raised. Visiting Sudan was a real experience. You know that the people are poor but when you are there, it really is such a shock because you realise that they don’t have anything. It was already a poor country but now, after 20 years of civil war the people can only go on and start to rebuild their lives with the help of organisations such as UNICEF and others, and of the people who work there to help and support them.

So being in Sudan really enhanced your understanding of the work you do?

Yes, completely. In life, there are certain things that you know are going to happen but it still can’t prepare you for how you will feel when it does, like, for instance, your parents dying. Well, it was the same for me being in Sudan. I knew I was travelling to a very poor country but to actually be there and experience it was a real shock. You feel the poverty and you feel for the children who just have such a struggle, such as a two-week-old baby who has malaria and the mother doesn’t know what to do and can’t afford help. It’s such a terrible situation. It changes you as a person. In terms of human experiences, I would say it was the most powerful and hard one of my life.

Did you have any similar experiences of hardship growing up as a child or anything that you could relate to when being there?

I was very lucky; my childhood was really nice, growing up in a supportive family. So the contrast between our lives, being raised in a Western country

– so spoilt and lucky – makes the contrast to their lives [in Sudan] even harder to accept. It made me realise that we have to do more for those people and for that country.

As a dancer you must have a very structured life, a lot of discipline. What is a typical day in your life?

We are artists but we are also like athletes, so we work very hard every day for about six to seven hours. We start in the morning, around 10am, with one and a half hours of training, usually followed by about five hours’ rehearsal for our upcoming performance.

When we have a performance, we do the training, then a shorter rehearsal and then we rest, eat a little bit, before coming back to do warm-ups and prepare for a two- to three-hour performance.

How long can you take a break from your work – for instance, when you went to Sudan?

We have to be clever to be able to manage a break from our schedule if we want to be able to do our art properly. I was in Sudan for a week and I did it in July because it was part of a three-week holiday.

Before any performance I need three weeks’ to a month’s solid training to get back in shape. It is often hard to find the time when you can take a break and still be able to prepare and be ready for the next performance. Actors and singers can probably stop and have a break and come back to their work and it won’t be such a problem, but dancers work like athletes and we need time to prepare our bodies for what we do.

So it is quite a sacrifice for you to take a week out of your very rare holidays?

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Yes, but I really wanted to have that experience. I knew it was something that was important, to give more meaning to my role as an Ambassador. I got to see a whole other way of life and really saw the amazing work that UNICEF is doing in Sudan.

There are people who work for UNICEF who give their whole lives to Sudan – some have been there for years. And there is nothing in Sudan – when the sun comes out you go and work, and when it is dark you go and sleep in the military tents. It is tough, but some people choose to spend their lives this way.

So, when you are here and not on field trips to Sudan what is your role with UNICEF? After my trip in the field I organised a gala performance in Italy, in the Opera House in Rome, to raise money for UNICEF. I try to do one charity performance a year. Also I allow my face or image to be used to support their campaigns. I do whatever I can.

Where would you like to see yourself in 10 years?

That is a very difficult question, because I don’t know.

I know that, as a ballet dancer, I have a limited life as our profession is very demanding on the body. Maybe in 10 years I can become a director of a ballet company. It is not something I think about much because I try to enjoy this moment, which is a very beautiful moment and period for me. I live in the best way: being able to dance in the most beautiful theatres in the world is the passion of my life. It is like being in a dream and I really want to enjoy every moment of it.

– Roberto Bolle is Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF and was recently honoured as a Young Global Leader 2009 by the World Economic Forum

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FQR Summer Style Special

Dressed for Unrest

Nick Foulkes prepares (endlessly) to join the stylish revolution

“O

f course, you know I am a revolutionary.” However well you think you know Charles Finch, he never loses the power to surprise. We were settling into one of the freewheeling filibusters that pass for editorial conferences when the proprietor of Finch’s Quarterly Review made this startling claim. It was a day or two after the public unrest surrounding the G20 summit in London. Much as I would have liked to participate, I had been unavoidably detained at the Basel Watch Fair. Nor had Charles been able to attend the riots in person as he had been in “gay Paree” supervising the acquisition of Mrs Finch’s summer wardrobe from Mlle Chanel’s eponymous dress shop on the Rue Cambon.

However, true to his inner Marxist, Charles had charged the rest of the editorial staff to venture forth and mingle with the revolutionaries: singing snatches of La Marseillaise and distributing little red books designed especially for the G20 by Tristram Fetherstonhaugh containing the collected thoughts of Comrade Finch. And so it was that our own Ulrike Meinhof (features editor Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis) and our token Antipodean republican (managing editor Felicity Harrison) left Finch’s Workers’ Co-operative (formally known as the global HQ) heavily disguised in berets and sunglasses to foment unrest. I think they

got as far as Piccadilly Circus before they returned to Heddon Street for a spot of lunch and a little lie-down after their exertions.

As far as I could gather, their chief observation was that the protesters were not terribly well dressed. And having seen some of the television footage, I was bound to agree. Part of the point of being a revolutionary is the chance to dress up. After all, the first experiments with Communism were in the fashion capital of the world: Paris, which, ahead of the curve as ever, embarked on the Paris Commune in the early 1870s, after the Franco-Prussian War. And for all I know, Comrade Finch was not really taking his wife shopping at Chanel, but imbibing the spirit of the Communards – and hopefully seeking style tips from the delightful Anne-Marie Colban at Charvet.

Think back to any successful revolution or political movement aimed at regime change and there is usually a concerted sense of style at work. Garibaldi had his red shirts and his biscuits. Trotsky and Lenin had their beards.

Molotov had his cocktail. Mao had his Mao-collared jackets. Fidel and Che had their relaxed combat fatigues (perfect for the jungle or the beach), beards and cigars (I think I even remember seeing a Rolex GMT on Che’s wrist).

To be taken seriously in the revolutionary line, one needs to have a look: a visual signal, an identity that is readily seized upon. Cromwell understood this well enough: the Royalist forces were the foppish, long-haired, lace-shirted Cavaliers, so he decided to go for the Roundhead look. Then there was another firebrand, Charles James Fox, one of FQR’s great heroes, who gambled and gourmandised his way through life in Georgian England. He was partial to the republican dress of the American revolutionaries, with their plain buff breeches and blue coats. I am not sure that it was wholly wise of our former colony to throw off the yoke of British rule, but at least they had a look.

I feel compelled to add here that these incendiary views are not shared by any of us at FQR. Whatever brand of revolution we advocate it must, at all times, be compatible with a respect and reverence for the monarchy. We are, all of us – even Felicity – staunch monarchists and we adore the Queen. God bless you, Ma’am.

But just in case one should be called to the barricades, it is helpful

To be taken seriously in the revolutionary line, one needs to have a look

The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

What lies behind the mask of sunglasses zealot Tom Stubbs? Does his refusal to remove his bins divulge a shady character?

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ged 10 and unleashed for the first time in a retail scenario, I found myself dispatching my entire holiday budget on a pair of sunglasses. My mother and sister were distraught, having misplaced me in a Canadian shopping mall. However, after an hour, the sight of a nonchalant, red-headed child sporting mirrored aviators on an escalator solicited as much hilarity as relief. It set a pattern for my life: poor money management, extravagant eyewear – and appearing ridiculous.

Yet to me, sunglasses became the hallmark of freedom. They afforded the chance to escape the humdrum for the extraordinary (even if that were inside the theatre of my head).

Perpetual dark-glass wearing is the domain of legendary

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to have an idea as to what to wear and, at times like these, I cannot improve upon the advice of Harold Macmillan. The Earl of Stockton may not at first strike one as the most obvious of revolutionaries but he was, with the possible exception of Anthony Eden and Jeremy Thorpe, easily the best-dressed British politician of postwar Britain.

And one of the reasons he disapproved so strongly of Sir Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists was because of their choice of shirting. “You must be mad,” he is supposed to have said when he heard that Sir Oswald wanted his men to wear black shirts. “Whenever the British feel strongly about anything, they wear grey flannel trousers and tweed jackets.”

Accordingly, we have asked Messrs Rubinacci, Haste, Huntsman, Kilgour, Anderson & Sheppard to come to the aid of the party, and, when there is next a public demonstration against something or a march in favour of something else, we will sally forth in our revolutionary tweed – provided, of course, the next such revolutionary interlude can be timed so as not to clash with the Dresden Opera Ball, the SIHH, the Baftas, the Academy Awards, the Basel Watch Fair, the couture shows, the Cannes Film Festival, the summer holidays, the start of the grouse shooting season etc etc…

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Revolutionary songs

La Marseillaise the national anthem of France and was the rallying call for the French Revolution.

The Internationale another French song and the anthem of international socialism.

A Las Barricadas particularly popular with anarchists during the Spanish Civil War. Osmanthus Flowers Blooming Everywhere in August a catchy Red Army folk song from the Sichuan province.

Revolution so you say you want a revolution... only if the clothes are right.

Back in the USSR oh, those Georgian girls.

actors, glamorous stars and attitude-emitting rockers.

Naturally, sunglass power runs deeper than sunshine. “Glasses belong to the vast family of masks,” writes Patrizia Magli in Occhiali, visus, visione. “A mask… is an instrument of metamorphosis. It does not serve to cancel the face it conceals; on the contrary, it offers that face new ways of being.” Pat, you’ve hit the nail on the head. New ways of being? Put me down for lifetime’s subscription. This is what everyone strives for.

Early Marlon Brando and James Dean pictures provided the sartorial handwriting for my comprehensive-school-resistance quiff, windcheater and (fake) Ray-Ban Clubmasters, which combined in “rebel without a foundation course” anguish. Sunglasses enhanced the portrayal of an angry young man mired in a suburban nightmare. now wear “bins” every day. OK, I get some stick, but engaging style is often about misappropriation. Shades are about changing your reality, not protecting your retina. Was Audrey worrying about cataracts as she peered through the window of Tiffany’s? Did Thomas Crown need shades as he stuffed a sack of bank notes into the trunk of his Rolls?

In Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, the cast wore Persol glasses almost permanently. Mastroianni, Ekberg and Fellini himself embodied the new style dynamic and delivered a message of carefree, fresh indulgence.

