TN2 Issue 4

Mark O’Kelly in context

ttn2 tn n2

Larry Gogan The World Ghost Convention Seth Lakeman Tom Vaughan Lawlor Snow Patrol 11 N 11 November oveem ov ovem mber ber – 224 be 4 No N November, ovemb vem ve mb ber err,, 20 22008 00 088

1

Calendar of fun

tn2’s pick of the most exciting things to do in Dublin this coming fortnight

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

11 The French Film Festival begins today and runs until Thursday week. Get in touch with your continental side.

Irish Film Institute, 6 Eustace Street

12 As part of the Heineken Green Synergy festival, Herbie Hancock plays a two and a half hour set.

Extreme.

Tripod, Harcourt Street, 8 p.m., ¤44.50

13 I’m not a major fan of Death Cab For Cutie, but I understand they’re good live.

Ambassador, Parnell Street, 7.30 p.m., ¤30

14 Zack and Miri Make a Porno, the latest effort from Kevin Smith, opens today, starring Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks.

Cinemas nationwide

15 Since TV on the Radio and Cut Copy have both sold out, why not take yourself down to see Dengue Fever?

The Sugar Club, Leeson Street, 7.30 p.m., ¤13.50

16 On the last day of the Synergy festival, Jay Reatard takes to the stage with support from the Urges.

Upstairs at Whelan’s, Wexford Street, 8 p.m., ¤14

17 Primal Scream will be found in the Olympia tonight.

Olympia Theatre, Dame Street, 8 p.m., ¤33.60

18 I think Opeth are great and normally Swedish prog metal isn’t my cup of tea.

Vicar Street, 8 p.m., ¤32

19 Get These Arms Are Snakes and Russian Circles and put their music into your ears..

Andrew’s Lane Theatre, 7.30 p.m., ¤16

20 Make sure you’re wearing your irony-pants at The Vengaboys, otherwise you might be killed or, at least, maimed.

The Button Factory, Curved Street, 8 p.m.

21 Choke opens today. The latest Chuck Palahniuk book to hit the silver screen has been getting mixed reviews Stateside.

Expect much sexiness.

Cinemas nationwide

22 Halves play Whelan’s tonight and that’s no word of a lie.

Whelan’s. Wexford Street, 8 p.m., ¤11

23 If you happen to have ¤35 knocking around, why not scope out Tindersticks tonight?

Vicar Street, 8.30 p.m., ¤35

24 Go see Duffy tonight.

Or you could just buy a Dusty Springfield CD. Whatevs.

Olympia Theatre, 8 p.m., ¤33.60

xkcd.com

What’s that?

You haven’t been reading the daily tn2 blog? Well, you’ve been missing out on the likes of this, then...

Golden oldies #4: Scarface Michael Armstrong wonders what all the fuss is about 2

There’s something to be said for a really god-awful movie. I’ve never had more fun in the cinema than laughing through Oliver Stone’s Alexander, and Flash Gordon sits proudly in my DVD collection as a testament to the joys of cinematic crap. What is most surprising about Scarface, Brian De Palma’s 1983 crime epic, is that when I think back on it, it won’t be my intense disappointment that’ll come to mind, it’ll be all the laughter.

Scarface tells the story of Tony Montana, a Cuban criminal who comes to America illegally in search of money and power. Along with his buddy Manny Ray (Steven Bauer), he soon becomes a hired hand for local drug boss Frank Lopez (Robert Loggia), but due to his intense ambition, and his relationship with Lopez’s wife Elvira (Michelle Pfeiffer), things soon take a violent turn.

The combination of Oliver Stone’s screenplay with Pacino’s ridiculous Cuban accent results in the most imitable performance this side of Daniel Plainview. Credit to Al for giving the role some gusto, but in some scenes it’s hard to tell what exactly is going on, mainly because you can’t believe this sub-Japanese chewed-up drivel is passing for a real Hispanic drawl. This tacky characterisation is right at home, however, as we are subjected to the worst of 1980s excess: the terrible dress sense, the awful dance moves, even the admittedly awesome

pop tunes are all here in abundance. Perhaps it is unfortunate I happened to play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City long before I watched the film, as the bestselling game takes so many elements from the same 1980s Miami setting, it almost feels as if your watching Pacino do real life versions of the in-game cut-scenes. Except I seem to remember the game was a lot more involving than this.

That’s not to say that the film is completely without merit, but we only see glimpses of what the assembled talent could have achieved. During a violent confrontation in a bathroom, the camera moves out of a window and pans to the serene beachfront outside, giving us a moment’s reprieve, explaining a plot point and making the violence all the more affecting when we return to it. Too often, though, the story is told through the lazy method of subtitles, making us read what is happening instead of showing it on screen. This method is used forgivably at first to set up the plot and the character, but from then on feels like the easy way out. Worse still, at one point we get a cheesy montage charting Montana’s ascension in the crime underworld. It may not be fair, but some films can get away with a montage (see Rocky), and some, like Scarface quite simply do not fit the bill.

The brief moments of quality could have lifted this movie beyond ridicule were it

not for its overlong three-act structure. In fact, when they do come along they are even more frustrating in light of the scenes that miss the mark. One particularly good dinner scene between Pfeiffer and Pacino stays in the memory, as for once, both the performance and the script hit the right mark.

A drug-fuelled Montana, experiencing the ennui of success, confronts the other diners for their hypocrisy in calling him the “bad guy” when they are too scared to go get what they want, regardless of the consequences.

Finally, the full force of Pacino’s talent is unleashed, making earlier scenes, where such pronouncements felt like poor characterisation, seem like a different movie.

Unfortunately, it is that movie we return to for the tacked-on finale. Montana finally gets punished for his wicked ways, going down in a blaze of glory. The ending is overdone and stupid, too words which pretty much describe the whole film, and I was left wondering why Scarface movie posters are so ubiquitous. Why also was my former flatmate OBSESSED with quoting reams of dialogue in Pacino’s slurred accent? And why did anyone involved in this film get to make another?

I’m not saying Scarface isn’t enjoyable, but unless you share my love of crap films, I can’t guarantee there’s much else here to recommend. So, if in doubt, steer well clear.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Contents Lovely Larry Gogan

What the folk? It’s Seth Lakeman!

4

6

Snow Patrol take back the city

7

The art of cinema

8

Desperately seeking Stewart

9

Farrell and Brown designer Paula Hanley

10

Fashion off the beaten track

11

Mark O’Kelly at the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery The Budget and Irish artists World Ghost Convention 2008

A chat with Dr. Mícheál Ó Siochrú Harper Lee: one hit wondress

12 13 14

18 19

Issue

4

Look at him there. Larry Gogan. Smoking away. Being deadly. Despite his clam-like adherence to middle-of-the-road dad-rockery, there’s something astonishly endearing about the man. That voice has the power to bring you back to a pre-ironic state of innocence, to a world, as Tim Smyth puts it of “Weetabix and Lego models built on the carpet.” Young Smyth had a word with the man himself and you’ll find the interview on the next page. On a personal note, I have to say that Weetabix, for me, is very much a breakfast cereal of the here and now, such is its stunning versatility and timeless deliciousness. Why not try something simple, like slicing a banana on to your Weetabix in the morning? Or perhaps shake things up a little and combine it with other cereals. I like to throw some Corn Flakes on top of mine and, if I’m feeling a little cheeky, I might add some All Bran, too. Delish!

Moving on, though, elsewhere in this issue of tn2, you’ll find an account of my exciting trip to the annual World Ghost Convention in Cork on Hallowe’en. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any actual ghosts, but I did bump into a witch outside the jacks. She was friendly and had a very nice cape. For more similarly amusing anecdotes, turn to page 14.

In music, Orla McCallion took the paper by storm, turning in not one, but two interviews, with Seth Lakeman and two of the guys from Snow Patrol. Catriona Gray kept things real with Kill Hannah, who, I won’t lie to you, I’ve never heard of, but who sound lovely.

Michael Armstrong continued his blazing rise to the top of the international male modeling world, appearing in a fashion shoot for Eglé Zinkuté’s film feature about the perils of becoming a movie zombie. Needless to say, the results were both saucy and provocative. He also went and attempted to get an interview with Patrick Stewart his own way when the Hist didn’t return his calls. After taking down eight members of the society’s committee, he was foiled

by Newstalk, who had an interview scheduled with the acting legend, and whisked him off like a pack of Patrick Stewart-hogging bastards. Up yours, Newstalk, no one listens to you anyway, so there.

Mark O’Kelly has a new exhibition down in the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, so we sent Janet Coen down to see it. Luckily, she liked what she saw, meaning Mark’s brother Conor (editor of the rather excellent Trinity Film Review) didn’t have to mess her up real good.

Nice one, Janet.

In fashion, Tara O’Connor had a word with one of Farrell and Brown’s designers, Paula Hanley. I haven’t been to their outlet on Dawson Street yet, but I’m told it’s a bit like Abercrombie & Fitch. I remember going to the A&F on Fifth Avenue in New York once. Unfortunately, I got disorientated by the loud music, flashing strobe lights and profusion of care-free, sexually-liberated, youthful affluence and had to leave the store, weeping gently as I pushed my way past the hoards of pointlessly dancing staff members. But I digress.

Kathy Clarke also did a spot of interviewing for this issue, talking to Tom Vaughan Lawlor, who is currently playing the lead role in Brecht’s The Resistable Rise of Arturo Ui at the Abbey. The show runs until 6 December, so you have no excuse not to have a look-see.

There are, of couse, plenty of other fabulous articles worth your attention in addition to some lovely reviews, so go and read them.

Until next time, then, dear readers, I bid you adieu.

An interview with actor Tom Vaughan Lawlor

20

Happy days at the Abbey

21

Wedding Day at the Cro-magnons

22

Doing Pravda justice

23

The grape guide

23

Hugh

Reviews

24

Editor tn2@trinitynews.ie

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

Yours emotionally,

3

Golden oldie Tim Smyth had a few words with one of the most enduring voices in Irish broadcasting – the inimitable Larry Gogan

A

h, Larry Gogan. National treasure, cultural institution, all-round decent bloke; his is a voice that even your granny has childhood memories about. For my part, whenever I hear those bouncy tones I’m transported back to a world of Weetabix and Lego models built on the carpet, where my Mammy still makes me lunch and – There’s a sound of static, a muffled tut and then: “Hello?” More static. “Oh for…

Hold on; this bloody mobile…Here, ring us back on the landline, would you?”

And so I come back to earth, saddened by the knowledge that he, too, is human. Ah well. Funny what you’ll find out about radio presenters, as you’ll discover…

“Ah, I don’t like the word presenter – I always say I’m a DJ; it keeps up the illusion that there’s some kind of work involved.”

Yessir. “And how is work going?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m just back home in Templeogue – was out in RTÉ doing the recording for the digital streaming of The Golden Hour. It’s grand. That’s probably the biggest technical change of the last few years. Actually, now that I think of it all the changes have actually been technical. I mean it’s a far cry from the days where you’d have four people manning the record machine just so you could play the songs. That was more fun and I suppose more natural, but it was also

4

bloody chaotic! Now you don’t have a live audience to worry about, you’re in the room on your own spouting away and the only one outside’s the phone-manager.

“Nothing new really discommodes me – I’ve been here ages, so I’ve seen loads of changes come and go. We were always taught just pretend you’re talking to someone in the room with you, and when you hold onto that you can get past the idea that there’s not the live audience listening to you. The only thing I really miss is that now the whole thing’s gone digital. You used to have the 45 rpm LPs and you got to drop the needle on and then watch it come back around to the dot. There was something sacred about them you don’t even get with CDs or tapes – they used to put so much effort into the sleeves and everything. I suppose I miss that hands-on quality about the work, but not much else.”

It has really been a life in radio for the Fairview man, who started into Radio 1 straight after school in 1961. Since then, he’s been a staple of the Irish radio.

“The scary thing is how quickly the time’s gone by. I’ve been doing this for forty-seven years. Luckily enough I’ve never had to do anything else, and also that I’ve never been anything other than freelance; RTÉ just put me on contracts. The job’s a bit like being an actor in some respects because you’re 11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Opposite page: Gogan accepting the Industry Award gong at the 2007 Meteor Awards This page: Fads both music and fashion-related have come and go, but Gogan has withstood the test of time remarkably well, weathering the folk-knits of the seventies (right), recessionary, sports-casual chic of the eighties (below) and, perhaps most impressively, the floral tie fiascos of the nineties (left)

always worried about being out of work.

That was especially the case back then when you had only one station and the majority of programmes were sponsored. There were about 60 of those, and Bird’s Custard or their likes would have you on for a while.

Then, if your ratings dropped, so were you.

“You’d do advertising voiceovers as well, which were grand, but there again you had the problem of competition. I mean there was so much talent going for so few places.

It’s that kind of thing I don’t really miss.

They used to have us on such short-term contracts – they’d be weekly to begin with, which was just so much trouble. You’d have pounds of paper coming through the post every week, and it was just so inconvenient.

After that they saw sense…I’m on a threeyear job now.

“Really I’ve been lucky all the way, even when you look at how I got into this job in the first place. I was a boy actor – which is how the showbiz bug worked its way into me – but the family also had a newsagent’s in Fairview. There was a woman used to come in called Maura Fox, who was a producer for RTÉ, and I used to pester her unmercifully for an audition. Eventually I got one and it just went from there. Again, there’s a lot of luck comes into it. I know people who’ve gone in as post-boys on work experience from school and have grafted their way up. tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

Others have to jam their foot in the door.

But I just happened to meet a producer.”

The first DJ to play a record on 2fm, you could also call him something of a folklorist given some of the slip-ups people have made on the infamous “Just a Minute Quiz”.

“Yeah, they’re always hilarious…People saying the Great Wall of China’s in Crumlin because it’s a takeaway out there or whatever. The best one was when someone got eighteen questions wrong in a row. Sometimes you don’t really know how to deal with them, but that’s part of the fun.”

He’s about as much an institution as the station itself, who have even named a studio after him (“This worries me a little, because usually they leave it until after you’re dead.”). By the sounds of it, he’ll be there as long as the building will.

“Oh, I’ve definitely no plans to retire. I mean I’m not mad into sport or anything – even my pastimes centre around music to be honest. Now that I’m on my own, apart from meals and pints with the lads, I tend to just wallow in music. So I’ll keep going as long as I’m allowed! The first DJ Christopher Stone (the dinner-jacket wearing BBC pundit) didn’t stop until he was 82, and John Peel went out with his boots on.

“Funnily enough I actually met John Peel once,” He clears his throat, “At the Eurovision, actually, now that I think of it…”

Right. So. As well as hardcore Belgian trance and the sort of guitar-noises that would frighten even Sonic Youth, John Peel was a closet fan of the Eurovision?

“Ah, he made no secret about it. I was there in Copenhagen the year I met him, doing the radio coverage for RTÉ. Terry Wogan was in the box next to me – that was always great; he’d shout across “Just slag them off, Larry!” by way of advice – and afterwards he introduced me to John Peel himself. I was as surprised as you are; I straight out asked him what he was doing there. He just took a sip of his pint and said: ‘Well, I quite like the Eurovision actually’.”

Well, fair enough. At last! The justification I need for downloading that Israeli transsexual’s back catalogue – Ah – sorry.

Gogan’s own music tastes are decidedly less suspect.

“To be honest you don’t get a great idea of what I’m into from the stuff you hear on the show. Most of the time you’re on playlists, so you end up playing a lot of music you don’t actually like. That’s probably the worst aspect of the job – well; the only bad bit of it anyway.

“I mean, I can’t stand country, but I end up playing a lot of it because that’s what people want to hear. A fair amount of that middle-of-the-road stuff bores me as well I have to say.

“If I had to admit to a cultural blindspot, though, it’d definitely be Tom Waits. I mean everyone in RTÉ pretty much thinks he’s the greatest, but apart from some of the ballads and that I just don’t get it really.

“Luckily I get to hear a lot of new music as well; I still do the Chart Show. Kings of Leon are a particular favourite I have to say.

Even though a fair bit of that hip-hop stuff is just throwing shapes, you do have the likes of Kanye West who are doing something genuinely inventive. It’s great to see AC/DC back in the fold as well – that new album of theirs is such a return to form. Shame we had to wait so long for it though…They’re banging along the way they used to and it’s great to hear. I’ve always thought they were marvellous. When I was doing DJ gigs down the country theirs were requests I didn’t really mind playing… sadly I haven’t been to a great gig in ages though. I missed Leonard Cohen because I was doing a show – hopefully he’ll make it back.’

Presumably, though, he’ll be down the front for their O2 gig in April, right?

“Well, hopefully! As I said music’s not just my job – it’s my life. The job just pays me for it, and I’ll keep doing it for as long as I’m able to.”

Larry’s new five-disc compilation Pickin’ the Pops: 101 Hits of the 80s and 90s is in stores now.

5

All fired up

Kill Hannah refuse to let a tour bus inferno prevent them from continuing their European tour, as Catriona Gray finds out

U

ndenianbly, it’s been a dramatic week for Kill Hannah. It’s Saturday afternoon and we’re sitting in Whelan’s before their show.

It’s a miracle that they’ve managed to get to Dublin at all, since on Tuesday night, the band’s tour bus went on fire as they were going through the Swiss Alps. Luckily, the band escaped unscathed, but they still look a little unsettled. Dan Wiese, the guitarist, describes what happened: “It was really bad, everybody lost everything. Our gear was in the other trailer, so we still have our instruments, but all our personal stuff: computers, cameras, clothes, ipods, everything’s gone. Some of us lost passports, so we had to go to the embassy in Switzerland to replace them.’”

You would think that Kill Hannah would have been tempted to cancel the tour, but apparently not. “You know, that never came up, nobody suggested it. We did end up having to cancel two shows in Belgium, which we were looking forward to. Some of the shows coming up are the biggest on the tour, so I’d feel like such a quitter if we went home early just because we lost our pants.

Touring in a band is what we’ve all always

dreamed of doing. That’s why when something happens like the bus catches on fire, you can’t just pack it up and go home when we’ve worked so hard to get here, if it’s possible to continue… But it is really tough, especially since we’ve got another ten dates to

The young folk

go, with no days off in between.”

The fire was just the latest episode in what’s been an eventful year for the band.

Earlier this year, Kill Hannah made the decision to change record labels, moving from Atlantic Records to Roadrunner Records.

Orla McCallion had a word with Seth Lakeman about tradition, touring and Jethro Tull

E

nglish-born Seth Lakeman is back out on the road, “well happy” with the way his way career is progressing. Since signing his first record deal with brothers Séan and Sam in the band Equation at just 17, the folk singer-songwriter and musician has come a long way. Formerly known as the Lakeman bothers, the trio hooked up with Kathryn Roberts and Kate Rusby for a tour of Portugal, and were subsequently snatched up by record label Time Warner. Seth played with Equation for 7 years before deciding to go solo, although he “loved playing with the guys.”

Criticised by extreme traditionalists as not keeping up the folk tradition, Seth remains undeterred. He agrees he brings a “young element” to folk, and his integration of popular music sounds into the genre has paid off. From the release of his first solo album in 2002 The Punch Bowl to his fourth album Poor Man’s Heaven, his songs have taken on a rockier sound which has been a “natural progression from playing live”.

Despite critics stating the contrary, Seth contends that he is committed to the traditions of folk music. All his music is acoustically performed and recorded. As he pus it, “all the instruments are make of wood”.

He has always kept it in the family, and his brother still tours with him. He has even collaborated with his brother’s wife Cara Dillon, accompanying her angelic voice on the piano. His songs are traditional, telling stories or expressing something about a cul-

6

When asked about this, Dan explains: “Atlantic wouldn’t release us outside of America, and we really wanted to be released in places like the UK, Europe, Japan and everywhere else.” The switch to Roadrunner means that the band’s four albums are now on the shelves in music stores in this country for the first time ever.

Kill Hannah have a huge following in the U.S. among the alternative rock scene.

As many emo kids’ band of choice, a quick search on the internet reveals a host of street team and fan sites all proclaiming their undying devotion to Kill Hannah. Later, as I watch the band play the end of their set to a moderate crowd of teenagers in Whelans, it seems incredible that a band who have been in existence for 14 years, sold out all their UK dates and have such a huge and devoted fanbase in the U.S. can still experience relative obscurity here in Ireland. They seem completely undaunted, though. As Matt Davies, wearing the only set of clothes he currently possesses, gives away his arm-warmers to a fan in the front row, and tells the audience that they’re the best crowd ever, you have to admire the band’s tenacity. They deserve those fan sites, there’s no doubt about that.

ture that exists or once existed. His second album Kitty Jay tells of myths and legends from his home,leading him to be nominated for the Mercury music prize. The album was launched in front of an audience of inmates at Dartmoor Prison, and was voted number one folk album of 2004 by Time Out magazine. A sell-out UK tour followed and Seth has been non-stop since. Now signed to Relentless, a UK label owned by EMI and Virgin records and home to Joss Stone and KT Tunstill, Seth recognises the Mercury nomination as an “amazing achievement” that transformed his career.

Many live performances at festivals large and small, kept Seth busy in 2007, the Cambridge folk festival being his favourite. He played at Glastonbury for about the tenth time, and has supported huge acts such as Tori Amos. One of the most memorable moments for him in his career is appearing on stage with Jethro Tull on their 40th anniversary tour in Bristol in 2008, which was “really exciting”.

Influenced by legends such as Paul Simon and Randy Newman, Seth has really developed an individual style. His “parents ran a folk club, which was a heavy influence from an early age”, and his mixture of music tastes led him to produce tunes that are appreciated by many. Planning to release a new record next year, he intends to continue to take his career “one step at a time.”

Seth Lakeman plays the Academy on 15 November.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Taking back the city Snow Patrol’s Jonny Quinn and Tom Simpson took some time out to talk to Orla McCallion about new record A Hundred Million Suns

T

he opulent yet cool Morrison hotel bustles around us as we chat.

On the Friday of the October bank holiday weekend, Jonny and Tom of Snow Patrol sit in front of me, apparrently enjoying the opportunity to sit down for a few minutes. With the band set to play a jam-packed gig in Dublin on Sunday, fans here are ecstatic. Playing in Belfast on the same day followed immediately by London and Edinburgh on the Monday, the boys are in for a busy weekend. Their schedules have been packed recently with the recording of their latest album A Hundred Million Suns and it will be a few more days before they get a chance to rest, although I doubt this would bother to any great extent this band whose last album went seven times platinum.

In 2006, Snow Patrol’s most successful album yet, Eyes Open topped the Irish albums chart and became the UK’s bestselling album of the year. The band became widely known and esteemed by fans from diverse backgrounds and a multitude of different countries after their hit single “Chasing Cars” was heard on the soap Grey’s Anatomy, making it an instant chartbuster.

Despite the fact that 4.7 million copies were

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

sold worldwide, two years since the release of this phenomenally successful album the boys are aware that there are “no guarantees” that their recently released album will be such a hit.

The band began recording A Hundred Million Suns in Grouse Lodge, Westmeath where they had recorded “Eyes Open”. After six weeks of work in this rural setting, they proceeded to Berlin where they finished recording the album in Hansa studio. Famous for its use by U2, Depeche Mode and David Bowie, the studio is held in high regard by music lovers everywhere. The excitement of Berlin injected a new energy into the band, and according the bands keyboard mastermind Tom, it put some “ghosts in the machine”, helping the album come together. The album was recorded in two months and released on the 27th of October.

As in previous albums, singer and songwriter Gary Lightbody’s lyrics are poetic and capture his thoughts beautifully. The usual affairs of love and loss dominate the album, although a happier Gary than we are accustomed to shines through in places. Clearly a romantic, he writes about these timeless and universal themes from a very personal per-

spective, touching many hearts and appealing to the masses. Innumerable amounts of people can relate to his words, and as Jonny states, “Gary writes about things that really happen to him”, giving his songs that particular touch that captivates a wide audience.

This ability has contributed greatly to the band’s enormous achievements and since their first commercially successful album Final Straw was released in 2003, their fan base has been continuously growing. The band has attributed some of this success to their current producer Jacknife Lee, whose introduction into their operations that year seemed to complete the band.

By no means avant-garde musicians, Snow Patrol’s melodic indie-rock sound is not uncommon, and they have often been compared to artists such as Coldplay.

Since the band met in Dundee University in Scotland and just “hit it off ”, they have mainly stuck to their basic sound which their fans delight in. Of course their music has evolved over time and according to Tom, the music on this album is “more of [their] own sound than ever before”. Slight alterations have certainly occurred in their music style although as drummer Jonny puts it, lead singer Gary Lightbody’s voice will always remain “easily recognisable.”

They certainly did not go back to the drawing board with their new album, although one cannot blame the band for not straying too far from their proven formula. A small to moderate amount of experimentation is

evident on the album, producing more interesting sounds and stronger songs than on Eyes Open.

Their first release from the album, ‘Take Back the City’ is a lively and upbeat track, with a catchy chorus making it easy to sing along to, in fact it’s almost impossible not to. If there is a song to match “Chasing Cars” on the album it has to be “The Planets Bend Between Us”. Gary makes reference to wanting to shout about his love “so they can hear it in America”, which will in all probability charm fans across the Atlantic. The band adds a certain quirkiness to the closing track “The Lightening Strike”, which at sixteen minutes long actually contains three songs. According to Tom these three “were always meant to go together, like a trilogy”.

Admittedly Tom’s personal favourite from the album is the third part, “Daybreak”.

“Crack the Shutters”, a love song portraying a buoyant disposition is to be the band’s next single, which is available to download already.

Whether the album will be as popular as their last remains to be seen. Influenced by artists such as the Super Furry Animals and the Flaming Lips, Tom remains passionate about the band and his DW drum kit. Jonny’s love for electronic music and klavier synthesiser lives on. After 14 years together as a band, Gary, Tom, Jonny, Paul and Nathan appear to have finally taken the indie/ pop world by storm, and we haven’t heard the last of them yet.

7

Movie zombies Everyone loves a good movie, but Eglé Zinkuté wonders whether we would be better off in a library or an art gallery

F

rom time to time, a casual bit of conversation, usually over the third round of pints, and in the company of a half a dozen friends, returns to one’s thoughts after the occasion. This just so happened to occur to me after a lively conversation held among a bunch of tn2 folks recently. We were talking about film, or rather, what happens when we watch films. Afterwards it got me thinking, so I’ve attempted to figure out what we concluded about the ways we watch movies.

To take us right back into the scene I’ll describe the occasion when a little controversy caught my interest. Namely, my colleague Michael found himself defending the good name of movies upon being confronted with a statement – by none other than the Music Editor Steven – that films address us in a less honourable way than the novel.

What he meant was that the very seductive nature of the moving images we view have such power to draw us into the story that there remains far less, if any, distance for questioning the film’s message. We can see this in the popular appeal of Hollywood movies; they target a vast population who unfortunately are not equipped to critically assess and discern the complex ideological and emotional mechanisms at work.

The conversation heated up as the pints kept coming, and we explored the many avenues that his argument had opened up.

Most of us are aware of the evils of the monopolistic, corporate institution that is the

8

Hollywood movie machine. Among other things, it marginalizes international and art house output. This problem is not only exclusive to film, but runs throughout culture, politics and economics. It was also pure gold for probing ever so gently the intellects, consciences and biases present that night, but above all we implicitly had asked something quite basic. What happens when we encounter films in the different ways that we do?

Perhaps the observation that movies so successfully capture our imaginations and fill them with their own logics and rationales, provides grounds for suspicion primarily because of the nature of the cinematic experience itself. In the cinema larger than life images engage the senses immediately. For the price of a ticket and the relatively small amount of time spent watching a film, we can be given the voyeuristic pleasure of desire, delay and mastery. But then in the end, having lost oneself entirely in the spectacle for about two hours, the lights go up, and the “culprit” is gone. So how exactly are we to assess the film’s impact on us after the fact? But, if we might agree that as compared to reading a novel, with a surer remove from the work of the text, films really suck us in — what of the different ways we view and “digest” them?

Back in the pub, I tried to retort that despite the seductiveness of the cinematic visuals, perhaps even because of it, we recall images and begin to interact with them on

an intellectual level afterwards, when some kind of a gestation period has passed. I say so because at least from my own experience I often find that the realization of, “Oh yes, that was what that was about,” occurs perhaps a day, a week, even a month after the viewing (I am sure some are now thinking - slow). However, we do watch many movies - a few each week for the average person.

They often reference and copy others, or follow clichéd formulas that are most obvious in the rom-coms and teen flicks that dominate the multiplexes.

At this rate it may be worth noting a kind of a paradox. The visual nature of the movies may aid the memory to recall them for analysis, yet the sheer load of the films that become stored in our memories, in wholes and pieces, frustrates the effort considerably. Also there is something quite duplicitous about the way that only the initial first experience of a film contains an authentic emotional aspect.