As the film became a blueprint for international verve, so the eyewear was catapulted to the style wish list. Rather than being influenced by Italian style, this brand provided some of its very building blocks.

The eyes are so fundamental to our communication with others that to place a barrier in front of them is almost wilful in its evasiveness. They become armour, a weapon even. With the arrival of Warhol and his aloof bunch of dropout druggies, The Velvet Underground, a new, edgy “It” crowd was born. For youths looking for a vehicle to express a touch of aggro chic, their sullen sneers were the blueprint for awkward nonconformism, their churlish stances magnified by black wraparound glasses. (Attempts to up my fashion-college persona in a similar manner fell short and merely garnered abuse from scaffolders.)

Hiding the eyes is one thing, hiding one’s presence is another. To go unnoticed is the oft-claimed intention of shades-wearing “celebrities”, but sunglasses are a lightning rod of attention when deployed out of context. Anonymity is bypassed. Forget such faux modesty by the false pretenders: they all want to sign up for the cool clique who wear sunglasses whenever, wherever.

Here’s the rub: it’s a clique we can all join. All that’s required is a well-chosen pair of sunglasses, a dose of life spirit and you’re off. From London to Monte Carlo, Southend to São Paulo, the eyewear fast track to glamour and excitement is the most egalitarian slice of style known to man.

– Tom Stubbs is Style Editor of FQR

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summer 2009

35mm is the maximum recommended size for a medallion ornament

Treasure Chest FQR Summer Style Special

A spirited Vindication of the Rights of Medallion Man,

by Nick Foulkes

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believe in the power of words – but then, as I make my living from stringing them together, I am unlikely to say otherwise. However, there are times when a picture can be just as eloquent, and one particular image I cherish for its expressiveness is a picture of a sunglassed Alfonso von

Hohenlohe at the helm of a powerboat.

Alfonso, or – to give him his full name (at least, according to Wikipedia) – Prince Alfonso Maximiliano Victorio Eugenio Alexandro Maria Pablo de la Santisima Trinidad y todos los Santos zu Hohenlohe-Langenburg, founded the Marbella Club. In my personal pantheon – indeed, in the FQR pantheon – of magical, mythical, legendary places the Marbella Club is right up there with the Garden of Eden, only with better chocolate mousse and no snakes hanging around apple trees to spoil things. And if

Finch’s Favourite Catholic Medallions The Miraculous Medal was coined after the Virgin’s appearance in Paris’ Rue du Bac and is the Aston Martin amongst the medallions. The Scapular is something for die-hard Catholics as it is believed to guarantee a death free from mortal sin when worn with devotion. Padre Pio* is the Saint of the poor and the Patron Saint of Italy and therefore frequently worn around the neck of Italians. St Philip Neri is a very popular Saint also known as the “Apostle of Joy” because of his crazy jokes and many good deeds.

St Francis of Assisi is the Doctor Dolittle of saints.

St Michael definitely sits up there in the VIP area ever since having expelled Lucifer from Heaven and is hence a good buddy to make. The Guardian Angel is, of course, convenient to have as close to you as possible and is therefore often worn in the form of a medallion. The Crucifix is the quintessentially Christian symbol of good news – the resurrection. St Anthony is the Saint you call upon when having lost something; he always finds it. St Christopher is the Saint of traveling and commonly seen on medallions in cars and other vehicles. St Joseph is the Patron Saint of the family. St Rita* is the Saint for hopeless causes so obviously more called upon by some than others. * FQR’s choices

summer 2009

it is too long. I suggest, and it is only a suggestion, a chain of 61.45cm, but you may want to adjust it a centimetre or two either way. If in doubt, use the Golden Section; this ratio has been employed by everyone from Da Vinci to Palladio, and a simple calculation will help you ascertain the right distance between the belt and the collar. s to the number of chains, trust me: one is enough. I did once flirt with three chains and it was a disaster; my family winced when, clanging like a peal of church bells, I would heave myself into the pool and then sink beneath the weight of ironmongery around my neck.

However, the chain is the easy part compared to the minefield of the medallion.

De gustibus non est disputandum… except when it is wrong. As in life, the best advice – even though I adhere to it only infrequently – is to keep it simple. Ideally, at least to start off with, one should wear a single medallion, which should have some personal significance, and it should never exceed 3.5cm in diameter.

However, I wear a minimum of four medallions – all the better to express my range of interests. Reading my medallions right to left, they are a 35-year-old Van Cleef & Arpels Sagittarius pendant (star signs were huge in the Sixties and Seventies), something from Cartier (my wife used to work there), a bit of coral from Capri (a little carpe diem memento to remind me of the odd consoling moments that can be snatched from life) and then, most importantly, an old Roman coin.

Medallion man is fundamentally a philosophical type, so something old is usually a good idea as it reminds us of our place in the cosmos – in the case of my coin it was here before me and will be there after I am gone. Or to borrow from the wisdom of my friend, FQR contributor and noted medallion man Tim Jefferies, “You’re a long time dead.”

A

there is one image that captures the magic of the Marbella Club, it is this slightly grainy picture of its founder waving from a boat that might be a Chris-Craft but is probably a Riva; above him a cloudless Andalusian sky, a backdrop of umbrella pines rolling down to the water’s edge, punctuated by the thatched conical roof of the beach club. How wonderful it must have been to be him, at that time, in that place.

It looks like Saturday afternoon some time in the late Sixties, but powerful though the imagery is, it is a detail at its heart that continues to fascinate me. It is not his sunglasses – I leave analysis of the princely eyewear to my colleague Mr Tom Stubbs – rather, it is his chest that attracts my attention.

Open to just above his navel, Alfonso’s shirt reveals a fine ribcage and, winking at one from his sternum, a tiny gold medallion. If there were ever, to borrow from Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, a Vindication of the Rights of Medallion Man, then this is it.

For me the medallion speaks of the good times of the early jet set; the time after the introduction of passenger jets such as the 707, but before the hijacking epidemic of the early Seventies – a time when international travel was as much about the glamour of the journey as the destination. Of course, everything was simpler then, not so nuanced. There were only a few places to go on holiday and many of them tended to be run by princes, whether Rainier in Monaco, Alfonso in Marbella or the Aga Khan on the Costa Smeralda. It was the world eulogised by Harold Robbins in his thumping, brick-sized romans à clef that anatomised the foibles and peccadillos of what, with charming naïveté, we called the “in crowd”. This was a time when celebrities were not manufactured by reality TV shows, but when the complex alchemy of talent, timing and the elusive quality of charisma created something really rather wonderful.

I know this is an impossibly subjective analysis of what might, mistakenly in my opinion, be viewed as a bit of precious metal on a fine gold chain, but I cannot get it out of my head that, back then in that carefree time when not every hotel had to be a seven-star luxury spa resort and when even quite famous people managed without security guards, medallion men really knew how to have a better time than everyone else. Naturally, it all went wrong, as it always does, with the medallion descending into disco pastiche, the farcical garlanding of Mr T’s neck in The A-Team

and, of course, the recent efflorescence of the bling phenomenon.

But bling has little to do with the medallion as I understand it. The medallion is about elegance, whereas bling is about

ostentation; the medallion is worn for personal pleasure, while bling is about an outward demonstration of power. The medallion man is confident about who he is, while the bling merchant needs to bolster his self-worth with an array of Christmas-tree decorations, establishing what I imagine Thorstein Veblen would have called his pecuniary reputability.

I am happy to say that Charles Finch is a medallion man, as is our esteemed advertising director, Jonathan Sanders. I would like to count myself a medallion man but, to be honest, I wear too much jewellery to qualify. Nevertheless, I can lay down what I see as the rules of the medallion and while you lie on the beach or the boat this summer you might just care to peer through your Persols at the stuff that bounces and jangles against the ribcages of other men. et’s start with the chain. The metal is, of course gold, preferably yellow, as it goes best with a tan. It should be fine – not so fine that it looks cheap, but certainly not too heavy. As a rule of thumb, links greater than 5 millimetres in diameter should be avoided: about 3.25mm is optimum.

Next there is length. Crucially, the medallion should only become visible after the third button is unfastened, not before. With the top and second button undone it is permissible to glimpse the chain en passant, but if the medallion itself can be seen you need a longer chain. The exact ratio of chain to shirt-button configuration is a matter of involved personal discussion with your shirtmaker, preferably someone like Anne-Marie Colban of Charvet on the Place Vendôme who has an architect’s eye for proportion. However, an excessively long chain will bring with it unwelcome overtones of the manbag – when it goes below the sternum to the diaphragm

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FQR Male Style Special

The Actor’s Cut Only a chap with innate, effortless panache could believe style to be unimportant. Enter refined sophisticate John Malkovich

M

y interest in style is purely aesthetic. I believe nothing about style to be really important. Rather like the theory I have about television – which is that it takes about 30 points off your IQ each time you appear on it – talking about style seems to make you suffer some sort of degradation. Aesthetics are just a natural part of life. Some people have a sense of them, some people don’t – and don’t have the slightest interest in aquiring one. And that’s great. I somehow do not like an aesthetic mess. A bushman can have style, yet it feels pretentious talking about style. Regardless, I have been involved in fashion for many years.

In the past I have done costumes for plays and I have worked in fashion because some of my friends are designers, Bella Freud being one of them.

I’ve worked with her and directed three of her fashion films, in place of a defilée. All the characters wear Bella’s clothes. One, StrapHanging, was based on an article I read years ago about a Japanese man who invented rubber underpants that would expand to 30 times their normal size in case of a tsunami, which became rather less funny after the tsunami hit, but such is fashion. The second, Lady Behave, was about a kind of trust-fund Notting Hill crowd who sometimes have issues with household and even personal hygiene. They are all sent to Lady Behave etiquette school where Arielle Dombasle plays the headmistress. The third, Hideous Man, was based on a silly album my friend Gary Sinise put together about a 600lb poet who lives in a room in his own waste. A group of poet-type women invite him to give a recital, but he is killed in an accident with a trash compactor so they perform a kind of homage with some of his better-known work, such as Small Dying Bird or Nobody Told Me. I think they’re all quite funny.

In 2001 I was asked by someone to design my own line. I thought about it, and went, “OK. Why not?” I’ve always had an interest in fabric and in clothes – how they are made, cut and styled – and I thought it might be interesting and educational to do, which it was. I might even do it again. The way people generally dress in the US, often in sweatpants, is none of my concern. I’m not out to change anything, since I believe you – and certainly I – can’t really do so anyway. I’d just like to create another option for people to wear as I think most of what we make is quite comfortable. My collection is much dressier than the American norm, without being formal. Style evolves and changes. In the past I used to wear a suit every day. Now I feel most comfortable in jeans. Whatever you feel comfortable with is right for you.

This summer I’m doing an opera in Vienna based on the story of the Austrian serial killer Jack Unterweger. Birgit Hutter, a good friend of mine who did wardrobe for Klimt, is doing the costumes. Unterweger was only seen in one outfit after being released from prison – a white suit and a

black-and-white polyester polka-dot shirt, which was the kind of glitterati-staple outfit he wore in between murdering prostitutes across the globe. It’s a stylish outfit in a professional-clown kind of way.

The last thing I costumed in its entirety was Lost Land, a play

by Stephen Jeffreys (who wrote The Libertine) about some Hungarian aristos who made Tokaji wine at the end of the First World War. My inspiration for the costumes was “period with allowances”, meaning I could do whatever I felt like! ianni Agnelli was a very well-dressed and stylish man. Of course, he had all the money and glamour in the world but, aside from being fabulously wealthy, he also had a terrific sense of style. It’s no wonder that many people still copy his style. He obviously had flair. He also put thought into the image he presented, and that isn’t very common nowadays.

For me, any film with Cary Grant in it has style because he was very stylish himself. As an actor, costumes are generally something over which you have little control. However, depending on the costumier, costumes can become every bit as important as writing or directing since they are pretty much the first thing people see.

Vicki Russell, Ken Russell’s daughter, not only has an incredible sense of style but also understands how it affects and expresses character. I did Colour Me Kubrick with her, and her costumes made a massive difference. I enjoyed wearing the camp, eccentric outfits she designed. She’s very witty. I didn’t know Vicki before we started so I didn’t have any expectations. In a certain way, it almost became her film – she had such a massive influence on it. Essentially, I’d get on set and she’d already made decisions such as, “In this scene you will wear a steel-blue Fifties-style Maidenform bra” without ever discussing it. She presented a whole lot of palettes to pick from or adapt, from Marilyn Monroe jewellery to dirty-old-man overcoats, via various scarves, and the wardrobe of a sort of travel-guide person who’d organise 36-hour trips to Ibiza in which you never actually leave the disco. Vicki has the ability to create histories and worlds. She’d be very clear with her directions and visions: “Here’s your kimono, your high heels and fishnets. Live and be happy!” The fantastic persona I play is perfectly underlined by Vicki’s flamboyant, mad outfits. I’m asleep in one scene when Jim Davidson’s character realises I’m not Stanley Kubrick and I’m not going to put him on the Late Show With David Letterman and fly him over in my private jet. For that, Vicki gave me a kind of Ann Summers sleep mask with “Tease Me” embroidered on it, and I think most people wouldn’t think of things like that. Such costumes really help my performance – they almost do the work for you.

So, really, Vicki took a lot of decisions for me.

The impact of costumes on an actor is huge: it shapes the way you move, it puts you right into that world. I think a good costumier does everything.

– John Malkovich is FQR’s expert on all things stylish and cultural

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Vicki gave me a kind of Ann Summers sleep mask with “Tease Me” embroidered on it

summer 2009

19

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FQR Casting Couch

photograph: Fetherstonhaugh

Like her latest romcom movie, Alice Eve may be “out of our league”, but at least we’re not afraid to admit it – unlike her secret admirer in Cyrano. Felicity Harrison meets the up-and-coming British actress You shot Crossing Over with screen legends Harrison Ford and Ray Liotta. What was it like working with them?

I did most of my stuff with Ray and it was fantastic. He was a very generous actor, very present in the scenes and very professional, which is really all you want.

And I gather you had to do some quite confronting scenes with Ray. How do you prepare for scenes like that?

Yes, his character was cajoling me into having sex with him so that I could get a Green Card – it’s sleazy situation. I prepared as you would imagine. You get yourself in that state of mind, and you do it.

You played an Australian actress. How did you find the accent?

Because there are so many people from Australia in London, I didn’t find it too difficult but I did do some work to specify the region I was from [Melbourne], rather than coming in with some generic Aussie accent.

Is there anything you wouldn’t do in a film?

Oh, lots [laughs].

So, what are your boundaries?

Infinite.

Who would be your pick for an on-screen romance?

My boyfriend. We’ve been together about six months, but he’s not an actor, so it wouldn’t work.

An ideal date with your man would be..?

A day at the beach.

You’re currently rehearsing for Cyrano in which you play Roxanne along side Joseph Fiennes as Cyrano. How is that going?

Fantastically. Jo is a dream.

What do you like about working in theatre?

You can eat twice as much food because you are working twice as hard as you normally do. That is probably the main upshot – it is so demanding that you need to fuel it.

Cyrano is an epic love story about a secret admirer. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Oh gosh, I wouldn’t know.

Have you ever sent a love letter?

I have sent a love e-mail – unfortunately, our romantic stories are destined to be lost in cyberspace.

So it wasn’t anonymous, then?

I guess not. When I was 14 and at school, on Valentine’s Day everyone had to write to someone. It ended up being a bit of a competition to see who received the most. I suppose I must have written one then.

And you’ve just shot a romantic comedy, She’s Out of My League.

Do you look for humour in men?

I look for humour in everyone, I think. It is boring otherwise.

Which directors do you dream of working with?

All of them. I am happy working with the director I am working with [Trevor Nunn] and I am always happy to meet a new one.

There are directors whose films I love to watch but they are not necessarily the directors that would bring the best performance out of an actress. They are two different things and often you find it is a newcomer who does an amazing job getting a performance out of an actress. It depends on the time and place. There are films I like to watch and directors I like to watch but that, for me, is a different question.

How do you spend a day relaxing?

Usually, I like to see some sun, but that isn’t always easy in London.

This weekend was beautiful – I did some yoga and I saw some sun.

Perfect!

Where would your ideal holiday destination be?

Well, they say the Maldives are sinking, so I suppose I’d like to go there. And I would like to see Cuba before it changes, too.

– Alice Eve treads the boards with Joseph Fiennes in Chichester Festival Theatre’s production of Cyrano de Bergerac, from May 8 to 30.

summer 2009

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21

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Finch & Co

Last of the Summer Whine After a winter of discontent, eternally optimistic Charles Finch tries – really hard – to see a few green shoots springing up in his own backyard

S

urviving a winter of discontent has not been easy for any of us who think and breathe and care… And whilst logic tells me not to run with the mob and demand the scalps of hedge funders, bankers and anyone with more money than me, I have felt angry in a most undignified way. For a man who is rarely angry, it is a strange and disorientating feeling. My life has never been about Money with a capital M. Aspiring to a marvellous cocktail of success, fame and acclaim I admit to, but Money was never the mixer of choice, nor is it what FQR is about. Our cocktail needs to be served up in a fine martini glass by a man wearing a smart cream jacket in some splendid bar. Style and form, taste and a good yarn are our elixirs of choice. I remember visiting the poet and writer Stephen Spender in Tuscany with my old pal Michael Austin, who wrote Greystoke. It was after lunch and the artist, his wife and their beautiful daughters were entertaining a gaggle of good-looking Notting Hill types. Fresh tomato and mozzarella salads were on the table, and giant bowls of pasta alla checca. The girls swam naked in the black-bottomed pool – at least, my memory has them that way. It was a beautiful afternoon, sexy and privileged without being about money or success. A house where there were no rules, it was completely relaxed and up to you how you got on there. Pretty soon, we were swimming too, and then somehow dancing and laughing – and then it was night… Italy has a way of doing that, of stripping away all the bullshit and letting people just be. Maybe London was like that in the Sixties and Seventies? There was a calm and dignified man amongst the bohemian crowd at the Spenders’, who, from the cut of his shirt and trousers stood out from the rest of the scruffy Brits. He was American. Wearing horn-rimmed glasses with salt-and-pepper hair, he could have been CIA, old school. We talked for some time about

movies and art and women. He was, in fact, a senior banker from Lehman… A collector of Spender.

I do hope he still has his collection.

The banks never lent any of my businesses or projects money without personal guarantees or securities, which made any loans I had asked for completely redundant. After all, if I’d had the security I would likely not have needed the loans. I didn’t have the right “banker speak”, someone from 3i once told me which, clearly, was not the case for the hustlers from the Ivy League schools who managed to lend each other all the cash they needed to make each other rich and ruin the rest of the economy…

3i went on to lend Elisabeth Murdoch a great deal of money to buy various TV companies. Well, it’s understandable since, after all, I presume she had the security.

It’s probably boring now to read my gripes but this is my paper and, for once, I have whine to make.

More like a scream, really – not unlike my father sticking his head out in Network and shouting “I AM NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANY MORE!” What irritated me most was that, as the financial crisis hit, I had a clear view of my own “exit” into a place where financial security and an olive and wine estate beckoned. Last September it all seemed within my grasp. My life’s work distilled down to a movie a year, chairmanship of my own firm and the building of a small, dignified publishing company and, most importantly, time to be still. To be able to think in a straight line, if never again have to walk in one.

To spend time with the woman I love and with my daughter. All of this now is pushed back in the fog and for five months I have howled in the depths of my gut about it. I didn’t lose money with Madoff.

My business has only marginally suffered. Brands and movies and ideas still thrive within Finchland as Nick (our editor) calls my life, but what lies ahead is now back to before, like an uncharted path that you know really leads back to the same beginning… The brave will prosper, I keep telling myself, and thus we will launch new issues of FQR, add more to our website in programming, and launch our indispensible summer guide in June and, in September, our first FQR guidebook.