What I mean is that if I were to go now and watch Amelie for instance, when I want to laugh and cry, it is because I remember that it made me laugh and cry when I saw it first. However, for the majority of films seen in a lifetime it is true that they are not reviewed a second time at all. What remains of those is arguably, flashes of images somewhat drained of the meaning of emotional responses they are capable of provoking. It takes a second viewing of all of Hitchcock’s films for example (Vertigo or Rebecca in par-

ticular) to be able to say what the film actually does and how, in order to create such a powerful emotional impact.

Since for most of us it is preferable to see a film only once to note it as good, I speculate just by the way of a little diversion, that on the wider scale what happens when we watch films collectively as a society is yet more interesting.

Often it is akin to some timed and contained mass exercise in venting emotions and instincts, which we no longer may have the room for, or the luxury of, amid the demands of modern living. That and the fact of our pub conversation happening without any reference to particular movies may indicate that the call was true - movies don’t ask the masses to take them apart and to understand their mechanisms.

We watch movies at home more and more. There, with a smaller screen and signs of daily life to keep the fictions from encroaching wholly we have a fairer chance of giving the films an honest assessment. It comes at a trade off: pause a movie to take the dog out and you’ve missed out on the thrill of a heart-stopping fright, but you can rewind and play again to see the exact trick that operates.

All in all, I still think that the history of movies themselves helps us to a more discerning view, to the effect that we can obtain as much pleasure in recognising the ever-expanding grammar of filmmaking, as from the fictions themselves.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Desperately seeking Stewart Despite failing miserably to get an interview with Patrick Stewart, Michael Armstrong still emerged with a tale to tell

C

could have gone worse, I suppose.

A moment of slightly tipsy banter days before had produced the worst possible question I could have asked Patrick Stewart: “Mr. Stewart, OBE, respected Shakespearean actor, star of two hugely successful sci-fi franchises and patron of several worthy charity causes, would you like to pat Rick Stewart?”

If Mr. Stewart had given me time for one question after his recent interview with Orla Barry for the DU Historical Society, the little journalistic devil on my shoulder would have been screaming to opt for that almost amusing pun. Not the other eight well-researched and topical questions, ranging from his attitude towards celebrity to his fascinating life story. No sir. Perhaps it’s a good thing the interview fell through after all.

To be fair, much of what I wanted to ask him was covered already by his opening speech and the subsequent interview. Displaying every good actor’s skill at making an entrance, he stormed through the crowd in a Dracula cape, getting into the spirit of the night’s Hallowe’en festivities. This stunt led to a certain amount of apprehension as to how the event would go, however, as there could be a chance that this clowning around would persist throughout. To his credit,

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

Patrick Stewart then immediately took off the cape, received his award, and started into what could almost be described as a soliloquy about his life and work.

From that moment on, all thoughts of this event going a little too Trekkie were banished from the mind. He spoke with a wise and humorous self-deprecation about his upbringing in Yorkshire, his early years as an actor, and the role of Jean-Luc Picard that was to change his life. There was a balanced account of his “chaotic and sometimes dangerous” upbringing, explaining how his the abuse his mother had suffered had fuelled a passion in later life to support charities such as Refuge, while at the same time crediting his father’s parenting with giving him and his brothers the drive to succeed. Despite feeling a deep sense of responsibility for the “unpleasantness” he witnessed as a child, he later used this experience for good, channelling his understanding of the “dynamics of violence” into his acting roles, citing his next project, playing Vladimir to Ian McKellen’s Estragon in Waiting For Godot, as an example.

Thankfully neither he nor the interviewer dwelled on domestic violence, and soon the audience was regaled with stories of his time on Star Trek: The Next Generation, a role that took a little-known stage actor and gave him

an audience of millions. Stewart focused on the friendships he had made, rather than the wealth and fame, mentioning again and again how thankful he was to have met and worked with the cast, in particular Jonathan Frakes, who played Riker. For the benefit of those uninitiated to mid-90s geekdom, the focus was kept on the work of the show and the impact on his life, rather than questions one might find at a sci-fi convention. He praised the cast for teaching him how to be silly while doing serious work, and explored how difficult it was for him to shake off his poverty mentality even when successful, buying a Honda while others were splashing out on expensive sports cars, and living in a guest house above a garage until the second season of the show.

This connection to his roots became even more evident when the conversation moved to politics, as he stressed his lifelong connection to the Labour party and his support of various human rights charities. Again crediting his father with giving him a “passion for justice and fairness,” he described the 2000 U.S. Presidential election as “stolen” without a hint of flippancy. When asked about this year’s race, he thought Obama’s election would represent a cultural revolution akin to the fall of the Berlin Wall or the end of apartheid, but was clear that in political terms the new administration had much work to do.

What came across most over the course of the night, however, was his profound love for the stage, and in particular for performing the works of Shakespeare. From recalling his older brother reading Hamlet to him

at night, to the immediacy with which he replied “Macbeth” when asked which role had a spiritual impact on him, his passion for the playwright was evident throughout, and directly led to his move from California back to England to work again with the Royal Shakespeare Company. When asked about acting as a profession, he gave two pieces of advice: firstly to avoid it unless it was such a passion that it was totally necessary, and secondly to be fearless on stage, or else risk short-changing your audience. For him personally, acting was his only route to selfexpression as a young man, and remains a way of getting attention and escaping while at the same time showing the world “who Patrick Stewart is.”

Unfortunately for me, his love of the stage was a little too evident that October night, as he had a play to run to directly after the event. I caught him on the stairs of the GMB, and although he was firm in his refusal to do a further interview, he was perfectly kind and polite, so much so I felt a tad guilty waiting around for him to finish speaking to Newstalk on the off chance he might change his mind. The speed with which he was whisked past autograph hunters made it clear that wasn’t to be the case, and while a more persistent journalist could have probably tailed him all the way out front gate, the evening had given me a bit too much respect for the man to further bother him, particularly with less than fifteen minutes for him to get to the theatre. Thicker skin is in order for next time, I know, but that opportunity couldn’t be too far off. Next time, however, I’ll have a much better opening question.

9

Irish wolfhound vs mighty moose Market innovators or brand imitators?

Tara O’Connor spoke to Farrell and Brown designer Paula Hanley

A

chiselled, bright young thing welcomes you as you enter. Walking blindly onwards into the darkened emporium, the eyes of the monochromatic models in the blown-up, air-brushed artworks watch you make your silent way into the not-so-silent room of luxury and logos. Punctuated only by the thudthud-thud of the incessant music, you move from one wall of floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelving to the other wall of floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelving. Your hands run across hours of carefully folded sweaters. And suddenly you have the most overwhelming feeling of déjà vu: haven’t you been here before? The answer is no, you have not been teleported to the United States and landed in America’s famous casual-wear Mecca, Abercrombie & Fitch. You are on Dawson Street and this was Farrell & Brown – Ireland’s very own “casual luxury” brand.

Following a €2 million investment by Blarney Woollen Mills in early 2008, luxurious leisurewear has been brought to the Irish retail market in the form of Farrell

ket as Ireland sinks deeper and deeper into the credit quagmire. However, a closer look at the brand, whose logo is an Irish Wolfhound, reveals that F&B is emerging top dog in the domestic casual clothing market.

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to speak to one half of the design team at F&B, Paula Hanley, who professes to “eat, sleep and breathe” her fledging project since it hit the market this year. Hanley credits Blarney Woollen Mills CEO, Freda Hayes, with spotting the niche in the market that lead to F & B’s creation.

“We wanted to create a young Irish brand that was sexy. The demographics of the visitor to Ireland has changed a lot in the past few years. There are more EU visitors than ever before, they are much younger and always on the look out for something different. I believe at Farrell & Brown we have successfully filled the gap”.

According to Hanley a lacuna in the market became obvious for an indigenous, “slightly sporty” clothing brand that would appeal to the new breed of young tourists

in a particular line small is intrinsic to our success as a fashion retailer. In a mass produced world, it makes things extra-special.

Also our products are keenly-priced, which is important to all consumers at the moment”.

And on the financial front, the F&B Wolfhound seems most certainly to be keeping the wolves from the door. The design team at F&B are said to be pleased with profits despite having the misfortune of opening as an unknown brand in the midst of a veritable economic apocalypse.

However, a question mark still looms large over the brand. Comparisons drawn between F&B and US store, Abercrombie & Fitch, with shoppers saying both stores have similar clothing ranges, store design, bags and websites, have the potential to develop into litigation. In 2002, Abercrombie & Fitch filed a lawsuit against American Eagle, claiming that they copied their garments’ designs and closely mimicked Abercrombie & Fitch’s products’ visual appearance and packaging, specificially copying particular

of A&F, American Eagle and Hollister had here. The appeal of those brands lay in their exclusivity: unavailable here in Ireland, fans of the brand either clocked up serious frequent-flyer miles hopping trans-Atlantic to get their fix or were granted free rein with a parent’s credit card to indulge in onlineshopping hedonism. The limited availability of the brands here conferred an aura of status and exclusivity upon them.

Hanley, however, is quick to deny the existence of any such parallels, stating that no litigation has been threatened. To her, F&B are “only influenced and not based upon brands such as Abercrombie, Polo Ralph Lauren and American Eagle”. Unlike the aforementioned brands, she says the company is not a chain and operates as a corollary to the Blarney Woollen Mills stores.

Furthermore, she states that F&B have a different target audience to that of the large American multiples and so any issues regarding entering an already-bloated market are not pertinent to the Blarney-based brand.

coming to Ireland. Adamant to maintain creative control of the project and preserve Blarney’s trademark home-grown feel, F&B formed their own design team of Paula Hanley and Emma Wilson to head up the brand.

With a wealth of experience in fashion buying and designing in such major high-street stores as Etam, Next and Dunnes Stores, the pair set about creating a line of “sexy, preppy, casual clothing”.

One feature of F&B’s marketing strategy that helped it to flourish was its surprise, overnight appearance on Dawson Street.

Hanley states that the lack of advance marketing created an element of surprise and aroused curiosity in the consumer to discover the brand for themselves. Furthermore, Hanley identified two key factors as being key selling points of F&B: “Our strength is in our smallness, most definitely. Keeping the volume of garments

articles of clothing, in-store displays and advertisements. Despite the admission that American Eagle may have utilized very similar materials, designs, in-store displays, symbols, colour combinations, and patterns to Abercrombie & Fitch, the court ruled that there was not an excessive level of similarity to confuse potential customers, and ruled in favor of the defendant, American Eagle. It remains to be seen if A&F will launch a similar set of proceedings against F&B. With F&B’s prosperity growing, the reign of Abercrombie could be seriously undermined.

A catch-22 situation could potentially arise whereby to avoid detection and prosecution F&B will have to remain “below the radar”, forfeiting growth and expansion into international retail zones, lest A&F detect their Irish market share diminishing.

Furthermore, it is questionable whether F&B can recreate the phenomenal success

And as for the future of Farrell and Brown? “World domination”, according to Hanley. But in the short-term, consumers can expect “fresh, clean colours like oxblood and pink” and an injection of even more “personality” into the brand next season as well as a bumper accessories line. The website is also undergoing a major overhaul at present, with the online store expected to go live shortly. Plans for “stand-alone” Farrell & Brown stores are also in the pipeline; however, Hanley stresses that the Blarney association will always remain.

So despite the whispers of litigation and unsteady financial times for the business to contend with, the Farrell and Brown Wolfhound has shaken all elements of doubt as to its distinctness from Abercrombie from its shaggy coat and made an indelible pawprint on the Irish fashion front which will remain for many a season to come.

Spot the difference: shots from Farrell & Brown (left)and Abercrombie & Fitch (right) ad campaigns

& Brown. The brand manufactures casual clothing and accessories aimed at Irish shoppers and tourists alike from ranging from “18 to a cool 40”. As well as its flagship store on the doorstep of Trinity College at the intersection of Dawson Street and Nassau Street, F&B now occupy units in Tipperary, Killarney, and Blarney in Co. Cork, with the business doing “extremely well”, according to the company. However, as well as generating profits, the brand has also stirred up considerable controversy among consumers since its inception, as a result of its likeness to American brands Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister and American Eagle, which has fuelled speculation of possible litigation against the company by its transAtlantic counterparts. Furthermore, many commercially-savvy consumers have questioned what niche F&B hope to fill in the somewhat saturated sweatpant-chic mar-

10

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Off the beaten track Patrice Murphy goes beyond the usual high street haunts in search of something a little bit different

The Harlequin, Catle Market (between Drury Street and South William Street) This shop’s collection of bags blew me away; I’ve never seen so many could-be-designers at such low prices all in one place. Take an hour or so to have a rummage and you’ll definitely come out with some retro-crazy-cool bargains.

George’s Street Arcade Honourable mentions must go to Om Diva (their hangers, quilts, cushion covers, shoes and dresses), Zeroe (patterned hoodies, haruko girls-style little dresses, and indulgent bags), as well as Retro; even though they wouldn’t let us take photos, we love the red corset/tutu dress currently in the window.

Wild Child, Crow Street, Temple Bar At first glance, there may not be a lot of eye-catching pieces in this vintage store, but glance through the racks, and have a word with the salesgirl, and she may pull out a must-have you never knew you needed, like this ruffled white blouse with gold button detail and broach on the neck. Or she may just inform you of some amazing catsuits which will be in next week.

Jenny Vanders, Drury Street As I was perusing the jewellery selection in this select boutique, a woman entered and announced to the proprietor “I need something fabulous.” She had come to the right place. If you are still afloat in the current credit crunch, or are going to put a little something on your credit card, pop in and be seduced by luxurious fabrics and old-school glamour.

Lara, Dame Lane OK, so this is not a shop for the faint-hearted; it’s obviously expensive, and its clear they’re not marketed at students, but if you’re looking for an exclusive pair of Sass &Bide or DVB jeans, or a full length and fabulous ballgown, take a friend and have a browse in this lavish minimalist boutique.

Ad Hoc, Crown Alley, Temple Bar Not for everyone’s taste, this shop has every fluorescent accessory, every colour of eyelashes and every punk belt and bag (wear it with that tartan dress for an edge on everyone else) that every anti-fashion girl could need. I guarantee you will fall in love with at least one thing in this shop.