In January we celebrated my 10th Pre-Bafta party with a cake and some splendid guests, including my old friend Mick Jagger and the ageless Sharon Stone and, before I forget, my new friend Penélope Cruz. If you read Harper’s, there is a picture of the cake and party. Chanel kindly sponsored again and, with the lovely Jo Allison and her team, has become a great partner.

For most of the last quarter, particularly in February, I fought a strong primal instinct to run. Run for a beach shack on a small island with a long and pink-sanded beach. Naturally, I threw a pre-Oscar party instead, which Chanel also sponsored. We chose Madeo, one of LA’s classic Italian restaurants.

The food was excellent and the crowd was a very good mix of writers, directors and young stars: David Hare, Pete Morgan, Eric Fellner, Stephen Daldry, Danny Huston, Daniel Battsek on the Brit side, and American studio heads Michael Lynton, Harvey Weinstein, Ben Silverman on the LA side, with powerful and legendary agent Jeff Berg, and other major agency players such as John Burnham, who represents David Mamet, Woody Allen and Stephen Frears, and George Freeman, who looks after

The Mane Attraction

Saddle up with Harry Herbert and his share in his unbridled pleasure as FQR introduces its racing column

I

am often asked what my “real” job is, but when I respond that I put together small groups of people to share in a number of racehorses, the person smiles and repeats the question. I set up my company, Highclere Thoroughbred Racing, in 1992 in the hope that I could provide my owners with the most fun and cost-effective way of being involved in the sport of kings.

I have grown up with racing. My greatgrandfather, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon (the one who discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun before mysteriously dying a few weeks later), founded the stud at Highclere and his passion for the sport passed to my grandfather and then to my own father, who for many years was racing manager to Her Majesty the Queen, as well as being a highly successful owner/breeder in his own right.

Each year around Derby time the mood in the house was entirely dependent on how fast or otherwise the horses were running and whether my father or the Queen would have a runner that year. It is the dream of every racehorse owner to win the Epsom Derby, whether you are the Queen or whether you own part of a racehorse.

That dream starts with the purchase of a yearling, who will begin racing as a two-year-old before hopefully developing into a running machine at three. Only three-year-olds can run in the Derby, so there is only one chance for your horse to win one of the greatest prizes in sport.

Together with my brother-in-law and business partner, John Warren, I look at literally thousands of horses each year at the various sales around the world, then put the chosen few (usually around

www.finchsquarterly.com

20) into small syndicates. Thanks to John’s remarkable ability, we have provided our owners with many talented racehorses – but nothing could prepare us for the excitement and emotion that came with Derby Day in June 2005 as our horse Motivator entered the parade ring.

Bought by John for 75,000 guineas as a yearling, Motivator had won all of his previous three races and had shown that devastating turn of foot that only exceptional animals possess – but would he

cheers, the top hats flying in the air and then, as I looked up at the Royal Box, there was the Queen watching the celebrations unfold. As my father had died four years earlier, my greatest sadness was that he wasn’t there to witness the great event. or the Queen, however, this just could be the year when she wins her first Derby – the only Classic race that has so far eluded her.

She has two home-bred colts in Free Agent and Four Winds that have a real chance. Free Agent, who easily won at Royal Ascot last June in front of his delighted owner, has developed into a really magnificent animal since then, and last week I saw Four Winds stride clear of his working companion in the style of a very useful colt in the making. In my opinion, both will have to improve significantly if they are to beat Crowded House, who beat one of Highclere’s two-year-olds last year in great style and I now regret not taking the 50-1 offered after the race. He is currently 6 -1 and just could represent good value.

Only two weeks after the Derby, racing stages its greatest spectacle of all over the five days of the Royal meeting at Ascot. There can be few more intoxicating sights than watching the best thoroughbreds in the world competing against a backdrop of high fashion – the men in their top hats and tails and the ladies in their flamboyant dresses complete with outrageous hats. Each year we carefully plan a campaign for our horses that will hopefully take them to the Royal meeting, and last year we managed to fire in two winners on Ladies’ Day (Thursday), which gave everyone the thrill of a lifetime. The King George V Handicap is a race on Ladies’ Day that we have won four times in the past eight years, and this year we are hoping for a fifth victory with a lovely colt called Harbinger, trained by Sir Michael Stoute.

– The Hon. Harry Heerbert is proprietor of Highclere and FQR’s racing correspondant

F

handle Epsom’s unique contours and could that highly strung temperament cope with the noise and clamour of over 100,000 racegoers? Two minutes and 35.69 seconds later, Motivator and his jockey, Johnny Murtagh, swept clear of the field to win easily – by five lengths. The wave of emotion that followed hit me like a steam train, as the enormity of achieving a lifetime’s ambition gradually began to sink in. I will never forget the faces of Motivator’s owners as he was ceremoniously led into the winner’s enclosure – the

22

Da Finchey Ode IV She smoked, but, God what smoke, And lips of an Angel too, Eyes turquoise blue, Such beauty until she spoke…

He smiles at first, Glancing here, there Avoiding her fierce stare While at him - on she cursed.

This and that, And more that than this, All about some random kiss?

This cricketer without his bat…

Poor sod.

Does he stay or leave, Run for the hills?

Should he pay the bill?

Now across she grabs his sleeve!

Just then a kind gent from England At the next table beside Astonished by this Latin bride Her man filleted like a kipper Eyes them both with scorn Some call this demonstration A form of foreign affection More like of no breeding born Action required.

Our hero from Albany Stands and swats the girl With his FQR he does swirl As only taught in Piccadilly.

Oh dear, how the French are silly.

summer 2009

Take It from Tim Finch & Co

Russell Crowe. We had our fashion legends, of course, with Christian Louboutin, Lisa Love of Vogue, Tory Burch, Lisa Eisner and Sydney IngleFinch making the evening fragrant and glamorous. Jack Huston and Cat Deeley were beautiful and fun, and Dunnes Dominick, Griffin and Hannah gave a little Hollywood aristocracy to the evening. Michael and Eva Chow stopped by and announced his directorial debut. He is to shoot his first film this summer. Make sure yours is better than mine was… (Priceless Beauty). he Vanity Fair Oscar dinner and party were, as far as I am concerned, the best yet. Sydney and I sat with Arianna Stassinopoulos of The Huffington Post, Jane Rosenthal of Tribeca Films (Bob De Niro’s partner), Naomi Watts, Danny Huston and the owner of the Sunset Tower. Smaller by half, the party was more intimate – I was able to flirt with Uma Thurman and Kate Beckinsale at the same time without looking like a complete fool. In other words, I was more than a little tipsy. We ended up waiting for our car next to Meryl Streep. Quite a night. Thank you, Uncle Graydon.

In New York I lunched with Anna Wintour at Pastis and dined with two of FQR’s contributors, Jonathan Becker and Lucy Liu at The Post House.

The Carlyle was as warm, friendly as ever, and full. The only other highlights of the month were a brief trip to Morocco, where it rained solidly, and tea with Sabrina Guinness, Evgeny Lebedev and Sir Tom Stoppard at the latter’s apartment overlooking the Thames.

By March, I needed Paris. Actually, I physically need Paris every three weeks. I have a love affair with the ageing Ritz and particularly with Marie Claude, the best pedicurist in the world [see below]. Mostly I sit in The Ritz bar or at Castiglione round the corner with people I like, or want to like, either talking movies, fashion or even about money. I had tea there

T

Mavericks

Chet Baker, Simon Murray, George Soros, Barack Obama, Prince, General Patton, Simon de Pury, Quentin Tarantino, Orson Welles, Fellini, Doug Hayward, David Niven, Peter Morton, Jacques Chirac, Socrates, Roosevelt, Bob Marley, de Gaulle, Admiral Fisher.

with Malcolm McLaren, one of the most interesting men I know. He made his money for a time writing the “sound” for brands… the very concept is brilliant. He found the sound for BA, which is a bastardised riff from the Delibes opera Lakmé. In the evening I dined with Jonathan and Ronnie Newhouse at Anahi, a wonderful Argentinean restaurant filled with the chicest people I think I have ever seen. There was a beautiful woman sat near us with long, perfect nails painted dark purple, and with her hair in a turban. She reminded me of that Lartigue photograph of his wife Florette.

Only in Paris do you see a beauty like that. Paris is back with a swagger.

Even Regine has opened her famous nightclub again. I kept running into club impresarios inviting me to La Montana, Fidélité and even Les Bains, which I hear is back in. I look forward to Castel having its heyday once more. If Paris were a tax-free municipality, it would be the capital of the world.

April has been the most tolerable month so far, as things seem to be picking up a little. Maya and Edmondo Di Robilant, David Heyman and Rose Uniacke and the Finch family descended on La Gazelle d’Or in Morocco for Easter with former President Jacques Chirac.

We went for a couple of long hikes in the Atlas mountains and, though we ate far too much, after a week the world seemed far less depressing. Last week I spent a couple of nights at the Hôtel du Cap Eden Roc, and lunched with its brilliant young manager Philippe Perd. The hotel is full for the summer and for the Cannes Film Festival in May. I went over to the restaurant Tétou with FQR travel guru Kate Lenahan. The cash-only bill was a shocking €450 for three…

Travel Confidential KATE LENAHAN TRAVELS FROM PARIS TO THE COTE D’AZUR

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f one could bottle the essence of the South of France, the combined scent would be of olive oil, garlic, lavender and the original Ambre Solaire suntan oil. Since man – or, rather, tourist – has discovered planes and trains, the best way to get there now is to take a leisurely drive down from Paris. It’s a fabulous way to prepare oneself for even better to come.

Start off by spending the first night at the recently refurbished Hôtel Le Bristol in Paris, which sets the tone for an elegant journey. Le Bristol is an oasis of calm and, more importantly, manners. A couple of years ago, the Mayor of Paris instigated a much needed “be polite to tourists” initiative for the city, its taxi drivers (when they can be found), waiters, shopkeepers and policemen. The last time I was there, I don’t believe anyone had quite graduated from the course, but one second in the lobby of Le Bristol reassures you that there is somewhere in the city where charm and helpfulness exist. Le Bristol is based on one of the most elegant streets of Paris with stunning views from all its windows over the rooftops, and a beautiful garden for long, languid summer lunches. Rested and relaxed, you are now ready for the journey.

Coming off the A6 just south of Lyons, an overnight stay at the exquisite 13th-century Château de Bagnols is highly recommended.

Originally bought as a derelict wreck in 1987 by publishing-house owner Paul Hamlyn as a project for his wife, Helen, the Château is surrounded by a moat, with romantic rooms and suites straight out of Dangerous Liaisons.

Onwards towards Nice, and a visit to Aix-enProvence’s Restaurant Le Clos de La Violette introduces you perfectly to the best flavours of the local cuisine before heading off for a night

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at the beautifully tranquil Château SaintMartin & Spa. Situated in Vence, the Château launched its stunning La Prairie Spa in August last year, and has just received a well-deserved Michelin star for the cooking skills of Yannick Franques.

If you can tear yourself away from the quiet elegance of the Château, the natural next step to keep up the experience of first-class service within a stunning location would be to complete the trip by checking into Château Saint-Martin & Spa’s sister hotel, the iconic Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc. One of the world’s most reputable hotels – glamorous, chic, very exclusive and frequented by the most famous names past and present (Charles Finch) – It won’t leave much change in your pocket (so make sure you’ve got enough petrol in the tank to get you home).

Château de Bagnols, www.chateaudebagnols.co.uk Château Saint-Martin & Spa, www.chateaust-martin.com Le Clos de la Violette, www.closdelaviolette.com Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc, www.hotel-ducap-eden-roc.com Hôtel Le Bristol, www.hotel-bristol.com Tétou, +334-9363 7116

TIM JEFFERIES OFFERS HIS (NEWLY TRIEDAND-TESTED) TIPS ON BEING A DAD 1. Find an excellent Mummy. I suggest looking in Sweden.

2. When the swimmers hit the bull’s eye – in our case, day three of our honeymoon – spend the next nine months making sure Mummy feels loved, appreciated and, most importantly, understood.

3. Find out the baby’s sex as soon as possible. You will then avoid having to feign unbridled joy at not having what you wanted, and be able to shop a bit in advance – there is little time after…

4. Make sure relations with all grandparents are nurtured. They will come in mighty useful after D-Day. 5. Attend at least one prenatal class with Mummy. Don’t make blokeish jokes or snigger at the diagrams.

6. Go to all the ultrasound scans with Mummy. It is amazing to see your baby take shape and grow.

7. Choose the best place to bring your little poo factory into the world. I recommend the Lindo Wing at St Mary’s Hospital, London.

It was excellent. Fill Mummy’s room with flowers, chocolates, magazines and a camera.

8. I am squeamish: needles and blood make me want to vomit. However, there is no excuse for not being with Mummy at the birth. Best stay up at the talking end, though. Being present at the moment your creation comes into the world is humbling.

9. When Mummy is deprived of sleep, or is emotional, impatient and unreasonably having a go at you, remind her of 2, 5, 6, 7 and 8.

10. Remember: you’re a long time dead...

– Coco Josefin Pip Jefferies (pictured above) is the apple of her parents’ eyes and 15 weeks old at the time of writing.

Summer shoes? No sweat, says Charles Finch

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hoes in spring and summer are a tricky business at the best of times and, as a man is often judged by a woman on the shoes he wears, we strongly suggest you listen to FQR when it comes to this subject. Don’t believe me? Ask a lady friend.

So here are my tips for being well-shod...

RONDINI. I would argue there is only one sandal that FQR can accept: the Rondini original, made in St Tropez in the same way it was when Brigitte Bardot still looked like Brigitte. I would argue that the sandal – even the Rondini – must only be worn with linen trousers in Capri or the South of France. Anywhere else, the Highlands for example, are not to be considered. When wearing said sandal, please be sure to have clean feet. If possible, get a medical pedicure from Marie Claude at The Ritz in Paris or from Bastien Gonzales in London. Don’t paint your toes unless you really are beautiful. Rondini comes in two versions for men: the flip-flop version and the Greek type, the name of which, of course, escapes me.

THE ESPADRILLE. The espadrille is my personal favourite summer shoe. Worn by my father, and by many other discerning chaps, they can be found in Italy, France and Spain and now at Hermès. Go for the kind with no rubber on the soles. The espadrille should have a thick rope sole and thick cotton covering on the inside. It is very hard to find the hand-made type today as the shoes are generally made by machine en masse. Online, Classic Espadrilles (www.123voyage.com) sells the thick-soled version.

All natural and hand-made, they are true classics and can be worn across the world with pride.

Obviously, this does not apply to Minsk in the winter. They are also inexpensive for those of you with short, tight purse strings.

CLARKS DESERT CLASSIC DESERT BOOT. Brown or camel-coloured. Worn year-round with or without socks. Cheap and chic. Italian princes wear them. Not to be worn with shorts unless you are Joy Adamson or Pablo Picasso. Light and durable, they are accepted everywhere.

VANS. A new acceptable summer shoe. I choose the blue or sometimes even the green. The love affair began when I still had my 1934 Camper & Nicholsons yacht. They make a man feel young and they are quite humorous…

CAR SHOE. Another favourite of the St Tropez set. These come in many colours and even in croc… FQR likes the standalone store on the main piazza in Capri. They last well and, apparently, allow you to drive like a Latin stud.

SOCKS. To sock or not? That is the question [an important subject to be covered by my good friend Jeffrey Podolsky] The Italian man wears a mini sock, like a trainer sock. Don’t wear a sock with your espadrilles or you will look truly silly.

FQR says no socks if you have a tan is always good.

Always remember: keep your feet clean and cut your damn nails.

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152 grammes.

Tonnes of tradition.

“Information confirmed.”

Big Ingenieur Chronograph. Ref. 3784: Just as well that the weight of this IWC chronograph hasn’t increased with our experience. The automatic double-pawl winding system, watch-in-watch display and flyback function are the result of many, many years of watchmaking tradition. But it’s a burden we don’t mind carrying around with us. IWC. Engineered for men.

Mechanical IWC-manufactured chronograph movement (figure) | Flyback function | Automatic IWC double-pawl winding system | Date display | Antireflective sapphire glass | Sapphire-glass back cover | Water-resistant 12 bar | Stainless steel

IWC Schaffhausen, Switzerland. www.iwc.com The world’s finest timepieces are exclusively available from selected watch specialists.

For an illustrated catalogue or list of nationwide concessionaires please contact IWC UK. Tel. 0845 337 1868.

E-mail: uk-enquiries@iwc.com

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Sydney Ingle-Fi Ol Parker, Tha nch, Charles Finch, Pre-Bafta partyndie Newton at the

Thanks to Richard Young for the pre-Bafta pictures

Mickey Rourke and the Pre-Bafta party Bob Geldof at

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FQR Liberal at Large

The ever-inclusive Matthew Modine reminds certain individuals that the United States Constitution says, “We the People”, not “Our People”

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was recently a guest on a highly rated TV show to promote a new production of a play I’m performing in at the Hartford Stage in Hartford, Connecticut. The play, To Kill a Mockingbird, is based on the Pulitzer Prizewinning novel by Harper Lee. It was made into an Academy Award-winning film in 1962 and is, in many people’s opinion, a book that helped the American public raise its collective moral conscience and take real and necessary steps toward racial justice and equality.

For those of you who don’t know the story, it’s about a young girl, Scout, and her family. At the heart of the tale there is a criminal trial at which Scout’s father, Atticus Finch, defends an AfricanAmerican who has been accused of raping an impoverished and uneducated white woman. The African-American, Tom Robinson, is found guilty by the all-white jury. On his way to a jail outside town, for “safe-keeping”, Tom is shot and killed.

The deputy says he “aimed to wound Tom, but missed his aim”. This was the kind of justice a black person could expect for more than half of the past American century. Between 1889 and 1930, over 3,700 black men and women were reported lynched in the United States. Mob violence led by groups such as the Ku Klux Klan encouraged families to bring their children to attend these hangings. There would be picnics, and vendors would sell the body parts of the victims as souvenirs. White supremacists did not want them or those people to be allowed “inside the fence”. It was not unusual to hear them say,

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“We don’t want them in our country.” Never mind that the first three words of the US Constitution say, “We the People…” “We” is a lovely word because it is inclusive. There are some people who have a deep understanding of how delicate and intricate all life forms and nature are to each other: a delicate dance of symbiotic relationships. Some people understand that there is only one world and we are all in this together. Life is like a spider’s web: what you do to a strand has an effect upon the entire web.

I wanted to promote To Kill a Mockingbird on TV because I felt that if there was anyone at all watching who could learn important lessons from our theatrical production – lessons of racial prejudice, cronyism, exaggerated and uncorroborated facts, rumours, fearmongering, creating hysteria, and injustice – then I might just get through to them. I won’t go into the details about how my segment on the show was edited and restructured to make me appear to be questioning the goals and intentions of our new president. That shouldn’t have surprised me. I campaigned for, and I continue to be a supporter of, President Obama. But that’s another story.

Let me simply describe how I was introduced on the show: “We’d like to welcome our pal Matthew Modine…” That sounds nice. Welcoming. “Our friend.” “Our” implies that I am “inside the fence” or in agreement with the person that says it. If you listen to the TV or radio news, the pundits or certain members of the Republican Party, you will begin to notice that more and more often they use “our” to preface their thoughts about the United States. Their use of the word “our” aims to create a schism. And it’s working.

The use of “our” is becoming a crucial turning point in history – crucial because a large proportion of the US population is confused and feels alienated. For eight years American citizens were force-fed a daily meal of fear and supposed threat from outside forces.

Today, most Americans are embarrassed by the truth of the Iraq war. Those people and groups that were in favour of the first US pre-emptive war have been humiliated. Today they must consider the consequences – the loss of life and financial cost to

the countries involved. Follow the money trail of those that profited from the war and you find the possible cause and truth. The Republicans and the citizens who supported them can accept neither the defeat they were dealt nor the embarrassment served up by their comical nominations for president and vice-president. Today they question their party’s leadership and they are angry. As a result, every step President Obama takes for the next four years will be scrutinised for error. Any slip he makes will be magnified and criticised as a step toward the destruction of the United States or, as they will say, “our country”.