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

11

Freshwater and Coastal Sciences - Mark O’Kelly (2008)

Into the archives Janet Coen takes a look at Mark O’Kelly’s current exhibition at the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery

O

ur experience of art is constantly dogged by a search for meaning. What is the point of this? What sense is the artist attempting to convey? What does it mean to me? Mark O’Kelly’s current exhibition of paintings, collages and archives in the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery provides us with a unique opportunity to explore the creation of meaning itself and to expose those structures which govern its creation.

In his trilogy of installed vitrine pieces, O’Kelly plays on our need to view experiences in context, by literally displaying the context of his work. These glass-covered boxes contain the archives and plans which form the preliminary material for his collages. By showing us the methodology and practice behind his pieces alongside the finished pieces themselves, he is demonstrating that this process is something to be considered in itself. All images that we see in the public domain are subject to editing before we experience them. They are not unmediated; they have been selected for a purpose and at a cost. As consumers, readers and viewers, we edit images in our own way, assessing them for worth and significance, but these

12

images have come to us pre-edited. All material is filtered somehow.

Having made us self-consciously aware of the process, O’Kelly exploits the space this opens up for interpretation. By showing us the subjective process that lies behind all images in contemporary culture, he makes room for subjectivity. In his watercolours, we see people who seem to be looking at and looking for things. A man points to something we cannot see. A woman looks downwards, as though examining something on the ground. His figures are individually creating, doing and making ideas, judgements, investigations. In Couturier, the creation is art, or a vision of beauty; in Reenactment, it is a version of the past.

These figures set up a kind of visual paradox, where we can see what is happening in the picture, but we fall short of being able to understand it fully. We can see the gestures and expressions, but we cannot see that to which they refer. There is a palpable space that cannot be filled with any accessible or universal meaning.

In addition to this space between object and subject, there is also a feeling of space within the paintings themselves. Some-

times, different figures occupying the same frame can be in different worlds. They are connected, in one location, moment or pursuit, but they are wrapped up in their own activities. Just as we wonder if or how we can engage with them, we wonder if and how they are engaging with each other.

The watercolour images share wall space with a series of picture collages. These collages contain small photos, like magazine shots, spaced out on a black mounting.

There is an image from Big Brother, one of the band Take That, and snippets from dance, theatre, film, documentary, sport and TV drama.

These images may be familiar or unfamiliarn to us, but we recognise them for what they represent. They are each a point of universal reference in a particular formula or genre. They can be rendered coherent to us in a superficial way if we situate them within the wider context of which they are a part.

They are the signs of a particular cultural form or practice, which is intelligible to us because we have been bombarded with its images.

It is difficult to look at these collages without being reminded of critical theorist Roland Barthes and his allegation that the media effectively propagates a homogenous and totalising agenda. In essence, it is hard not to feel as though you have been told what to think about images from the media because you know where they belong and you know what they signify. If you haven’t

seen the pictured moment, you’ve seen one like it, or you can imagine how such a moment would be. That we are aware of the generic conventions, relationships and stories behind a single image is a further reminder of the mediated and indeed media-created nature of the images that surround us.

Mark O’Kelly does, in fact, have a longstanding interest in the critical theory of Barthes, as seen in his 2005 exhibition In Fashion, which referenced the writings of Barthes. That he can successfully explore such ideas in his work says much for his vision and ability as an artist. In presenting us with different images of different types, he invites us to analyse how we relate to them and how they relate to each other. The vitrine installations remind us that we are editing what he has edited, that we are making what he has made, in our own understanding. These fragmented representations serve to demythologise the notion that there is a definitive image of contemporary culture and to question whether or not media space is an appropriate location for public discourse.

That question is perhaps best expressed in the feeling you get, looking down into a glass box full of neatly stacked pictures, wanting desperately to see what’s underneath – and wondering if it matters that you can’t. But you’ll have to go to the exhibition to know that feeling.

O’Kelly’s current exhibition runs until 22 November

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

A live dog or a dead lion?

Aisling Deng assesses the impact of finance minister Brian Lenihan’s recent budget on Irish artists

H

ow taxing is the current economic climate we find ourselves in? Well, it seems as though the milk of human kindness is turning sour over the cloak of depression, with the little that is left being mopped up by the glamorously attired wardrobe of politicians, leaving the lonesome tiger rumbling restlessly and oh-so-unsatiated (queue sad fiddle music).

The unveiling of the early budget this year failed to act as a bible shedding epiphanic light on the coming economic year; instead, it caused groups as diverse as pensioners and students to unite in feelings of alienation and disgruntlement. It seems as though no group avoided having their feathers ruffled. In a daring but not unprecedented move, the finance minster Brian Lenihan has introduced a 1% income levy for artists, writers and musicians which will now, for the first time, draw them into the tax net. In the forty years that followed the introduction of Charles Haughey’s art scheme, the artistic community in Ireland has gone from strength to strength as it rode on the back of the Celtic tiger, growth which resulted in more than €100 million a year income, and which cost the government €30 million. On top of that, Lenihan has also confirmed the introduction of a 2% levy on earnings over € 100,000 which will effect top earning artists such as Louis le Brocquy, Mark O’Neill, Sean Scully, musicians Van Morrison and Enya and novelists Irvine Welsh and DBC Pierre, and result in a €3 million gain for the state.

While the minister has promised to keep

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

the artists’ tax exemption in place, the new 1% levy will take its toll on the majority of artists that fall under the category. Most Irish artists are poor, a fact not even the state can spin or deny. The only constant thing about their earnings is that they’re guaranteed to be in flux and unpredictable, with gross earnings undulating throughout the span of their careers.

Maud Cotter, the Wexford sculptor, has acknowledged that despite her successful career, in reality the income from her sculptures has never been very substantial.

She believes imposing this levy on artists would be a disaster, coming on top of the administrative and financial burdens of cash-strapped artists, and it would detract from the cosmopolitan environment which she feels has been a significant attraction for inward investors to this country. Echoing her sentiments, Robert Ballagh commented that ‘from the point of view of the arts this budget is an unmitigated disaster.’

For almost 87% of artists, the average income was below €11,000 and more than half of the 1,300 artists who benefited in 2001 from the scheme earned less than €10,000.

The Artists’ Exemption Scheme has meant that, for many artists, earnings that would be subject to tax during their high earning years can act as subsidy during their low earning years. Despite much tabloid hype and public misunderstanding, the Artists’ Exemption does not represent a significant drain on the country’s resources. In fact in 2002, it represented just 0.15% of all the tax lost to the state as a result of all the various tax incentive/relief schemes. With almost

everyone in the country availing of tax relief in some shape or form, it isn’t quite the pernicious financial drain it is made out to be.

Along with a throng of artists voicing their opinions on the current state of affairs, Visual Artists Ireland in collaboration with the Irish Playwright and Screenwriters Guild and the Association of Irish Composers has taken a strong stance on the matter, forming the bastion of the attack on the government. They believe the broad scope of the current review will not look in sufficient detail at the wider context of the scheme and may therefore overlook its true value and benefit to the country.

In the case of many artists, subsidising their earnings with another job to make ends meet is the only option. On these jobs artists are fully taxed, as the exemption is strictly confined to earnings from their creative work. This encourages the realisation of the ambition to make art and not profit.

What drives an artist is the need express ideas and to produce art, not the possibility of evading tax. The exemption rewards those artists that engage with their audiences and harness public interest.

The greater the public’s demand for an artist’s work, the greater the benefit to the artist of solidifying a symbiotic relationship between artists and society. As it stands, Aosdana and other government bursaries provide much needed acknowledgment and support to artists. This is seen as a strong indication of the value accorded to the creative artist in Irish society and acts as a symbol to artists that constitutes a validation of their work.

Responding to the government’s new measures, the high profile visual artist Mark O’Neill has said that he has no problem responding to Lenihan’s call to patriotic duty in such turbulent times. However, while the economic terrain has seen a complete overhaul during this economically challenging

period, with the consolidation of many financial firms and major economic reforms, plans which contribute to an overall shrinkage of the landscape of Irish art and its many connecting tendons simply cannot be tolerated. Plans to amalgamate the centres of culture, including the key galleries in Ireland, the National Gallery, the Crawford Gallery and the IMMA, and also the literature hubs, the National Library of Ireland, the National Archives and the Manuscripts Commission, are utterly absurd.

Irish culture thrives prolifically on creativity. It relies on exploration and growth of the consciousness and environs, not its limitations. Our identities are embroiled in arts; to stymie that would result in a domino effect in the future. Graduates of colleges such as NCAD, IADT, Crawford College and, closer to home, many English, History of Art, Music and Drama students may feel the sting of this ill-judged decision. Successful and high paying artists are direct exemplars and role models for other Irish artists; their international success raises the reputation of Irish art in general and opens doors for less established artists.

The incentive to move to where hubs of artists are located applies most especially to those younger and emerging artists, who might not yet have established a high profile. Once they have moved and settled elsewhere they are less likely to return, resulting in the erosion in the artistic base of our culture. Without rich, fertile ground, we cannot sow the seeds of the future.

Last month, Temple Bar’s Cultural Trust conference, Culture and the City - Keeping Dublin Creative posed a question: is Irish art a live dog or a dead lion? There’s no doubt especially amongst the artistic community that where there’s a will, there’s a way. It is a live dog, and will always be alive and kicking, but chucking a (wish) bone from the budget’s carcass wouldn’t go amiss.

13

Yawn of the dead T Hugh McCafferty took a trip down to this year’s World Ghost Convention in Cork to learn a bit more about witchcraft, spiritualism and ghostlore in Ireland

14

hese days, it’s all too easy to be cynical. In an age when technology and science wrap us up in a warm blanket of perceived certainty and rationality, when information and gratification go hand in hand in their instant accessibility and paranormal activity is something created in a special effects studio, there’s a tendency to forget that there was a time, not too long ago, when the distinction between “natural” and “supernatural” was not popularly perceived as being exactly clear-cut.

Of course, if a stranger told me that they’d seen a ghost, I’d probably think that they were a bit mental. So, when the organisers of the eighth annual World Ghost Convention e-mailed us to see if we had any interest in attending the event, I thought it might be interesting to take a closer look at a gener11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

ally derided sub-culture. There was also the promise of an audience with Helen Barrett, the White Witch of the Isles and leader of the country’s several thousand white witches and wizards.

The event took place on Hallowe’en night in Cork City Gaol, a building, unsurprisingly, thought to have its own fair share of ghosts. As the taxi pulled up outside, the old gate’s massive walls illuminated against a particularly starless night sky, I had to admit that there was something distinctly creepy about the place. Inside, early guests were stamping their feet and engaging in small talk at a makeshift reception. Flashing our improvised press IDs, we made our way through to the courtyard and on to the main jailhouse, where the convention was to take place. tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

For those of you unfamiliar with the ghost convention, it is a self-funded, nonprofit event that has been taking place annually since 2001. The intention is to gather together academics, spiritual healers, psychics and other figures with an interest in the paranormal to talk about their particular field of expertise. In turn, it is hoped that the profile and, perhaps, credibility of supernatural activity and alleged experience thereof will be enhanced and that those with first-hand experience will feel more comfortable in coming forward and speaking about what they have seen or heard.

Founded by Richard T. Cooke, a figure “well known in the Psychology, Heritage and Music field,” as I am informed by the press release, the event has proved most successful indeed. This year, tickets sold

out and the Lord Mayor of Cork, Cllr. Brian Bermingham turned up to officially open the convention.

Before anything had kicked off, and while the mayor posed for some publicity shots inside the jail, I chewed the fat outside with his chauffeur, Pat. An amiable man of about forty, he had a sort of boy-like, mischievous glint in his eyes and as we had a smoke out in the cold, we cracked a few of the inevitable jokes that one cracks on finding oneself at a ghost convention.

Despite the piss-taking banter, Pat seemed to have a “whatever you’re into” attitude about the whole thing. I shared these sentiments, but I hadn’t come down all the way to Cork just to get messed up on Trinity News funds. Well, OK, that was partially why I was here, but I was also hoping to have

my own attitudes about the paranormal and those who claim to have experienced the supernatural at least somewhat challenged.

I bummed another smoke off a second man outside and we talked about the convention. A spiritual healer by trade, Darren seemed well used to facing the popular, perhaps condescending, impression most have of his profession. He talked about his work in a level-headed and reasonable manner and it was clear that he was no fool. Before he returned inside, he asked me if I was a student. I enquired as to what made him think that – might this be some form of psychic intuition at work? “Well, you’ve got no money for cigarettes and your breath smells like booze,” he laughed. I returned a smile, but couldn’t help but feel a twang of what felt a little like guilt.

15

Obama has a short lifeline and he’s going to die young.

That’s a prediction going back in our archives

16

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

As more and more attendees arrived, I went back into the main jail hall to see if any of the guest speakers were around and available for a wee chat.

In the front row of seats, beside an improvised stage, sat Dr. Margaret Humphreys and Jenny Butler, both from UCC’s Folklore and Ethnology Department. Despite the interesting nature of their fields of study, I was more interested in talking to witches than academics.

Dr. Humphreys drew my attention to a man sitting behind her, Michael Anthony, a spiritual cleanser and healer. A quiet man with a slightly sheepish look on his face, Anthony didn’t seem especially forthcoming, so I cut to the chase and asked if Helen Barrett was knocking around. Dr. Humphreys pointed her out, a woman in black, making her way towards the exit, no doubt to greet some guests. I eventually caught up with her later on, a little awkwardly, as I practically bumped into her outside the bathroom.

A stout woman of about fifty, Barrett wore what appeared to be a jet black wig and spoke in a self-assured, if somewhat distracted manner. I asked her how much public interest there was in witchcraft in Ireland. “Last year, I was in UCC and there were about two hundred people there; this year, there were four hundred, which goes to show the rising interest,” she explained.

Then, she moved on to her recent trip to the States and the fate she foresees for president-elect, Barack Obama. “He has a short lifeline and he’s going to die young. That’s a prediction going back in our archives.”

Barrett has previously claimed to have foretold the deaths of other figures, such as John F. Kennedy and Lady Diana. Earlier on in the year, she told The Irish Voice that Obama would die at the age of forty-eight (he is currently forty-seven) and that his wife would have a notable political future.

Don’t despair, though, it’s not all doom and gloom. “The year 2008 is a year of prosperity,” she continued and then, in order to elucidate further upon that point, “we’re going to have an awful lot of prosperity.”

At that point, a young friend of hers by the name of David came along and she introduced us. “I make a prediction that David – because he, by the way, is an actor – is going to be even more famous t h a n RhysMeyers.”