Being introduced as “our friend” was a not-sosubtle way of putting me in line with a way of thinking or a movement – their way of thinking and a part of their movement. In their minds, “our” is not an inclusive word but a group, clique or party of likeminded people.

Ours against theirs.

During the show I was asked if President Obama was, by bailing out the banks and auto industry, gambling with our country’s future. Yes, he is. He is taking a risk by bailing out the companies that failed because of mismanagement and speculation. I replied that the president is being advised by people who understand the situation much better than I do. I also said that the automobile industry in America was failing because it was guilty of not competing with a global market of hybrids and fuel-efficient auto manufacturers. And that the rules of evolution teach us that you need to adapt and change or become extinct. I said that rather than building Hummers, General Motors should transform itself by going in the business of building light-rail trains. Imagine how many jobs that would create in the US. I finished by saying that nobody in America wants to see the president fail, except [the radio host] Rush Limbaugh. This was dismissed by the host of the TV show. Oh, really…

On 16 January 2009, Rush Limbaugh went on national television and said it. Here is an excerpt straight from the mouth of Mr Limbaugh, “I hope he [Obama] fails. [interruption] What are you

While they accuse liberals of destroying our country, it is actually they who are damaging America

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laughing at? See, here’s the point. Everybody thinks it’s outrageous to say. Look, even my staff, ‘Oh, you can’t do that.’ Why not? Why is it any different, what’s new, what is unfair about my saying I hope liberalism fails? Liberalism is our problem. Liberalism is what’s gotten us dangerously close to the precipice here.”

And here is how Mr Limbaugh, both on his radio show and cited on his own website, uses the phrase “our country”: “I’ll tell you how we’re going to get our country back, and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do when we get our country back.”

There is something deeply unappealing about Mr Limbaugh, who appears to enjoy casting himself in the role of avenger of the Conservative Right. Mr Limbaugh is even making a list of who has been naughty or nice: “We are taking names.

We are taking names now. We are monitoring who on the left is going to deserve payback, and it’s going to be hell. This much I promise you.”

Given his penchant for lists, it appears that Mr Limbaugh could teach Senator Joseph McCarthy a thing or two about the divisive power of the bureaucracy of hate. he chilling fact is that there is no “we” in this new supremacist movement in America. These new-age zealots do not embrace the concept of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness unless it fulfils their view, their definitions of what life, liberty and happiness are. In their world of “our”, there are no “We the People”. In their world of “our”, all men are not created equal.

These new-age bigots are the reflection of the things they claim to fear most. Listen carefully to those who scream loudest – usually about “them” or “those people” destroying our country – and you quickly realise that while they accuse liberals of destroying our country, it is actually they who are damaging the promise and ideals of the Great Experiment that is America. It is the bigot who causes the most trouble and strife to a free and democratic society. Bigots live in the land of “our.”

Without considering the obvious facts derived from logical thought, bigots exhibit obstinate, blind devotion to their unscientific beliefs and opinions. Witness the attacks, contempt and intolerance for those who do not agree with them.

I choose to live in the world of you, me and we.

My door will always be open to a friendly conversation with them, or those people. I hope the same might become possible for the people who live in the land of “our.”

– FQR’s liberal-at-large Matthew Modine is the founder of Card Carrying Liberal www.cardcarryingliberal.org

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FQR Women’s Page

The Ultimate Rock Star

In the starry firmament of haute joaillerie, there is one aristocratic name that outshines them all: Fulco Verdura. Harry Fane celebrates the 70th anniversary of his company

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n the Cole Porter song Farming, the lyrics reveal that Liz Whitney was so chic the handle of her rubbish bin was a jewel designed by the Duke of Verdura (or to give him his full name, Fulco Santostefano della Cerda). That Fulco Verdura was a legend is without question, but he was not a legend as in a “myth”, but a real, modern-day legend as in “star” or “superstar”.

There were really two Fulcos, and they fused perfectly.

First, there was “social” Fulco, who ran around with the likes of Cole Porter and Liz Whitney, and was invited everywhere by everyone. And then there was Fulco the extraordinary jewellery designer. If one concentrates too much on the social aspect, one does a disservice to his profession. If one concentrates too heavily on the designer aspect, one discounts how enormously sophisticated and amusing he was. A voracious reader of books and a highly knowledgeable lover of opera and theatre, Fulco could brighten event. any His wit was

Fulco Verdura and Coco Chanel looking at cuffs

appreciated as much as it was feared. Those who knew him hold on dearly to their memories but, sadly, few of those friends are left. We who come late to the Verdura party are left only with his jewels. They, thankfully, go a long way in conjuring up his extraordinary personality and talent.

Born in 1898 into a great aristocratic family, Fulco grew up amongst much splendour in Palermo, Sicily. His childhood was both idyllic and cultured, and his inherent artistic skills manifested themselves early. When his beloved father died in 1926, Fulco hurried to Paris to follow his creative inclinations. At first he led an indolent life, with his social aspirations getting the better of him. It was not until 1930, when Cole and Linda Porter introduced him to Coco Chanel, that Fulco began to work. Coco initially utilised Fulco’s talents to design fabrics, but it quickly became apparent that the pair had a shared fascination with jewellery.

Coco encouraged Fulco in that direction, offering up her own jewels for him to redesign. He quickly bucked the fashion of the day – which was for white diamonds set in platinum – and began setting huge, coloured, semiprecious stones into yellow gold. Chanel was soon adorning herself in these jewels, and none was more iconic than her pair of white enamel Maltese Cross cuff bracelets. y the mid-1930s, two forces were propelling Fulco to cross the Atlantic. First, war clouds were looming in Europe. Second, and perhaps more seductively, Hollywood and all the glamour it promised, was beckoning.

Heading off with his best friend, Nicolas de Gunzburg, Fulco – in part due to his association with Chanel – soon had a job with the leading Hollywood jeweller Paul Flato. Fulco soon began attracting a star-studded clientele – Garbo, Crawford, Hepburn (who wore Verdura jewellery in the movie The Philadelphia Story), and even Gary Cooper. An unfortunate episode involving a diamond led to the closure of the Flato jewellery business so, in 1939, at the urging of Cole Porter, Fulco made his way to New York. Along with the banker Paul Mellon, Cole Porter provided the financial backing for Verdura to open his own business in a first-floor salon at 512 Fifth Avenue. At last, all the diverse elements of Fulco’s life came together. As he was already renowned for his jewellery designs, his salon was soon full of the smart set, encouraged

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by many features published in Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar.

Fulco sat listening to classical music and sketching his designs at his salon. He transformed classical forms such as ropes, coins, flowers and animals into popular, wearable jewels and particularly loved to embellish seashells found on the beach with gold and precious stones. He converted antique Indian ivory chess pieces into brooches, but sold them only to his closest friends. Fulco changed the look of jewellery primarily through the yellow-gold-and-coloured-stone mix he had discovered with Chanel. As he was never interested in fortune, many of his creations were inexpensive, selling for just a few hundred dollars. What interested him were his friends, opera, books – and giving full rein to his creative soul and artistic sensibility.

In 1996, Quest magazine wrote: “There are those who believe Fulco Verdura could have done more with his talent but they fail to acknowledge either his enormous productivity or the influence he wielded with his clients. His jewellery gave them wit. It gave them glamour. In photographs of these women, we are drawn to the jewellery. It made the red of the lipstick more lustrous; the sparkle in the eye lift heavenwards.” Although Fulco is considered by many to be the greatest jewellery designer of the 20th century – and his business still flourishes 40 years after his death – the name remains generally unknown to the public at large. That’s just the way Fulco liked it, the way he chose to run his business.

He was selective about his customers, and wanted his jewellery to be exclusive. If someone came to his salon whom he did not know, he would instruct his staff to say he was dead if they asked to meet him. Fame also held no interest for Fulco: he wanted his designs to speak for themselves. Whilst he might have been a reluctant legend in his own lifetime, he is now regarded, in the firmament of jewellery designers, as a superstar. His creations transformed the way jewellery was worn. Today, his jewels continue to be made exactly as he designed them, and remain as sought after as they were when he was alive. This is surely the greatest testament to his legendary talent. This year we are celebrating the 70th anniversary of the Verdura jewellery company.

Verdura. A legend then. A legend now. A legend indeed.

– Harry Fane is a London jeweller

A Fishy Business

Maya Even cooks bouillabaisse – food that’s good enough for the gods

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his is a soup of paradoxes. We know it as perhaps the greatest example of French peasant cuisine – an invention of Marseille fishermen, designed to make good use of the unwanted catch of the day – a rough ’n’ ready hotchpotch of fish. Masculine, practical, hearty… But we also know it as the lofty creation of the goddess Venus, who prepared it for Vulcan, to lull him to sleep so she could dally with Mars.

It could be that the lowly fishermen felt they needed a little divine ancestry to fortify their soup. (As Venus was born on a clam, perhaps her interest in bouillabaisse was INGREDIENTS (serves 8-10) predictable.) Then there’s the name – a conflation of “to 500g ripe tomatoes, 350g onions, 4 garlic cloves, 3 fresh fennel sprigs, bunch of flat-leafed parsley, piece of orange peel, 4 good pinches of saffron, 1 bay leaf, boil” and “to lower” – or “simmer”. Finally, there is the 2 sprigs of thyme, 130ml-plus of good olive oil, salt, pepper, a day-old baguette. paradox of the recipe itself. There’s plenty of nonsense Fish – if you’re a purist, give up now unless you live between Toulon and Marseille, or near an exacting fishmonger. Geoculinary connoisseurs hold that written about this. Many recipes try to frighten readers authentic bouillabaisse ingredients reside only here. These include: rascasse or chapon (scorpion fish), St Pierre (John Dory), conger eel, angler fish, red mullet, with long lists of unfamiliar fish with ugly faces, sharp whiting, sea perch, dorade and various shellfish including mussels or clams. (Lobster is inappropriate because of its expense.) Happily, most of these – the elusive spines and untranslatable names. They warn of hours of rascasse aside – can be substituted with more common varieties: hake, baby cod or turbot, monkfish, gurnard, halibut, rockfish, lemon sole, plaice, weaver, hard labour – endless boiling, straining, puréeing, ling, haddock or wrasse. You need about 3kg: a mix of lean, delicate, gelatinous, firm and shellfish. Ask your fishmonger to order in some of the more exotic cracking, gouging. This is silly. Have these people never characters and have him scale, skin and debone your purchases. heard of fishmongers? As for lengthy boiling, see Prosper Montagne, author of Larousse. He writes: “The total METHOD Preheat oven to 150°C/300°F. Boil a kettle. Cut the fish into pieces about 2in (5cm) square-ish. Divide according to cooking time – firmer-fleshed cooking time of a bouillabaisse does not exceed 14 to 15 in one group, more delicate in another. Clean and sort mussels and clams. Slice baguette into thin rounds. Place on a baking sheet and drizzle minutes.” That’s minutes. Fish stock needs only the briefest of with olive oil. Place on middle shelf in the oven to harden. Decrease heat if they begin to brown. Roughly chop onions, fennel fronds and parsley. cooking, so as not to diminish the fresh taste. If you truly Deseed and chop tomatoes. Mash the garlic into a paste with a bit of salt. In a large pot, heat the oil and throw in the onions. Gently cook want to do all the scaling, deboning and chopping, I won’t for 5 mins – lid on – till translucent. Stir in garlic and tomatoes, raise heat, and cook for another 5 mins. Add the firm-fleshed fish. dissuade you. With close friends and good wine, gutting several Stir. Add saffron, peel, fennel, bay leaf, thyme and half the parsley. Pour in the water a couple of inches above the top of the fish. kilos of fish may even be a pleasant way of passing an afternoon.

Cover. Boil briskly for 7 mins. Slide in the more delicate fish. Cover. Boil for 5 mins. Add shellfish, turning over the other The point I’m trying to make is that you have a choice. If you get other people to do the hard work, bouillabaisse becomes a delightfully fish carefully. Cover again. After 3 mins, open, lower heat to a simmer and taste. Season. Taste again after another simple, quick and rewarding dish to prepare. Its informality will enliven minute. Correct seasoning. Add a slug of olive oil and remaining parsley. Guests should place the bread even the dullest spirit at your table. And most important, the first mouthful will at the bottom of their bowls, and help themselves to the bouillabaisse, either from a tureen or produce that greatest of compliments – an appreciative silence. directly from the pot. It’s usually served with wine from the region. Whatever you – Maya Even is FQR’s gastronome choose, it should be dry, fairly strong and, if red, try it frais.

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FQR Art Legends

Sydney Picasso recalls her first meeting with the extraordinary Joan Miró, a unique star at the centre of an artistic constellation

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first met Joan Miró in the circle of the Greek publisher Tériade, who lived in Paris and founded the art magazine Verve. His publishing house on Rue Férou was across from Man Ray’s studio, and his numerous houses were filled by most of the 20th-century masters working in France, including Matisse, Braque, Gris, Giacometti, Picasso, Chagall and, of course, Miró. Tériade had a personal relationship with all these, and I met many artists through him.

It was the sort of day that screamed Spring, and it was some time in the Seventies at La Roseraie, Tériade’s wife’s tiny doll’s house outside Paris, which had a huge flower-filled garden – just the sort of setting Miró adored. The bees, birds and other creatures busied themselves watching him. I was in my twenties, he in his eighties, yet our 60-year gap was but a scansion pause. Like a fluffy puppy, eager and curious, I pointed my camera at the master, the silver fox – two hemispheres at apparent odds.

We seemed able to appreciate each other’s company, regardless. He was simple and direct, and would come up with these great one-liners. He was not a tortured bohemian soul, nor as cynical as Picasso (who would become my father-in-law) or as self-obsessed as Chagall. Miró struck me as very modest, a real gentleman. It charmed me that, although I was just a kid, this old and brilliant man would take an interest in me. But it wasn’t about seduction – it was merely his deep curiosity in other people that remained with him into his very old age.

The man was not what one imagined. No beret-wearing, dishevelled, paint-covered bohemian, Miró was impeccably dressed – English-tailored, hair perfectly trimmed, his eyes gleaming. I was more PreRaphaelite in spirit: intense, dramatic, but in the end, overwhelmed by his simplicity. His wit struck like a dynamite charge, and any

three words he uttered in French, Catalan or Spanish perfectly summed up his 60-odd years of contemplating space and matter. As can be seen in his three big Blue paintings, where point and slash mime the music of the spheres, they are the “colour of my dreams”.

Miró was seldom seen without a cravat, and defied the modernist conception of the unrecognised genius toiling in a garret. Balthus’ painting Joan Miró and His Daughter Dolores portrays a reserved Miró sitting behind his daughter, who is projected forward. He could easily be a civil servant. But this seemingly bourgeois painter revelled in his own secret world of mystery and magic. Not only did he manipulate paint and clay like a sorcerer, he totally controlled his images. There is no randomness to his work, and his incredibly controlled series The Constellations is proof. Last exhibited as an ensemble at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, these equally sized, thoroughly well-composed gouache paintings portray a deep sensibility, and quest to understand the cosmos. iró’s eyes had an intensity seldom seen; they did not “devour”, as did Picasso’s, they illuminated. Under the guise of a serene and simple being lay a driven scientific investigator. His long life (1893-1983) spanned all the innovative artistic movements of the 20th century, and his participation in theatre and dance, his creations in tapestry, ceramic murals, painting, sculpture and lithography secured him a place in the odyssey of Modernism. He was magus and man rolled into one.

More than 20 years later, the writer and photographer Roberto Otero introduced me to Miró’s grandson, Joan Punyet Miró. At the opening night of the large Miró retrospective at MoMA, he suddenly went on stage and started talking, saying, “Well, I saw a microphone, so I thought I should say something.” Physically, Joan looks more like a character from the Modernist period – thin and fair-haired with a delicately chiselled figure. Time had seemed suspended when I met Miró, and I reconnected easily to the pause – for Joan has his grandfather’s spirit and humour.

– Sydney Picasso sits on the international councils of The Museum of Modern Art and the Tate

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th von Lucy Liu talks to Elisabe ting Thurn und Taxis about ac and painting

ry artist?

Who is the most legenda ays a compilation of alw It’s hard to say because it’s s an inspiration. The different artists that create when art can inspire me most important thing is ent way. A few of my to see things in a differ metti, Lucian Freud, favourite artists are Giaco i Smith.

Louise Bourgeois and Kik le as a painter or an focus on the details and Are you more vulnerab or in acting, you want to eliminate the detail to actress? sometimes you want to th. bo more haphazard and I have to find fragility in ke something that is much ma m? fro on ati as something Where do you draw inspir You want it to come across l. ura nat . on ati pir ins and kinds of in and not “put together” I draw upon all different ent that’s been thrown rtm apa ir the and of d t rge ou g cha vin nce performa When somebody is mo ir that’s what makes the the e tsid ou t s tha ng of thi t e par pil much in New York City they iting, so that it seems so exc cks Ra s. bin e at abl gre be huge to find that in my art and house in the street and in the way person. I want and s, ng thi of ts sor all it seem effortless. and shelves and to capture that and make ed. ph gra reo cho ks loo ost two very different art they are thrown in alm Acting and painting are u yo ing eth som or l too together?

Is passion an essential forms. How do they go ? ing int pa en wh d y well. en ver nsc er togeth need to tra passion. I think they go end nsc tra r eve can you t I don’t think tha n is bulletproof but I would say that passio to incur discipline. sometimes you also have Describe a perfect day. start painting and then A perfect day would be to the morning and you realise it’s four o’clock in you haven’t eaten all started painting at noon and so involved and time day because you’ve been just like when you go to becomes so condensed – denses into a moment. sleep at night and time con play very athletic and As an actress you often woman. Does your physically powerful physical labour? painting involve a lot of ny paintings that were For my last show I made ma s and putting something two metres by three metre me flowing through the up that is that large keeps work in very broad piece and pushes me to ps it interesting to me strokes. The size is what kee different media, in art because when you work in

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summer 2009

FQR Art Legends

Koons with a view Jeff Koons puts into words what he puts so eloquently into his artworks: his passion for life

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he most important thing about life is life itself and the continuation of life, and I start all my work based on that foundation. When I was younger my family was very supportive. My grandfather’s brothers were all very successful merchants in our area. My grandfather was city treasurer in New York and his brothers all had stores so I was always brought up to be self-reliant. As I child, I liked to go from door to door selling things – gift-wrapping paper, candy, any type of product. I enjoyed the communication that occurred because I had my needs and the person who opened the door had theirs so there was a sense of acceptance between us.

I learnt aesthetics from my dad. He was an interior decorator and he taught me that a controlled environment could really manipulate the way people felt. If you go into an environment that is red and black you feel one way, or if you go into an environment that is French provincial you feel another way. Textures and colours would all affect your feelings. My father would think of everything. When decorating our Christmas tree

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he would think of every ball and where it should go. So when I am planting Puppy or one of these sculptures it is very much the same thought as my father would put in when designing the Christmas tree. But neither my father nor I believe in fetishism. To me, fetishism by definition is a dog chasing its tail. It is something where you get less energy out of it than that you put in. Craft for craft’s sake is not very interesting. What I learned over the years is that I really don’t care about giving attention to objects because they are just metaphors for people.

What I really enjoy is giving attention to the objects as these externalised things that stand as a metaphor because what I care about most is the viewer.

I was very spoilt as a child and got all the toys I wanted, except for one toy that I really wanted called something like Gargoo. It was a big green toy and it had a leopard skin kind of like Tarzan’s wrapped around his waist. The toy looks very similar to the Hulk figures I make now. When I was five years old we moved out to the suburbs

and I spent a lot of time on my own playing underneath trees. I felt different to the other kids, who seemed wilder, and I realised then that I wanted more of life and that I wanted to find some vehicle to do so.

My inspiration comes from a lot of the activities my children and I do together, and I try to be accessible and to open myself up to that. I started making art because it gave me a sense of self. I have one older sister and I always felt that she could do everything better than me.

She was bigger and stronger, but when I started to draw and sketch my parents would say, “That’s good, Jeff ” and I felt very satisfied because I had finally found something I was good at – better at than my sister. Art has continued as a vehicle of giving me a sense of self but I never knew how vast art could be and how art functions as a hub, bringing all disciplines together.