Smili n g self-effacingly, D a v i d briefly described his budding acting career, which included a recent bitpart in The Tudors.

We moved tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

on to Helen’s minor celebrity status.

“It’s always been the way that the deeper we go into crisis, the more we need hope.

That’s why I was on five radio shows today back to back and I don’t know how I did it all,” she laughed. “It’s always like that on Hallowe’en and then it’s all over and you’re back to normal.”

A group of Barrett’s friends walked by and while she greeted them, I exchanged some idle chit-chat with David until it was clear that the convention was about to begin. Before she made her way to her seat, Barrett left me with the rather cryptic words: “Tonight at three o’clock, or tomorrow at three o’clock, Obama’s future will be decided.”

It’s easy to be dismissive of figures like Barrett – she is, for want of a better word, odd. However, you have to give her credit for saying what she feels she must, regardless of the negative reactions she, no doubt, meets on a regular basis. Also, travelling to the States and proclaiming the imminent death of a then-presidential candidate requires some serious conviction.

I returned to my own seat and awaited the commencement of proceedings. I was

and began to play an acoustic guitar-led song. I can only presume the lyrics related to the convention in some way – it was hard to make out with all the ghostly wailing.

Once this musical treat came to an end, the ghosts made their way off stage (some struggling with their sheets to see through the eye-holes) and Power returned to the podium to announce the first speaker of the evening, Mary Maddison. Maddison is a spiritualist and psychic, with over forty years of experience. A small, old woman, her voice was a little weak but bright nonetheless and her gray hair and conversational tone reminded me of my granny. She spoke at length about various experiences she had had, communicating with ghosts and spirits. She gave the impression that ghosts and spirits were generally benevolent entities.

For Maddisson, everyone has the potential to see such entities; it’s just a matter of opening up the sense within you that will allow you to do so.

Although her stories were diverting – especially the one in which she drove a distressed spirit home one night in her car – it was clear that Mary wasn’t going to change

Adopting a camp-vamp Vincent Price voice, Power informed the audience that they were to be treated to a song by the, er, Spooky-Wooky Creepy-Crawly Cork City Gaol World Ghost Convention Band looking forward to hearing what the various speakers had to say and was eager to keep an open mind. Perhaps there was more to this supernatural lark than I had previously thought – maybe there’s something more substantial to the apparently outrageous claims of those who allege to have had supernatural experiences. As these hopeful thoughts scurried, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, around my head, the host for the evening, Kevin Power of UCC, announced the first item on the schedule. And with that, things took a turn for the silly.

Adopting a camp-vamp Vincent Price voice, Power informed the audience that they were to be treated to a song by the, er, Spooky-Wooky Creepy-Crawly Cork City Gaol World Ghost Convention Band.

With that, several fully-grown men and women wearing sheets over their heads t o o k to the stage

my life. She stated each of her stories in a matter-of-fact manner and moved quickly on to the next with little reflection. In short, there was no sense of debate, no mention of what detractors have said to her, no real engagement with the argument of credibility.

Of course, it’s doubtful that Mary is especially concerned by cynics; credibility isn’t going to be an issue when you are dealing with something so inherently experiential.

At the same time, though, the whole point of the convention was to foster an environment wherein such experiences would be taken more seriously and, in order to do that, it’s necessary to address the specific reasons for widespread cynicism: namely, the question of credibility.

Next up was Jenny Butler from UCC, to whom I had talked briefly beforehand. She delivered a purely academic lecture on the historical background of Hallowe’en. Although interesting, I soon found my attention wandering and, as the heaters were on full blast, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

Butler was followed by Michael Anthony, whom I had seen earlier. A tall, healthylooking man, he would have looked more at home coaching a hurling team rather than addressing a crowd at a ghost convention.

Like Mary, Michael rattled off a number of stories. However, he offered a little more insight into his gift.

At one point, he admitted, “Sometimes I feel like a lunatic, but I work away anyway.”

It was clear that he was an honest man, that he wasn’t lying when he spoke about his experiences. Anthony didn’t necessarily understand his gift or why he had been imparted with it, but he got on with his life nonetheless.

Sitting there, amongst the assembled crowd, on an uncomfortable chair, listening to a speaker expound upon spirituality in an old, stone building, I suddenly felt like I was at mass. Then again, given the at times confessional tone of the speeches, I could also have been at an AA meeting.

Of course, that was the point of the convention: to create an atmosphere of acceptance, in which people could speak without fear of judgement or mockery. While it might have done so on a small scale, though, there was no sense of engagement with society on a wider scale.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of the evening was the uneven tone. If the point of the exercise was to raise the profile of paranormal activity in the doubting eyes of the public at large, then what was the deal with putting respected academics and the Spooky-Wooky band on the same bill? And why were a significant proportion of audience members wearing Hallowe’en outfits and making silly noises down the back of the room?

Well, of course, the answer to the latter question was that it was Hallowe’en, a night for laugh-having. And as it drew nearer and nearer to ten o’clock, my photographer (and, every other day, Trinity News Editor) Martin and I began to worry that any later merry-making might be scuppered by this nation’s cruel licensing laws.

Once Anthony wrapped up, Power announced the intermission and, after grabbing some of the speakers for a few quick photos and sound bites, we departed into the night. As we ran around the dark backstreets of Cork city, we were gripped not by the fear of ghosts or paranormal creatures but, rather, by the terror of not finding a nearby off licence within the next ten minutes.

The eighth annual World Ghost Convention, then, was an interesting if somewhat uninspiring affair. It’s very tempting to label those who claim to be in touch with paranormal forces as foolish. However, they constitute a legitimate sub-culture in this country and across the world and are by no means idiots.

Indeed, perhaps it’s more idiotic to run up and down the hills of Cork city on a cold October night for the sake of a warm shoulder of Huzzar.

Regardless of whether or not I was convinced, the sell-out crowd that night suggested that the World Ghost Convention is sure to continue for years to come.

17

Dividing and conquering Was Oliver Cromwell a cursed figure or a most beloved Briton? Jean Morley talks to Dr. Mícheál Ó Siochrú , author of God’s Executioner

O

liver Cromwell. Mentioning the name is like throwing a turnip to a herd of pigs. At best, expect some rambunctious snorting, at worst, a clash between the wildest of bores.

Three hundred and fifty years since he last stomped Irish soil, the English parliamentarian still meanders into everyday life.

Voted one of the greatest Britons of all time by BBC television viewers in 2002, he has more recently resurfaced in rumours about Bertie Ahern. According to Stephen Fry, the former “Teflon” Taoiseach was so enraged by a portrait of Cromwell hanging in Robin Cook’s office that he refused to enter into negotiations with the British foreign secretary until the picture had been removed.

With this ability to raise hairs on the baldest of men, Cromwell is naturally suited to the Irish media. Since the documentary series God’s Executioner was broadcast in September, the military leader has been re-examined, dissected in the letter pages of the nation’s newspapers, and filtered into the babble of talk radio shows. Dr Micheál Ó Siochrú is the man behind Cromwell’s conquest of the airwaves, the co-creator of the TV series and writer of the book upon which it is based. I meet Dr Ó Siochrú, who is also a lecturer in Trinity’s History department, to discuss the leader’s legacy, the problems of history and Bertie’s spontaneous attack of militancy.

“Well he said it might not have happened exactly as I recorded,” Ó Siochru laughs.

“Bertie explained that, while there was no walkout from Robin Cook’s office, there was an ‘exchange’ over the portrait, during which he made his views known in a forceful manner.” What exactly that entailed we can only imagine, but Bertie seems eager to endorse Cromwellian debate. Most recently, he presided over the Book launch of God’s Executioner, held in the Long Room last month.

But what is it about Cromwell which arouses such passion? Dr Ó Siochrú’s book provides a myriad of possible answers, documenting the massacres of Cromwell’s nine-month campaign. Particularly brutal were the devastations of garrison towns in Drogheda and Wexford. Many of the victims were women and children, either killed outright or deported abroad.

But this veritable genocide, attributed to Cromwell, can be difficult for us to fully digest. Is there a chance that he acts as handy scapegoat, a man to be blamed for the ills of his time? Perhaps we need hate figures, Bushes or Stalins, to avoid actively interrogating entire regimes. “It’s funny, in a way I have been really overwhelmed by the Cromwell project. He really has survived as one of

18

those hate figures, with an awful lot of what went on being dumped on his doorstep. But he was a most high profile military leader and that success has certainly elevated him.

That kind of survival may show that, yes, people want to put a face on a whole series of events. We can talk about economic development and colonial expansion, use the most theoretical terms. They’re all ephemeral things, but put a face on it and you can say ah! It’s his fault! Cromwell’s been a victim of his own success in that regards.”

But nevertheless, to Ó Siochrú, Cromwell’s actions can never forgotten. “There is no excuse for what happened here, it’s a permanent blot on his political career. Even his strongest supporters have conceded that what happened on this island was pretty reprehensible. His acts were excessive and dishonourable, a clear contravention of what were understood to be the rules of war. Written conventions. A lot of the time, when somebody tries to be an apologist for Cromwell, they point out that the seventeenth century was a bloody time. But there’s a very simple answer to that. They had their own standards in those days and what happened was clearly a breach of those standards.” Even contextualisation itself as a risky business.

“Our information about Ireland at this time has become naturally selected, as it’s

been burnt, lost, destroyed and stolen. The idea that we ever would have the full picture or that this is absolutely the definitive story is just impossible” If we’re wary of creating a context in which to judge Cromwell, perhaps we should look at how he judged himself. “Cromwell is a man troubled by his conscience. He knows that he’s stepped over the mark. We see this in the way he attempts to balance out his writings. He would send letters back to parliament, in which he would try to explain things away. However, all the while he was kept going by his fervent religious beliefs.”

The idea of man using religious rhetoric to justify atrocities has an eerie resonance in recent times. Two weeks before the US elections, I’m tempted to ask the most obvious question. Before I can, Dr Ó Siochrú stops me, advising caution in drawing parallels between Cromwell and the political landscape today. “His beliefs keep him going and yes, you can see an awful lot of this in religious fundamentalists today, using God to justify their actions. Indeed there are those who point to a similarity of language between 17th century English fundamentalists and right-wing Republicans today. It’s always the Old Testament of course: an eye for an eye and all that. But we must be cautious in scripting parallels. Similarities are not always as direct as we think.”

It seems Dr. Ó Siochrú is constantly concerned with a sense of balance, but when I suggest as much, the writer disagrees. “I would not even call it that; it is merely an attempt to lay out the sources. I try, as much as possible, to let them speak for themselves.

Despite my own socio-political views, I want to lay down the facts. What I was trying to do was cut through the polemic of the last couple of hundred years to see what actually went on in Ireland.”

There must have been times when the evidence contradicted his views on Cromwell.

“There are things in this book that I found difficult, things that I could not have, ever, expected at all; like the fact that quite considerable numbers of Irish Catholics ended up joining the New Model Army. Catholics fought for English parliamentarians during the war. I had never seen that written anywhere and discovered it only by reading the sources.”

Given the complexities of the situation, it seems particularly important that Ó Siochrú present a composite picture.

But is TV the best medium for doing so?

We’re all susceptible to the “Braveheart effect”, horrified into forgetting a wider set of events by depictions of burning villages. But this is not a viewpoint shared by Ó Siochrú, who points out the value of television to the modern historian. “What I was anxious to do with the TV series was to show the layers, I felt that we had to get Irish historians, English historians, whatever to give their very different viewpoints. At times they completely disagreed with my interpretation” Also, the medium of film allows interesting effects. “What takes an entire page to describe can be flashed on a screen within seconds.”

It seems television audiences are not the Homeric slobs we might have believed, but have a genuine interest in history and politics. “Producers often say ‘Well we must get down to the lowest common denominator so that Joe Bloggs who does not know a thing about history can understand.’ Well, somebody who’s going to sit through two hours of a history documentary is going to have a basic interest. It’s possible to be a little more complex and a little more sophisticated in programme-making than people will let on.”

So how then should we judge Cromwell?

Should he be ripped out of history books for crimes to humanity? Or diluted by reference to his particular context? Ó Siochrú’s book advises against an impassioned stance; “He is somebody to be closely studied and understood, rather than revered or reviled.” Our grannies might not agree, our hearts might beat against it, but it seems a most sensible piece of advice.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

One hit wondress Since the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee has become a virtual recluse – Rebecca Long profiles the enigmatic writer

N

owadays, it’s impossible to get yourself published, unless you sell your soul to the relentless publicity machine required to get you on the bestseller’s list. The interviews, the book signings, the photo shoots and the readings are all designed to maximise sales and get those intelligent people on The View and The Southbank Show slavering over your new tome. Or so I’ve been told.

But what about those authors who decide that what they write is all we need to know about them? Those writers who refuse, for whatever reason, to play the marketing game? There are those who insist, despite our clamouring, on living their lives as far outside the spotlight as they can manage.

The cheek.

Harper Lee is one such writer, a woman who has lived as a virtual recluse since her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel To Kill a Mockingbird was published in 1960. She was 34 when it appeared and it has remained her only novel. Shunning interviews and becoming, in every sense, an anti-celebrity, she has built up an aura of mystery about herself that, ironically, no amount of publicity could ever have bought.

Nelle Harper Lee was born in Monroeville, Alabama on April 28th 1926. Her father Amasa Coleman Lee was a former newspaper editor who practised as a lawyer in their hometown. Lee herself studied law at the University of Alabama from 1945 to 1949 but she left for New York six months

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

before finishing her studies. By the 1950s, she was working as an airline reservations clerk and writing in her spare time. But then her friends gave her the most remarkable Christmas present of her life; a year’s wages.

Despite her protestations that they couldn’t afford it, they insisted that, with her talent and a year off, something wonderful was bound to happen. To Kill a Mockingbird was published in 1960.

Prior to this, in 1959, Lee accompanied her childhood friend Truman Capote to Holcombe, Kansas, to act as a research assistant on what Capote termed his one masterpiece, his classic “non-fiction” novel In Cold Blood. Some critics maintain she should have received a co-writer’s credit for the work she did and for acting at times as Capote’s moral compass. In fact, for a time after the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird Capote resented his friend’s success. He certainly didn’t try to dispel the rumours that were making the rounds of literary circles that the book had, in fact, been written by him.

So in a nutshell: Lee shot to fame in 1960 on the publication of her only book, won a Pulitzer Prize in 1961, saw her masterpiece turned into a film starring Gregory Peck in 1962, watched that film win four Academy Awards in 1963 and was rewarded for her four years research by Truman Capote’s dedication to her on the publication of his book in 1964. And then she disappeared.

When you look at it like that, we don’t

know all that much about her. We’ve turned to the one book she did produce in order to answer the questions that she won’t, no matter how often they are asked. It’s clear to anyone reading To Kill a Mockingbird that the novel is more than vaguely autobiographical. Lee was a notorious tomboy at her protagonist Scout’s age: she detested dresses and loved to curse. Her father Amasa Lee was a lawyer just like Atticus Finch, which incidentally was her mother’s maiden name.

Her father even took a case similar to that of Tom Robinson’s: two black men, a father and son were accused by a white woman of rape. Like Tom Robinson they both died as a result of prejudice. Lee’s childhood friend Truman Capote provided the inspiration for the wistful and imaginative Dill, who came up with the idea of bringing Boo Radley out.

Lee was only six years old at the time of the notorious Scottsboro case, where nine young African-American men were wrongly accused of rape by white prostitutes. However, the repercussions of the case were still being felt almost three decades later, when she began to write her masterpiece.

But how far can depend on her novel for information? And who is the real Harper Lee? Do we even have a right to ask such a question? If Lee ever wanted proof that literary fame has its drawbacks she could look to her childhood friend Truman Capote. He lived a life as notoriously public as hers was private. At one time, he was the most photographed author in history, while some people didn’t even know what Lee looked like.

Instant fame terrified Lee; she admitted as much in a rare interview with author Roy Newquist in 1964. For an author who had previously been seen as a kind of sidekick for Truman Capote, the sudden success of what was to be her only book must have been

daunting to say the least. “I sort of hoped someone would like it enough to give me encouragement ... I hoped for a little but I got rather a whole lot and in some ways this was just about as frightening as the quick, merciful death I’d expected”. Daunted by the fame that was suddenly hers and the pressure suddenly heaped on her shoulders by both the public and her publishers, is it any wonder she kept her silence for forty years?

Lee only ventured back into the public arena when her old university began running a essay competition for children on the subject of To Kill a Mockingbird. She has since refused Oprah Winfrey an interview, something which must have taken a lot of guts. Apparently, even those lucky few who have been granted an interview will, if asked about her, politely change the subject.

Maybe it’s all a big conspiracy, one in which her minister, Thomas Lane Butts, plays a part.”We all go around,” he says, “and no one even knows they are seeing one of the great literary figures of [the twentieth] century.” Definitely suspicious.

Can we let people be famous on their own terms? Or does the whole idea of fame in our society work on a kind of a trade off: privacy for celebrity, control over one’s own self image for public adoration? Authors like Harper Lee, J.D Salinger and Thomas Pynchon seemed to think so. But why is it, when an author shuns the public arena, he or she must be called a recluse? It is really that black and white? Many people over the years have questioned Lee’s great secret.

Maybe she’s not a recluse at all. She simply wants to live a normal life, to be allowed an existence outside of a couple of hundred pages she wrote over forty years ago. When you say it like that, it doesn’t seem very much to ask.

19

An interview with Tom Vaughan Lawlor Kathy Clarke had a word with The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui lead, Tom Vaughan Lawlor about his current role as well as his time as a student in Trinity

T

imes are bad, prices are rising and recession is looming: sound familiar? Before you jump to any justified assumptions, this is 1930’s Chicago, not just another day in Dublin.

Indeed the circumstances from which The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui arises strike an almost uncanny parallel to that of the world’s current political and economic climate — this is not lost on Tom Vaughan Lawlor. A graduate of the Trinity Drama course, an ex-RADA student and most importantly the lead in The Abbey’s current production of Ui, Lawlor has a lot to talk about. We start with his time at Trinity.

“I spent a lot of time in the library mostly daydreaming and looking at women,” he says, as he munches on a sandwich. “I wouldn’t call myself an academic though it was a brilliant foundation to go on and study acting. It’s a blessing and a curse, a blessing because you have all this knowledge of theatre and plays, but a curse because you can sometimes become quite cerebral and it’s hard to leave that stuff behind. I wanted to be a writer first and foremost but having had to do so much practical stuff on the course, I found myself really enjoying it and that was that.”

Having gone straight to RADA after graduating from the course, Lawlor found his calling as a stage actor but that didn’t stop the film buffs knocking on his door, and he accepted a role in Becoming Jane starring along side Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy. “Being in that film,” he describes, “was absolutely surreal. I was doing Brian Friel’s Translations at The National in London, playing the English officer Yolland. The Ui is an amazing part to get, a brilliant casting director for the film saw the show character, says Lawlor and called me in for an audition. It was bizarre to go from working in a fringe theatre to something like that where they just throw money at things. To get pampered and treated in such an amazing way, you can medium these days – not so. “Theatre is so see how egotism can balloon in people and humbling in a way,” he says – the poor chap they can get carried away. Everything is at can’t even watch himself on screen. “I probyour beck and call and you can get ahead of ably haven’t done enough film to compare yourself. I remember we were staying at this but I’d say I prefer theatre. Rehearsals are so hotel, somewhere in the Midlands, a few of much more fun and you bond with the cast a us were sitting at the bar when suddenly all lot more easily. You always feel a bit lonely this food started arriving. We said we hadn’t after it’s all over. It’s a terrible withdrawal ordered anything and they said that they process. Actors live together and become were leaving it out just in case, no payment so intimate on tour and then hardly ever see required. You’re just given things without each other again.” asking for them — it’s like living in a bubble.

A theatre actor first and foremost, this is You step into the real world and things are by no means Lawlor’s first association with really not like that.”

The Abbey. He worked in The Abbey in 1987 One would think that, given the special for a production of The Field in which he treatment, Lawlor might prefer the filmic played one of the Flanagan children. Then

20

real sense of community, a sense of family.”

Rehearsals for The Resistable Rise of Arturo Ui are well underway and Lawlor gets excited when we start chatting about the show.

“It’s really physical,” he tells me, “and until you get into rehearsals you don’t realise that it’s such a massive play. Ui is an amazing part to get, a brilliant character. You get so dazzled and blinded by his charisma and charm as a leader. If you look at any big leader throughout history, I guess charisma comes into it. I mean Hitler had charisma by the trough load - hypnotic people say.

You have to be really careful I suppose. Boys

I remember sitting at the bar at a hotel when suddenly all this food started arriving. We said we hadn’t ordered anything and they said that they were leaving it out just in case, no payment required

there was The Playboy of the Western World, School for Scandal, and Saved – definitely not a small list of credits. “It’s brilliant coming back,” he beams, “because I live in London. It’s such an honour. The more I work here the greater sense of belonging I feel.

English National theatre is such a dominant force and I love to work there, but the pride in working here is amazing. Growing up looking at the Abbey as the highest of all theatres, it’s a dream to be here again. I always feel like it’s a bit of a holiday and I feel bad for my girlfriend being left at home. The level of human contact and warmth is very special and quite different to theatres in England. It’s not all business here, there’s a

playing gangsters with guns, you can get too carried way with the bravado of the part.”

“What is informing the play most,” he suggests, “is the current financial crisis.

The context of the play is so relevant it’s almost shocking. In rehearsals there is kind of a daily resonance between the news and what’s happening in the play. They really inform one another. We haven’t had to tack on or enforce any contemporary analogy, the parallels between the two are incredible anyway. The context is really the most important thing. I mean it is The Resistable Rise of Arturo Ui – entirely stoppable.”

One of Brecht’s most famous plays and a direct parable of Hitler’s rise to power, Ui is a play that will appeal to most tastes, and it will no doubt be interesting to see how it applies to the current financial crisis. If you know someone – a boyfriend or a grandfather maybe – who doesn’t like the theatre, bring them along; this gangster-fest might change their minds. Lawlor tells me it will be a great show and I’m inclined to believe him.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Happy days are here again Rory O’Connor discovers what Beckett would be like if he’d only used more words

L

ots of us know Beckett’s famous words from The Unnameable: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.” This is tragicomic; but it’s also arrived at, accounted for. Whatever else he’s doing, the character that says this is definitely also thinking it. In Deborah Warner’s brilliant production of Beckett’s Happy Days, the central character, Winnie, played by Fiona Shaw, does as little thinking as possible. Instead we get a more domestic tragicomedy, one that we can recognise as part of our own everyday happy days. The play’s strength is to see that our

normal way of life is more like the inverse of Beckett’s famous formula: “I’ll go on! (I can’t go on.)”

Winnie goes about life with the hail-ladywell-met cheerfulness that normally suggests something is a bit wrong: she is caught up to her hips in sand. Her husband Willie is thereabouts, but he pays more attention to the newspaper and to a girly photo — giving rise to the most discomfiting and horribly funny scene I’d be glad to see in a theatre any time soon. Because of this Winnie instead chats away to herself, distracting

herself from the gun she has in her possession. Overall, you get an impression of what Beckett’s plays would have been like if he’d usually scattered a few more words about them. But of course, by the perverse economy of Beckett, you would need to say more if nobody was there to listen.

Fiona Shaw got a standing ovation for her almost-monologue, but there was nothing of a diva in her meaty performance.

When she flashes a quick smile it unerringly suggests the intended pain, and a strict regimentation of emotion. In a very innocent way she runs her hands quickly through her hair to suggest Winnie has glamour yet. And she smiles again. Then the smile fades and something older creeps through. The instant aging in the face seems like something

organic.

The violence is there in Beckett’s directions and is nicely brought out in Warner’s production. Days began with a fire alarm of industrial strength. It made me jump, but then, I am jumpy. Stunning pyrotechnics bring an end to Winnie’s parasol, and her teeth are blackened in the second act, giving her an earnest unrelenting quality.

On the other hand, commendably unafraid to do the silly thing, Warner plays “Happy Days” the song (“these happy days are yours and mine, happy days!”) at the end of the first act. This act of high camp and cheap “reference” gives the sad and moving play dimension, and it ends on a happy chord, with Winnie and Willie singing “It’s true, it’s true / You love me so!”

I do mean relentless. Constant rain, deep rumbles of distant explosions and gun shots coupled with a superb lighting design really give the audience insight into how maddening the Cro-Magnon’s situation really is.

The power in the apartment goes time and again, plunging the tiny theatre into blackened chaos and fear.

The one moment of pure silence in the show hits you like a kick in the chest as you realize for the first time, that these people never have any peace, and may never get it.

This restlessness and angst- ridden situation is wonderfully communicated by the performers on stage.

On a side note I have to say that I do not like the current lighting trend, exemplified in this production, towards the blue end of the light spectrum. More and more theatre shows are using fluorescent lights as part of their design and its getting out of hand.

It’s too much sickly whitish-blue. No longer

edgy, it has become unpleasant. Stop it.

Back on topic — the performances by Gerard Kelly as the son, and Louise Lewis as Souhayla (the neighbour) are remarkably relaxed and in many cases feel so spontaneous that one could almost be convinced they were speaking for the first time. Phil Kingston, who played the part of the father, brought an air of detachment to his role, which added an almost sinister air to his character.

However, Caitríona Ni Mhurchú, who played the part of the mother, seemed to be doing something different. Her performance felt slightly forced and at odds with what others on stage were offering.

Overall, Wedding Day at the Cro-Magnons’ was an entertaining two hours which I’m glad I won’t get back, provided I can keep the memories. Keep an eye out for Bedrock’s next production if you’d like to make a similar exchange.

Shattered silence Dan Bergin is impressed by the sensory hit that is Wedding Day at the Cro-magnons

S

inead Wallace uses a single source for her front light and I don’t like it.

There. I said it — you’ll just have to deal with it. Funnily enough, “dealing with it” is just what Bedrock Producions’ Wedding Day at the Cro-magnons’ is all about.

Bedrock’s production of Wajdi Mouawad’s innovative script is commendable in its execution. Director Jason Byrne has created a wonderfully complete piece.

For those of you who didn’t make it far as the elusive Smock Alley to catch this show, shame on you. It is about ten seconds from “The Turks Head” pub on Parliament Street.

For those of you who did, I’m sure I have no need to remind you that the show centers

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

on a family holed up in an apartment in wartorn Lebanon, preparing for the arrival of a mysterious suitor for their daughter. The daughter frequently falls asleep without warning, the supposedly young son is taller than everyone else on stage, and the suitor is actually an invention of the family. ‘What is this madness?” the ignorant among you demand. “It’s marvelous,” is my reply. Living in a place where hardship is relentless, the family has devised a plot to keep themselves both entertained and distracted. They have invented a wedding.

The design of this show was very impressive. I would be remiss not to mention the astounding and relentless sound design

by Vincent Doherty & Ivan Birthistle, and

21

Doing Pravda justice Melanie O’Reilly is impressed by a pub with a different brand of vodka for every week of the year

Y

es this is indeed located on the northside, but then again so is the Dice bar, with Fun Loving Criminal’s lead man in partnership (and if he doesn‘t scream ‘cool’ well I’m not sure who does) so why not leave Citibar and The Purty Kitchen behind for one night and venture across the Ha’penny bridge, to the welcoming surroundings of Pravda.

Pravda is a Russian soviet themed pub.

‘Pravda’ in Russian means both truth and justice: an interesting name for a pub. The décor adds character to the place and there are so many comfortable places to sit down and have a chat(when the live bands aren’t playing) and on busier nights upstairs is open, so on a Saturday head upstairs. Recently there has been a new lick of paint, courtesy of the staff who each painted their own section.

As for dress code, there is none, but you would tend to feel most comfortable in jeans and the likes for both guys and girls. Pravda is for one and all, especially for vodka lovers.

For example, they stock: Polstar Cucumber; Zubrowka bison grass; Wyborowa melon, pineapple, peach, apple, orange; Stolichnaya vanilla, raspberry, cranberry, straw-

berry; Krupnik Honey; Ketel One; Grey Goose; Finlandia; Rain Organic; Skyy; Altai; Cytronowka; Krolewska; and Vann Hoo, to name but a few of the 59 (so I have been told) varieties of vodka that they stock.

I personally recommend Stolichnaya vanilla vodka, but a word of warning from some friends avoid Krupnik honey vodka; it is a bit hard on the stomach, even for people with iron stomachs as it is terribly sweet and heavy.