I believe a good artist has to start off with a degree of insecurity because you have to want something, you have to want to expand. I always wanted to “become”. The type of philosophy I

I was very spoilt as a child and got all the toys I wanted

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enjoyed was Nietzsche and Kierkegaard. I enjoyed the thought of becoming and expanding the self but I also think that, as a child, I got a sense of morality and community from my parents. So I have these two elements inside. I have my own needs, my own interests and wanting the intensity to be strongest but, at the same time, I feel a responsibility within my group – whether it’s my family structure or community – to be relied upon. y sculptures are often mirrored so the viewer is reflected in them not as narcissist but more as an abstraction.

It makes reference to the viewer, giving him the importance. It is the viewer who makes my sculptures actual works of art. If you move, it moves and thereby confirms you as the viewer. Art is in the viewer and not the object. Really great art almost imitates life. It tries to be its parable, as if something could be made strong enough to overcome the barrier and compete against real life.

Of course, this is impossible. When you are viewing a piece of art that is very visceral and you feel your chemicals flowing, a physical and an intellectual reaction take place. It’s almost as if the work is pushing up against life’s force because it’s making your experience of life stronger. And that is what art is all about.

– Jeff Koons is exhibiting his Popeye Series at the Serpentine Gallery, 2 July – 13 September

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In Black and Write FQR Arts et Lettres

Julian Sands pauses to reflect on Harold Pinter’s poetry

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became familiar with Harold Pinter’s poems a few years ago. Harold had committed to a reading of them to benefit a women’s shelter, but his advancing illness had temporarily impaired his speaking voice and he asked me to take over. We then spent some time together as I was instructed and tutored in his phrasing, his emphases and, of course, his pauses.

Reading the poems to an attentive gathering was a most fulfilling and thrilling experience and my regard for the poems has only increased as I return to them frequently in his collected works, Various Voices: Prose, Poetry, Politics 1948-2005, published

by Faber. Essential to have it close by.

His spare but complex works explore atmospheres, landscapes and characters not unrelated to his plays, but in their brevity there is an intimacy, a revelation of subjective feeling that he denied himself in his dramatic works, works that he

The White Stuff

His killer instinct has led theatre impresario and film producer Michael White to work on ground-breaking projects

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obody really knows what makes a play a success and what makes it a failure. I have made both, and I still don’t know.

I’ve always had a good instinct, of which I made a lot of use, and I was well read and educated.

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said “were channelled from a different place”.

Most of the world knows Harold Pinter for his plays. He is described by David Hare as the defining dramatist of the 20th century. But I believe his poetry, had he only expressed himself in this form, would have secured his literary legacy.

I first encountered Harold’s work during my Olevels – the set play was The Birthday Party. I was entranced by his characters and their worlds. I pursued productions of The Caretaker, The Homecoming and No Man’s Land. We frequently used scenes from his canon at drama school. I was in a film of The Room (ironically playing Mr Sands, with Annie Lennox playing my wife Clarissa).

Donald Pleasence and Linda Hunt made up the cast, directed by Robert Altman. They were good but I thought the film missed, as Harold readily agreed when we discussed the project, although when I saw it again recently I was more impressed.

Harold was compelled to write from a young age, and I quote him – “I was always extremely excited by language from a very early age. I started writing when I was 11 or 12. I loved words as a child and the excitement has stayed with me all my life. I still feel as excited now as ever I did about words on a page and about a blank piece of paper and the words that may fill it. Every piece of blank paper is an unknown world which you are going to dive into and that is very challenging.”

British actor Martin Jarvis writes of his experiences working with Harold in his marvellous book Acting Strangely (which I strongly recommend – one of the most enjoyable and truest accounts on the life and work of the actor). Martin so interestingly writes that when working with Pinter he felt he was in touch with a poet. “Now look here,” Pinter instructed, “this is a beat, this is a pause and this,” brushing away the ash, “is a silence.” Martin describes him so well: “large face

and head – big spectacles, humorous mouth that seemed always about to break into a smile, but despite the suggestion of humour in waiting, everything about him seemed dark; dark voice, dark hair and brows, black polo neck and black jacket and trousers and in those days when he smoked, black cigarettes and a black holder.” I only saw him wear black but Antonia Fraser told me at funerals and memorials he might wear blue.

In 1975 Harold met Antonia Fraser and famously said, “Must you go?” and from that time they were more or less inseparable. It Is Here, written by Pinter to his wife in 1990, evokes the exquisite and delicate wonder of romantic love:

As I’ve been in theatre for over 50 years I have done a lot, but there are a few productions of which I have very vivid memories. One of them was Oh! Calcutta!, which was an amazing experience. Its creator, Ken Tynan, was a great friend of mine even before we did the show. He was very temperamental and difficult, but also brilliant, a genius. The director was Clifford Williams. In hindsight, this play was wonderful – but it wasn’t wonderful then. I was working with so many eccentric people it made it very hard. Our foremost problem was the Lord Chamberlain’s censorship. In Britain, censorship was much sharper than in America. We could not show the play here, so I made a deal with Hilly Elkins (producer and agent) to do it in New York. It wasn’t a question of objecting to certain sketches, the Lord Chamberlain opposed the entire play! It wasn’t until Hair came along, and the Lord Chamberlain’s role in theatrical censorship was abolished, that we could finally perform Oh! Calcutta! in London. The play opened and everyone was naked, which was a big thrill for the audience as they had never seen naked people on stage. It ran for seven years in London and for 13 in New York. As a producer you have to foresee what will work, and I knew that Oh! Calcutta! would.

The Sixties and Seventies were simply an amazing time. There was so much creativity and we had so much fun. I lived in so many places and had many glamorous friends and, even though we all live scattered around today, I still have many good friends from that time – one

of my oldest friends is Jack Nicholson.

I didn’t know The Rocky Horror Show would be such a success. I just did it because I liked it.

(The best piece of advice I could give to a young producer would be to follow their instincts, to do whatever you feel is right.) I met the writer in a basement flat near Sloane Square. He played me five songs. I said, “How much money do you need?” He said “£2,000” and I put it up. I went to the first night and it was fantastic: an 80-seat theatre, jam-packed and Tim Curry in the lead. He was amazing on stage, as was the whole cast and Jim Sharman’s directing. It’s a brilliant film and it’s brilliant on stage. It’s probably because of the music that it works so well. I enjoyed everything about working on it.

I don’t go to the theatre as much these days but many revivals of my shows are on. I particularly like Nicholas Hytner, the director of the National Theatre, and Michael Grandage, the artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse. He is currently doing Hamlet with Jude Law. I haven’t seen it yet, so am not sure whether it’s any good, but he is a great director.

I don’t really miss working, as I did it for so many years, but I am actually working on a production at the moment called Déjà Review. I want to show a selection of the best sketches from the Forties, Fifties and Sixties. I gave the script to someone I would like to see direct it, and I’m hoping for a star-studded cast!

– Michael White is a British theatrical impresario and film producer

“…What sound was that? …What did we hear?

It was the breath we took when we first met.

Listen. It is here.”

She remained a constant muse and a constant presence in the poetry. Just as powerful and across the page from It Is Here is Poem (1986): “I saw Len Hutton in his prime Another time another time” Harold, a keen cricketer, evokes so much reflection and remembrance with his consideration of the great batsman Len Hutton. Latterly, foreign policy and war motivated much of Harold’s poetry.

His anger at Western imperialism is powerfully expressed in the machine-gun rattle of The ‘Special Relationship’ (2004): The bombs go off The legs go off The heads go off

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But it is his profound heartbreaking tenderness we feel in Meeting (2002): The long dead look out towards The new dead Walking towards them There is a soft heart beat As the dead embrace …They cry and they kiss As they meet again…

In 2005 Harold was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. He was too ill to travel to Stockholm so he gave his acceptance speech in a recording. In spite of his wheelchair-bound frailty, his intellectual vigour and moral potency are to the fore and are utterly compelling; like a wounded beast, never more dangerous, formidable, and defiant – readily available on the internet. Viewing it is obligatory!

Towards the end of the lecture Harold reads Death, not his last poem, nor specifically a consideration of his own mortality, but its questions insist that the reader asks not for whom the bell tolls.

Did you wash the dead body Did you close both its eyes Did you bury the body Did you leave it abandoned Did you kiss the dead body Harold Pinter died on Christmas Eve, 2008.

– Actor Julian Sands is currently climbing in Alaska.

In a tribute to Harold Pinter at St Thomas the Apostle, Hollywood on 7 February 2009 he read a selection of Pinter’s poems

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 9494 art@hamiltonsgallery.com www.hamiltonsgallery.com A few steps away from the Connaught Hotel and Grosvenor Square, Mayfair

Summer 2009

photograph: Fetherstonhaugh

FQR Art Exclusive

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avin Turk was part of Saatchi’s controversial and now legendary Sensation exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts in 1997, which cemented the reputation of a generation of British artists. Turk has continued to challenge preconceptions of art and to pose the question of what actually constitutes an artwork, as well as investigating the meaning and identity of being an artist.

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He was infamously refused his MA from the Royal College of Art (from which our own Tristram Fetherstonhaugh graduated in 1988) when his exhibition space, Cave, was solely filled with a memorial blue heritage plaque with the words “Borough of Kensington, GAVIN TURK, sculptor, worked here 1989-1991”. Turk now works in a variety of media, from painting to sculpture. He

often makes reference to other artists through disguised self-portraits, such as his waxwork Pop in which he poses as Sid Vicious in a sculpture reminiscent of Warhol’s Elvis prints.

More recently, he has been using ordinary objects such as a life-sized sleeping bag (Nomad) or a bin bag (Tip and Dump), and casting them in bronze, only then to paint them to look like the

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original object – thereby opening up a dialogue between art and the meaning we attach to it.

For FQR Gavin has continued working in painted bronze, casting a piece of cracked pavement identical to an actual pavement. FQR loves Turk’s humorous approach of elevating the ordinary into the realm of the sacred, while yet recreating its ordinary appearance.

– Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis

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