When it comes to music, Pravda tends to veer on the rock side of things. But depending on the night they do have an eclectic mix of music. Battle of the bands are not an unknown concept here, and Pravda has been promising that new up and coming Irish acts will play their little hearts out (as they have been doing), and selling themselves to the highest clapper/screamer. Not a bad way to spend an evening, considering there is no admission charge on any evening, unlike many live music venues. When the live bands are not on the cards then there are some pretty good tracks being pumped out by the DJs, and you can always rely on one or two classics to be played near the end of the evening, especially on weekends.

The grape guide

T

The wilds of Alsace. Photo: Pieter Musterd

22

he love affair with wine in this country has baffled many but the Celtic Tiger has explained it all.

People want to look snazzy, feel confident and live the life of a millionaire, albeit on the finance provided by Amex.

Well, if one white grape defines credit driven success it’s Pinot Gris or, in Itailian, Pinot Grigio (the latter being best known to the middle-aged women who order it in the hopes of appearing sophisticated).

The name itself conjures up images of Northern Italy’s most gorgeous mountains and lakes in all of our minds. From where has this recent burst of “Pinot Gris mania” come? Why is it so fashionable? Why is it consumed with reckless abandon at staff dinners and ordered with an air of arrogance by those Johnny-come-latleys with pony tails? In all honesty, I don’t know but its success cannot be disputed nor its expansion stopped.

It is often thought that Alsace in eastern France produces the best of Pinot Gris in the world. Pinot Gris is one of only four grapes that have been allowed to use the “Grand Cru” denotation in Alsace (“Grand Cru” vineyards are considered the best and this name is used not just in Alsace but in Burgundy, Champagne and in some areas of Bordeaux also). Here, the wines are rich,

Pravda also serves food daily at varying times, and I have to admit that their chicken wings are pretty damn tasty! The staff are all really friendly, and even on very busy nights, they manage to not leave you waiting forever to get a drink, which is always a plus when it comes to going out in the city centre. The crowd tends to be of the student variety, although it is also hugely popular with foreigners, and there is a very good reason: Pravda always has a good vibe and not once in all my visits have I ever witnessed anyone having a bad night — apart from one person and she didn’t seem like she ever had fun, ever.

Also, a little note for the tango ladies, the lighting is very dim so it is rather sympathetic to each and everyone, so there is no need to worry about harsh lighting affecting your confidence levels.

Another interesting aspect to Pravda is that they show films as part of Pravda Vision and give out free popcorn(at least they did when I last went to watch a Polish film).

After the film, there is a DJ if you are flush on the financial side. If you want to find out what is happening over the next few weeks, give them a call on (01) 8740090 or an email as the internet info is a little dated.

Pinot Gris’ fashionable popularity might confuse Shane Quinn, but Alsace yields some real gems acidic and deep in colour. The dry autumn of Alsace allows the grapes to remain on the vine considerably longer which results in much stronger and more powerful flavours.

In neighbouring Germany, this grape is known as Rulander when sweet or Grauburgunder when dry. The sweet variant is a result of allowing the grapes to over-ripen which causes greater sugar production in the grape. The Grauburgunder is much more compatible with foods, being comparatively lighter and more aromatic.

In Italy, some vintners have begun harvesting Pinot Grigio rather earlier in order to create crisp, yet insipid wines that are herbaceous throughout and can oftentimes taste of apple, lemon or pear. The Friuli region in North Eastern Italy produces some gems. Here the vintners pay much more attention to the plants while growing them.

The result is evident; these wines stand out from the other Italian Pinot Grigio as being zesty, tangy, really dry and incredibly fresh.

Oregon in the USA has surprised the wine drinking community with its great value.

The wines here may be cheap but offer all the quality of others many times their price.

Pinot Gris tends to be distinctly refreshing due to Oregon’s cool climate. Packed full of floral, mineral and almond flavours, the Oregon Pinot Gris makes an interesting drink.

This Pinot Gris is much harder to come by than the more expensive Oregon Pinot Noir but when you find it, you’ll wonder aloud why this hasn’t yet invaded the Irish market.

Long known for the quantity rather than the quality of its wines, Argentina has also got some nice Pinot Gris. The high altitude (some vineyards are as high as 3000m) and cool climate mean Argentine vineyards are among the safest from disease and produce some fine refreshing wines with hints of lemongrass.

The Alsatian Pinot Gris is a great companion for confit of duck, pork or grilled fish. Most Italian Pinot Grigios are best on their own, consumed at parties. The more favourable Friuli style could accompany any creamy pasta dish, fresh salad or ham.

When having Mild Cheddar and Mild Gouda, Brie and Camembert styles of cheese, then your Pinot Gris should most definitely be the drink of choice.

Available at O’Brien’s at €9.49 is the 2006 “Sachetto Pinot Grigio”. This is textbook Italian with its light, refreshing taste and fruity flavours. At €10.95 you can pick up the 2007 Argentine “Santa Celina Pinot Grigio” at Berry Bros & Rudd beside the Westbury Hotel. This rich and spicy number is a bargain at this price.

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Restaurant reviews

e

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tions Off c ina

To be a vegetarion is to be a person living a dull, inactive life. No, sorry, wrong word, that’s vegetate, my mistake. Right, best to just get it out in the open - I am part of that carnivorous camp that places the fillet steak on a proverbial pedestal and sees tofu as a cruel joke. Lentils have never been my thing, and vegetarians I view as a foreign being synonymous with hemp clothing and natural footwear. Not always, of course, but mostly.

So, as I reluctantly embarked upon my first vegetarian experience at Cornucopia, I admit it was with a heavy feeling of dread, lessened only by the vaguely comforting knowledge that I had an emergency Peperami in my bag if things got really bad. But as I settled down at my table and looked around at a mixed crowd all tucking enthusiastically into huge piles of healthy delights, my initial doubts melted away into the warm atmosphere and I began to question my days as a cynical carnivore.

The ethos of Cornucopia is simple: fresh, healthy ingredients served in abundance. The décor itself is basic: wooden floor, tables and chairs, with stools facing out of the window for those wishing to dine solo. Because the restaurant is relatively small, its size and intimacy make it rather cosy, helped perhaps by the autumnal photos covering the walls and the plates of homely fare piled up in front of you.

Blackboard menus boast a variety of salads, soups, mains courses and puddings, all open on display in glass cabinets beneath, giving you the advantage of seeing your food before you actually buy it. Once you have deciphered which dish is which, you point and choose, and then carry your tray back to your table, canteen style.

Indian

address

60 Mary Street, Dublin 1

phone

93 minutes

To start, we had a tomato, basil and coconut soup (€3.45), which was extremely tasty - thick and creamy but a hint of spice to give it some kick, which was complimented nicely by the sweet coconut. Hearty but not bland, which for soup I feel is a triumph in itself.

Next we went for a butternut squash, leek and olive rigatoni bake in a white wine sauce with a feta crust (€12.95), which wasn’t actually as exciting as it sounded. However, the feta crust was a nice touch, and with a bit of added seasoning it was fine but by no means toothsome. It came with a chickpea, beansprout and green bean salad which although certainly healthy, was made bland by the lack of a dressing.

We also tried the sweet potato and pepper tagine (€9), which looked fairly unappetising but was absolutely delicious and was perfectly balanced between sweet and savoury. When it came to desserts we were confronted with an enormously appealing selection but settled with an almond and blueberry tartlet and a date and orange slice (€4.50).

Both were gluten and wheat free, and although the tartlet was a delight - sweet, light and scrumptious - the date and orange slice was extremely dry, making it rather hard to get down.

The trick is to choose well, and if in doubt, ask the staff, who are happy to point you in the right direction. With enormously generous portions at student friendly prices (student discounts from Mon-Fri, 3-5pm/7:30-9pm), this is absolutely the place to go when looking for a healthy equivalent to comfort food.

I have to say, for meat-loving me to succumb to vegetarianism, be it only for an hour, and to no longer see it as an aberration, is more than enough to make me recommend it to anyone. Jo Monk

ce

(01) 677 7853

cuisine

nity New Tri s

II.2

ff

phone

T

19 Wicklow Street, Dublin 2

Madina Desi

After a brisk walk across to The Other Side, on the coldest Tuesday evening this year, we were more than ready for an Indian and a chat - to warm the self in every possible way! The décor of Madina, an Indian restaurant located right in the centre of town, is, unlike many of its competitors, refreshingly unclichéd.

There is not a piece of faded red velvet in sight, although it is a bit too cafeteriastyle for my liking.

We were seated upstairs in what was the worst seat in the whole restaurant; it was basically in the corridor for the toilets, with a panoramic view of the dhosa-preparation kitchen, and the glasses washing area, so not the best start!

The starters, however, were a different story, and definitely the highlight of the meal. We ordered the Papri Channa Chat (€3.95) - mainly because the menu description included the word “poppets”- and Baingan Pakora (€3.95), then a plain Dhosa (€5.95) to share, as it is a house speciality. We had no idea what to expect, yet were still surprised when what looked like a bowl of crunched-up crisps arrived, accompanied by an enormous rolled up flatbread which resembled a crêpe accompanied by two dips.

This was the Dhosa, the star of the meal - delicious, freshly cooked and crispy.

Below the surface of the “crisps” was concealed a delicious mix of potatoes, chickpeas and assorted herbs and spices, all drenched in a yoghurty sauce. This sounds weird. It was. But it was also unexpectedly scrumptious and we ended up fighting over it. The definite dud of the meal was the Baingan Pakora, aubergine fritters which were completely devoid of taste. And if anyone loves a vegetable fritter it’s me. (No, seriously!)

Madina doesn’t serve alcohol, as it is a halal restaurant. However, they do have

inations O

address

I

name

am

Vegetarian

y Ne ws

Ex

cuisine

it rin

m

Cornucopia

Exa

name

a selection of non-alcoholic flavoured beers (my faithful companion had the strawberry one - which tasted like childhood medicine, but in a good way!) and I had a mango lassi (Both €2.95). Water arrived and was refilled automatically, in those cool swing-top glass bottles, but apart from that service was average.

For mains I had Aloo Saag, a spinach and potato curry, (€7.95) and Ms.X had the Butter Chicken (€8.95). When ordering, she asked for it spicy. The waitress warned her that this meant very spicy, so she changed it to “medium”. We shared a coriander naan and a boiled rice, which were both perfectly adequate. The Butter Chicken arrived, in its medium sauce, which was so far from spicy that even I, the least spice tolerant person alive, thought it was too bland. On the first bite, we were cooing over the creamy wonderfulness, after the third bite, it was just sickeningly buttery.

We were left to our own devices and seemed to be welcome to sit there as long as we liked, which is normally a very good thing, but in fact we even had trouble attracting the waitress’s attention when we wanted a dessert.

There are only two desserts on the menu, and we thought we would be adventurous and try them both. The Kheer (rice pudding) was delicately spiced and quite acceptable, but not worth 5 euro of a student’s weekly budget. The Ras Malai is a milk dumpling in spiced milk; it resembled a mozzarella a little too much, and managed to be both tasteless and unpleasant, as only milk-based desserts can.

In all, we both agreed that Madina has a certain charm. If they fix those few niggles, this cheap, central Indian restaurant has the potential to be amazing.

Melanie O’Reilly

23

Film reviews

director

Oliver Stone

starring

Josh Brolin, Thandie Newton, James Cromwell

running time

129 minutes

T

W.

it rin

y Ne ws

e

II.1

24

tions Off c ina

Oliver Stone’s eagerly awaited biopic, W., based on the life of the outgoing U.S. President, does not disappoint. It is also a surprising effort from the director responsible for such politically controversial films as Nixon and JFK, as although W. is seeped in American politics by its very nature, Stone chooses to focus on the human side rather than the political. In doing so he gives us a refreshing and previously unseen insight into the world’s most powerful individual, and in turn enlightens our understanding of the man widely held responsible for America’s perilous actions in recent history.

Throughout the film, Stone sets up a series of juxtapositions which help to explain how and why Bush came to the Presidency. At the beginning of the film we see Bush down on his knees, hands tied behind his back, choking and spluttering as he’s being inundated with alcohol by a ring of heckling men — all part of a fraternity initiation test. The scene not only sets up a context for Bush’s hard partying youth and long battle with alcoholism, but also has a more resounding effect — implicitly evoking those methods of torture condoned by his future administration. Stone successfully flicks back and forth throughout the years to show the specific events that shaped Bush into the man, and the Presi-

dent, he would become.

We see Bush as a young student at Yale, living a privileged life of revelry. His father bails him out on numerous occasions, taking time out of his busy schedule as a world leader to deal with his wayward son.

Throughout these scenes, Stone gives us a privileged insight into their fractious father-son relationship, the crux for the entire film. Living in the shadow of his father, Bush tries desperately to forge his own identity, an attempt that leads him to a life-long competition with his elder brother, which will eventually force him into politics. But the more he struggles to live up to the family name, the further he slides down the slippery path of failure, dramatically demonstrated when a resentful Bush, drunk on whiskey, jealously accuses his father of being, “Mr. Perfect, Mr. War hero, Mr. God Almighty.”

Arguably, Stone places too much emphasis on their Oedipal relationship, using this, and also a rather awkward dream sequence, to show how Bush lives in a perpetual state of self-doubt. However, what Stone does do brilliantly is demonstrate how this drove him to the highest political office in the country.

Once in office we watch Bush’s political career develop and grow, carefully handled by his infamous administration. Some ex-

cellent casting results in Richard Dreyfuss playing Dick Cheney, Thandie Newton as Condoleezza Rice and Scott Glenn as a rather sinister Donald Rumsfeld; not to mention the star of the show, Josh Brolin, who masters Bush’s mannerisms and facial expressions without ever overdoing it.

Inevitably there are problems of realsim when making a film about living public figures, but what the actors manage to do is express personalities through gestures without making themselves ever seem like parodies.

Stone presents the Bush administration as a force not to be reckoned with, and Bush a mere mouthpiece for their political endeavours. He’s depicted as a puppet figure, controlled from behind the scenes by Karl Rove, who teaches him what to say and how to say it. This is beautifully illustrated in a scene in which we watch Bush preparing for a press conference whereby he parrots Rove word for word in order to try to remember his main policies, but as soon as he’s questioned by a journalist he panics, forgets his lines, says something stupid, blinks blankly into camera and then is stumped into silence.

Stone also peppers a number of “Bushisms” throughout the script, and includes a whole scene dedicated to Bush famously choking on a pretzel. Yet although Stone

Exa m

title

satirically presents him as the fool, he is also a tragic figure, one that the audience can’t help but empathise with. And this is perhaps what makes Stone’s film so controversial.

In the film’s presentation of the events leading up to the invasion of Iraq, Bush is presented almost as a submissive figure.

At one point he says, “my dream is to see peace break out through the middle east”, while his administration are greedily discussing the rewards they’ll reap from Iraq’s oil reserves.

Within the film’s context, Bush appears to escape any real condemnation, which certainly creates a point of moral contention.

Naturally the crucial line between fiction and truth is going to become blurred, but in this case, given the terrible consequences, it seems W. is altogether too forgiving to its central character. This is exactly what that makes Stone’s film surpass all initial expectations, however, as it isn’t simply another criticism of Bush and his disastrous invasion of Iraq.

Stone successfully manages to create a film that is both entertaining and insightful into contemporary American politics.

With a new President soon to be taking office, let’s just hope his biopic will be a story of success rather than failure. Jo Monk

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

Film reviews

e

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tions Off c ina

Ridley Scott’s Body of Lies is mostly blind to the possibility of humour, so it should probably be humourlessly reviewed.

This is not a problem, except that it also lacks flashy special effects to be awed by.

We must take it, therefore, for what it presents itself as, a serious political thriller, giving us the low-down on political killing in the present day.

Ridley Scott really should know better, but the man who brought us Blade Runner and Gladiator seems stuck in a career lull, and this by-the-numbers thriller isn’t going to get him out of it.

Roger Ferris (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a C.I.A. operative hunting down terrorists that have crossed the border from Iraq into Iran and are responsible for a bombing in “Sheffield, England”.

He has ideas of his own about how the operation should be managed, and is often put in his place by his boss Hoffman, played by Russell Crowe. Who are the good guys, who are the bad? Wouldn’t you like to know?

Actually, I would. Ridley Scott takes pride in rubbing our nose in the fact that, as Russell Crowe says a number of times, “There are no innocents in this game.”

This is a kind of high-minded cynicism that laughs pitifully at our attempts to identify with something good in this awful world.

In place of identification and sympathy, we have action scenes. In the end, the guy we are meant to identify with — somewhat at least — turns his back

Stephan Elliot

starring

Jessica Biel, Ben Barnes, Kristin Scott Thomas

running time

93 minutes

on the whole business, but not without doing a lot of damage on the way.

In fact the film isn’t as impassive as all that: when the less-bad-guys torture the more-bad-guys, it’s presented as a bit of bathhouse hi-jinks. When the least-bad guy gets tortured, it’s hell. Much like this movie.

The film aptly demonstrates what’s wrong with relying only on the thrill of the chase. It chews up the air miles going from the Iraqi outback to Qatar to Turkey to Washington D.C. to Jordan.

I suppose you can only have so many bombings in one place, but when Leonardo DiCaprio says, in a typical piece of “no bullshit” bullshit, “I’ve had it with local colour,” I disagreed. Bond would have taken in a casino.

In this film, there is no world, just locations. And DiCaprio doesn’t get very far with the girl he likes; all that jetlag I suppose.

Poor Leo really does need our sympathy. For most of us he’ll always be sensitive Jack Dawson in Titanic, or a lovestruck Romeo, or the oh-so-sensitive Toby Wolff in This Boy’s Life.

I thought his role in Catch Me If You Can was exactly the kind of classy thing he should be doing. There is no place for him in the world of the “gruff stuff ” of Body of Lies.

Russell Crowe gets uneasy laughs for his lack of work-life balance: “never have kids” he says, and means it, as he orders another war crime on the phone while attending his daughter’s football match.

If that doesn’t sound too funny, it’s because it isn’t. Rory O’Connor

NS

ce

128 minutes

director

ff

running time

T

Leonardo Di Caprio, Russell Crowe, Mark Strong

Easy Virtue

Easy Virtue was always a minor play by a relatively minor playwright. Posterity, however, seems to have had other plans.

She decided to grant Noël Coward’s 1924 comedy of manners momentary relaunch when Hitchcock filmed it in 1928.

Indeed, had it not been for such an incidental distinction, it seems decidedly unlikely that one would ever have had to sit though this tiresome update.

Nevertheless, director Stephan Elliott felt compelled to dust off a rightfully dusty play and, along with co-adaptor Sheridan Jobbins, has attempted to polish it up to a bearable degree. Lipstick on a pig, I’m afraid.

Set in the twenties, the film charts the aftermath of an impetuous Riviera elopement between young English aristocrat John Whittaker (Ben Barnes), and the glamorous American widow Larita (Jessica Biel).

As the bride is presented to unsuspecting in-laws, the film’s central culture clash immediately rears its brow.

The fresh decadence of the Jazz Age is transplanted into the typically constricting dramatic format of the English manor estate.

Kristen Scott Thomas (seen recently in the impressive I’ve Loved You So Long) features as the refined mother-in-law, who engages in a resentful battle of wits with the interloping bride.

Acting as a foil between the two, Colin Firth plays Scott Thomas’ husband - an amiably disenchanted WWI veteran furnished with a neat back-story to qualify his uncouth wanderings and cynicism.

inations O

starring

III

nity New Tri s

title

am

Ridley Scott

y Ne ws

Ex

director

it rin

m

Body of Lies

Exa

title

The central contrast of temperament is, however, an almost exclusively laboured affair. Only frivolous distinctions of disposition are ever touched upon. “Do you have to be so loud?” inquires Barnes’ character of his new wife; “Of course I do; I’m American.”

Perhaps inevitably, Elliott’s film is little more than a feeble patchwork of cultural stereotype.Yet in spite of being constructed on cliché, there is also something unremittingly incongruous present in Easy Virtue.

The soundtrack initially opens with a jazzy period piece and is often complemented by Cole Porter material throughout.

As the film progresses, however, this tone is steadily overhauled by crass rerecordings of absurd songs such as “Car wash” and “Sex Bomb”.

The spectre of Hollywood is everpresent, and a true sense of time and place is never conjured competently.

What sets out to be both a comedy of manners and a social statement ultimately fails on all levels.

Easy Virtue is relentlessly dull; warmth and wit are in total abeyance.

Every so often, Colin Firth is afforded a charming line — on presenting Biel with her lodgings: “My wife would like you to rest in peace.” — but for an adaptation of a chamber comedy supposedly in the line of Wilde, there is a surprising emphasis placed on dreary visual humour and a flatly unjustifiable lack of any real sentiment.

Let’s hope posterity learns from her mistakes. Conor Leahy

25

CD Reviews

myspace

www.myspace.com/blocparty

Whatever happened to Bloc Party, ey?

Debut effort Silent Alarm suggested that the band had great things ahead of them, managing to sound both familiar and fresh at the same time.

Follow-up release A Weekend in the City, however, was a shocking disappointment, despite some favourable critical reaction.

High on production values, but low on ideas, the record saw the band squeezing out tired riffs and frontman Kele Okereke writing some seriously cringe-inducing lyrics. Of course, it was possible that they were experiencing second-album jitters.

In addition, the record was produced by Jacknife Lee, who has quite the knack for making formerly good bands shit (see recent Lee-produced efforts by Snow Patrol, Editors, Weezer and The Hives).

With Silent Alarm producer Paul Epworth back on board, albeit in a partial capacity, splitting production duties with Lee, third release Intimacy wasn’t an entirely unpleasant prospect. Originally made available to download back in August, it saw its physical release last week.

The question is, then, does the album

e ffc

Wichita

II.2

ations O

label

min

Intimacy

xa

title

ity Ne Trin w

E

Bloc Party

s

artist

herald a return to the Bloc Party of old or is it the next step on the road to stadiumfilling mediocrity? In a strange way, it’s a bit of both. First single “Mercury,” sounds strange in the same, interesting way that many of the highlights of Silent Alarm sound. There are some nice electronic flourishes on the record as well, such as the Fourtet-isms of “Signs” and the New Order drum machine on “Biko.”

The band are on flying form on tracks like “Trojan Horse” and “Halo,” belting out crowd-pleasing riffs. The only problem is that, three albums in, one feels that they’ve already done that kind of thing to death and, as with A Weekend in the City, there’s a distinct lack of invention. Okereke’s lyrics are similarly uninspired and often resemble the scrawlings of an angstridden schoolboy. His delivery has taken a turn for the annoying and there are many tunes here that would have been perfectly fine were it not for his theatrical wailing.

Bloc Party certainly showed promise four years ago, however, at this stage, they’re in real danger of never fulfilling that potential. Hugh McCafferty ity Ne Trin w

Eugene McGuinness

title

Eugene McGuinness

label

Domino

myspace

www.myspace.com/eugenemcguinness85

xa

min

ations O

26

III E

This, McGuinness’s first full length album, has arrived in the wake of the remarkable praise lavished on his first release - last years E.P. “The Early Learnings of Eugene McGuinness” - which saw Drowned in Sound drawing comparison between the youthful McGuiness and everyone from Morrissey to Alex Turner, However, the basis of this critical acclaim seems to grow more baffling with every listen as, what has been described as “his remarkably whimsical lyricism”, seems to be closer to the clichéd waffle of James Blunt then the genuinely brooding intrigue of Morrissey. Maybe it’s just me but hearing the hackneyed groans of “This life is killing me!” on ‘Moscow Night Train’ sets alarm bells ringing. And the bells continue to ring from there on in.

For example, I’m genuinely baffled as to how I’m supposed to embrace someone who penned the lyric “I could name you every service station on the M6 of my heart” as the future of poetic pop. There are glimpses of promise in the broody charisma of tracks like ‘Atlas’ but then he drops the diabolical “We said farewell and

e ffc

s

artist

synchronised our watches/ Arranged for the meeting of our crotches”. (N.B.: This is actually the lyric, I’ve double checked in hope my ears were deceiving me).

The thing is, when Morrissey asks “Why pamper life’s complexity?” you actually believe in the complexity of the man himself; when McGuinness announces “your world is round, mine is a Rubik’s cube so pass it on and go figure it out” you wonder is there actually anything beneath the surface that needs to be figured out, and even if there is, could you be arsed?

Perhaps this is taking McGuinness as lyricist more seriously then was ever really intended. In his more coy, whimsical moments, for example on the stand out single ‘Monster Under the Bed’, his natural ability to manufacture a genuinely catchy tune sees the songwriter begin to approach pop-tastic. However there is still a worrying lack originality throughout this album, considering he’s being billed as the future of indie-pop.

“Did you drop a clanger?” he warbles in ‘Moscow Night Train’. Yes you did Eugene, yes you did. Paul Finnegan

11 November – 24 November, 2008

tn2

CD Reviews

It’s a child’s job to play, they say, and we certainly have. Action figures, Barbie dolls, pokémons, tamagotchis, the colourful plasticity of the 90s – been there done that, but now we’re in college and it all feels like ages ago. Some kids, however, hold on to their job and end up, say, playing with effect pedals. Four kids, who dubbed themselves Story of Hair, do their job particularly well.

The Dublin-based noise pop quartet manages to create a soft and round, yet colourful atmosphere with their newly launched album. Simple guitar lines paired with crazy drums and video game–like sound effects make Cheap Rate easy to approach. It is definitely an easy listen - good God, even my tone deaf mother yelled ”such lovely music” from the other end of the room - but still has enough catchy hooks to keep even the most hardened music nerd (a.k.a. yours truly) interested. The vocals of Caroline Carew and Paul Brett are soft and pleasing to the ear and wrap around the listener like a winter coat. Cheap Rate is both warm matt of enjoyable

e ffc

background ambiance and catchy tunes that can also be danced to – it’s like Sigur Rós meeting Super Mario.

As the era of post punk and postpost(-post) punk is already so last season, it’s now time for a more playful point of view. Story of Hair are marching in the front row of being approachably childlike, while nonethless maintaining the edge, spunk and fervour of postpunk. Unfortunately - and I really hate to say this - despite its ear-intriguing sounds and mind-hauntingly simple melody lines, as a whole the album stays slightly flat.

They’ve got the style and the sound but, unfortunately, it is not yet quite enough to make them into be the next big thing. Cheap Rate is definitely an easy-listen, but only as background muzak. The album is missing a climax, and it’s even more agitating to the listener because, well, we’re nearly there.

Right now, Story of Hair is merely raising above the ceiling - a good merit in itself, but they have what it takes to break through the rooftops. Henna Kokko ity Ne Trin w

o

label

Team Love Records

myspace

www.myspace.com/officialtillyandthe wall

I was worried about reviewing this album. I was expecting them to ply a trade in the sort of saccharine melancholy that makes Bright Eyes so eminently punchable. After all, the Nebraskans are his label-mates, and their last two albums have been the sort of gentle tweeness that only Belle and Sebastian could equal.

‘Tall Tall Grass’ seems to confirm my fears. It’s perfectly lovely, with these charming harmonies and Mid-Western diction, but about as interesting as a carpet-shop. Then in comes a guitar-break that sounds as though the instrument’s about to shatter at any second, and you realise how much else is going on here.

‘Too Excited’ drives that point home.

It’s a riot of a song, with every musician racing each other to the delighted ‘fuck you!’ of the chorus. ‘Pot Kettle Black’ is a future classic, marrying the crunch and grind of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to the sort of chorus that would have Le Tigre fearing for their careers. Other entertaining bits include ‘Cacophony’ and ‘Alligator’, which reveal Tilly and the Wall to be every bit as competent purveyors of collec-

tn2

11 November – 24 November, 2008

e ffc

title

II.1

E

Tilly and the Wall

s

artist

ations O

www.myspace.com/storyofhair

min

myspace

II.1

xa

Self-released

ations O

label

min

Cheap Rate

xa

title

ity Ne Trin w

E

Story of Hair

s

artist

tive musical chaos. Think Architecture In Helsinki with percussive footwear and you’re about right.

Yes, that is the elephant in the room.

They don’t just have a drummer. They have a tap-dancer. Now, on the aforementioned miracle that is ‘Pot Kettle Black’ you can pretend to yourself that it works.

But by the time the chorus of ‘Chandelier Lake’ begins to soar away from its portentous verse, you do long for something a bit more majestic. Clearly they’re reaching for the same emotional register as Broken Social Scene, but sadly it’s not going to work unless they give that berk a drumkit.

‘Dust Me Off ’ could have been a warm and fuzzy, Grandaddyish melody-fest – except for the fact that it sounds like a bunch of Billy Barry kids are having a dance-off in the next room. Still, though, even that idiosyncrasy has its redeeming moments, sounding fantastic on the gypsy jaunt of ‘Poor Man’s Ice Cream’.

A decent listen, then, but not a lifechanger. A bit more quality control, a little less tap-dancing – and we could be onto a winner. Tim Smyth

27